Fashion trends: it’s a vicious cycle of time. A style seen 2 decades prior seems to make its way back to the forefront of the fashion world as a must-have look. Several years ago, the big thing was the 70s inspired look of flared or bell-bottom jeans. And now, at least in the States, 80s inspired looks are back in style from leggings to broader-shouldered blazers. Well, the 80s is back with a vengeance here in Santiago, as well…but I’m not referring to the clothes per se. Although, I will say for as much as the 80s is inspiring new looks in the States, the true 80s sense still lives on in Santiago as there appears to be a large presence of acid wash denim. No, what I would like to take note of is the 80s inspired hair, namely the seemingly trendy mullet. I’ve seen a few women sporting the ‘do, but it is really popular amongst the men. Chileans are getting innovative with their mullets, however. There isn’t just one main way it’s styled. No, in fact, there are several different types that I have encountered.
There’s the “clean cut mullet” that is more so buzzed at the top and is just slightly longer in the back. A subtler version of the mullet, if you will.
Then there’s the “shaggy mullet” in which the hair is a little more mangy and tousled. More of a rugged, wild look, longer than the “clean cut mullet,” but still with the same general shape.
Then there’s the “rat tail mullet” in which sticking out of the longer back mane is a rat tail. Sometimes it's braided and other times it’s just an extra long piece of hair poking out.
And then there’s my personal favorite, the “dreadlock mullet.” This is when the longer back part of the style instead of just hanging there, is in dreadlocks. Truly something I had not even seen in the States.
While they may have had a hay day in the 80s, to which many people can attest was even terrible back then, to Chile, I say this: mullets are not stylish, never were, never are and never will be. Time for a new haircut.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Santiago Metro vs. NYC Subway
This past summer I spent working and living in New York City. It was truly a dream come true and I loved every minute of it, the bright lights, the city noises, the people, my job, the food, everything. Upon living there for three months, I became one of those New York people everyone hates…you know, the one who thinks New York City is superior to any other city in the world and that everything else just pales in comparison. Obnoxious to say the least, but what can I say, I’m a city gal. So wherever I am, be that Chicago, Madison, Milwaukee, Minneapolis…or Santiago, I will forever compare it to New York. More than likely, this will not be the first entry in which Santiago is put to the test of the New York City standards.
Like New York, Santiago has a subway system, known here as the Metro. And like New York, I’ve been using the Metro to get pretty much anywhere I need to be. Before I took my first ride on the Metro, I pictured the underground stations to be dungy and smelly, much like the ones in New York. However, unlike New York, and to my pleasant surprise, they are remarkably nice, impeccably clean, and best of all, lack that those lingering smells of urine and body odor that so loiter among the stops in the city that doesn't sleep. Sure the Metro trains get pretty packed during peak hours, but if you’ve ever rode the 6 subway line during times when people are going to and from work, it isn’t a whole lot different; people are just packed into the trains like sardines in a can.
The only downfalls with the Metro here is that one, it does not run 24 hours a day like the subway in New York. And two, from what I hear, it does not have air conditioning for those hot summer months.
Regardless, the Metro, in my mind, far surpasses that of the subway system in New York. Yes, I, the girl who just stated that nothing would ever compare to NYC, is telling you that Santiago is outdoing New York on this matter. Even the system of payment to get onto the metro in which you flash your card over some sort of card reading device seems more efficient than NYC’s subway pass swipe machine that works only some of the time, and other times, forces you to swipe over and over before it can even register your card, let alone get you to your train on time.
While I may change my mind as summer quickly approaches here and I find myself drenched in sweat riding a hot, packed, un-air conditioned Metro, for now the score is in…Santiago: 1 NYC: 0.
Like New York, Santiago has a subway system, known here as the Metro. And like New York, I’ve been using the Metro to get pretty much anywhere I need to be. Before I took my first ride on the Metro, I pictured the underground stations to be dungy and smelly, much like the ones in New York. However, unlike New York, and to my pleasant surprise, they are remarkably nice, impeccably clean, and best of all, lack that those lingering smells of urine and body odor that so loiter among the stops in the city that doesn't sleep. Sure the Metro trains get pretty packed during peak hours, but if you’ve ever rode the 6 subway line during times when people are going to and from work, it isn’t a whole lot different; people are just packed into the trains like sardines in a can.
The only downfalls with the Metro here is that one, it does not run 24 hours a day like the subway in New York. And two, from what I hear, it does not have air conditioning for those hot summer months.
Regardless, the Metro, in my mind, far surpasses that of the subway system in New York. Yes, I, the girl who just stated that nothing would ever compare to NYC, is telling you that Santiago is outdoing New York on this matter. Even the system of payment to get onto the metro in which you flash your card over some sort of card reading device seems more efficient than NYC’s subway pass swipe machine that works only some of the time, and other times, forces you to swipe over and over before it can even register your card, let alone get you to your train on time.
While I may change my mind as summer quickly approaches here and I find myself drenched in sweat riding a hot, packed, un-air conditioned Metro, for now the score is in…Santiago: 1 NYC: 0.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
How many Claros does it take to get un teléfono celular prepago?
Cell phone. Anyone who knows me knows I could not possibly live without a cell phone. Would you believe me if I told you that I was the last of all my friends in high school to get a cell phone? My friends didn’t either. They always used to tease me saying the one who needed a cell phone the most was the person who didn’t have one. However, there was a time in my life when I managed to function without one.
Well, that time has come again. It was not that difficult of a decision for me to suspend my Sprint cell phone service for six months knowing that the alternative was a RIDICULOUSLY high $140 international plan in which you still had to pay $2.50 per minute on top of it. With free services like Skype and gchat (both with video options, I might add), why waste the money?
I did decide that it was a bit impractical to be completely without a cell phone, though, on the chance that I need to get in touch with my Chilean friends and/or be accessible in case work needs to get a hold of me. So, I researched some different Chilean service providers and decided to go with a company called Claro.
I preface this story in saying that only after I finally got back from this excursion did I find out Chileans are known for giving people the run-around and sending them on these wild goose chases:
I looked up where the nearest Claros were and decided to go get a phone the other day. In Providencia, Claro seems to be what Starbucks is to the States; there’s one on practically every corner. So, I go to the first store, find lots of phones and tell the salesman that I would like a prepaid phone. He brings me to a counter with phones I hadn’t even seen because it is up against the storefront window and points down to a Blackberry. Now, I don’t even have a Blackberry at home, so I’m sure as hell not going to have one here. Instead, I ask for something more “económico.” He tells me I have to go to the Claro down the street. I make my way to the next one and approach the saleslady, telling her the same spiel as I told the other guy. She says they don’t have any prepaid phones there and that I have to go to another Claro, further down the road. I make my way to that one and the guy there says the same thing to me. At this point, I start to question whether they don’t, in fact, have prepaid phones, or if they keep sending me down the road because they recognize that I’m an American who is a bit lacking in Spanish language fluency and simply don’t want to have to deal with me. I tell this man that the other store sent me to him because they assured me he had prepaid phones. He in turn hands me a card to yet another Claro, again, down the street and needless to say, that is where I FINALLY got the phone I needed.
And the answer would be four. Four Claros to get a prepaid cell phone.
Well, that time has come again. It was not that difficult of a decision for me to suspend my Sprint cell phone service for six months knowing that the alternative was a RIDICULOUSLY high $140 international plan in which you still had to pay $2.50 per minute on top of it. With free services like Skype and gchat (both with video options, I might add), why waste the money?
I did decide that it was a bit impractical to be completely without a cell phone, though, on the chance that I need to get in touch with my Chilean friends and/or be accessible in case work needs to get a hold of me. So, I researched some different Chilean service providers and decided to go with a company called Claro.
I preface this story in saying that only after I finally got back from this excursion did I find out Chileans are known for giving people the run-around and sending them on these wild goose chases:
I looked up where the nearest Claros were and decided to go get a phone the other day. In Providencia, Claro seems to be what Starbucks is to the States; there’s one on practically every corner. So, I go to the first store, find lots of phones and tell the salesman that I would like a prepaid phone. He brings me to a counter with phones I hadn’t even seen because it is up against the storefront window and points down to a Blackberry. Now, I don’t even have a Blackberry at home, so I’m sure as hell not going to have one here. Instead, I ask for something more “económico.” He tells me I have to go to the Claro down the street. I make my way to the next one and approach the saleslady, telling her the same spiel as I told the other guy. She says they don’t have any prepaid phones there and that I have to go to another Claro, further down the road. I make my way to that one and the guy there says the same thing to me. At this point, I start to question whether they don’t, in fact, have prepaid phones, or if they keep sending me down the road because they recognize that I’m an American who is a bit lacking in Spanish language fluency and simply don’t want to have to deal with me. I tell this man that the other store sent me to him because they assured me he had prepaid phones. He in turn hands me a card to yet another Claro, again, down the street and needless to say, that is where I FINALLY got the phone I needed.
And the answer would be four. Four Claros to get a prepaid cell phone.
A little TIP if you come to Chile...
Once upon a time, I was a waitress at a little Italian restaurant in Madison, WI called Porta Bella. Now as a waitress, most of your income is generated through tips, although legally, your employer is supposed to pay you a base hourly rate. The longer you waitressed, the more likely you were to assess potential customers according to what percentage of a tip you thought they would leave for your services. Foreigners were notoriously cheap tippers and everyone always dreaded being sat the table of people foreign to the U.S. You were lucky if they left you 10%.
I considered myself to be a good tipper way before I ever became a waitress. Sure, 15% is considered a standard U.S. tip, but for most people who wait tables, at least at more upscale places, 15% isn’t all that great. At a young age, my dad taught me always to tip 20%. If the service was just so terrible that you felt 20% was too much, then go with the standard 15%, but this was only reserved for very rare occasions. When I finally started waiting tables, I gained a greater appreciation for good tippers which only continued to reflect in tips I left for fellow servers on rare occasion I myself went out to eat. Let’s face it, if you have the money to spend going out to dinner, you ought to have the money for a decent tip.
I’ve been out for meals a few times here in Santiago, and standard rate of tipping around these parts is 10%. I feel like such a cheapskate only tipping 10%, but at the same time I don’t want to overstep any cultural boundaries. After all, I’m trying to assimilate to the culture, not draw any more attention to myself as a foreigner than I already do. And I surely do not want to offend anyone, so I comply with Chilean standards.
However, what they lack in tips for waiters and waitresses, they make up for in the most unusual places, namely the grocery store. I have slowly come to find out that it is custom here to tip your friendly grocery store baggers. In fact, one person even told me that people who bag groceries don’t even get any base hourly rate or salary. Their sole income is that of tips. Well, wouldn’t you know, the only two times I’ve been to the grocery store, I didn’t tip them. Not one cent. I just grabbed my bags, smiled and said gracias.
Now I’m that foreign asshole.
I considered myself to be a good tipper way before I ever became a waitress. Sure, 15% is considered a standard U.S. tip, but for most people who wait tables, at least at more upscale places, 15% isn’t all that great. At a young age, my dad taught me always to tip 20%. If the service was just so terrible that you felt 20% was too much, then go with the standard 15%, but this was only reserved for very rare occasions. When I finally started waiting tables, I gained a greater appreciation for good tippers which only continued to reflect in tips I left for fellow servers on rare occasion I myself went out to eat. Let’s face it, if you have the money to spend going out to dinner, you ought to have the money for a decent tip.
I’ve been out for meals a few times here in Santiago, and standard rate of tipping around these parts is 10%. I feel like such a cheapskate only tipping 10%, but at the same time I don’t want to overstep any cultural boundaries. After all, I’m trying to assimilate to the culture, not draw any more attention to myself as a foreigner than I already do. And I surely do not want to offend anyone, so I comply with Chilean standards.
However, what they lack in tips for waiters and waitresses, they make up for in the most unusual places, namely the grocery store. I have slowly come to find out that it is custom here to tip your friendly grocery store baggers. In fact, one person even told me that people who bag groceries don’t even get any base hourly rate or salary. Their sole income is that of tips. Well, wouldn’t you know, the only two times I’ve been to the grocery store, I didn’t tip them. Not one cent. I just grabbed my bags, smiled and said gracias.
Now I’m that foreign asshole.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
So far, yet so close to home.
The amazing thing about this city is how much it feels like home. Granted, I’ve only been here a few days and have been hanging out with people who primarily speak English, but still. I’m not quite sure how I imagined this place to be, but I suppose I was expecting it to be drastically different from being in the States. Santiago is really just like any other city. It has its tall buildings and mass transportation systems, floods of pedestrians and little neighborhoods defined by the collection of people who congregate there. Don’t get me wrong, there are definitely things that are different here, but it is amazingly influenced by western culture and a very modern city in its own right. I’m sure as I continue to get out more my sentiments might change, but I have to say, it’s eased my transition from American life to Chilean life thus far.
Yesterday, I took it upon myself to venture out a bit on my own, not with any real direction in mind, but just a walk around the neighborhood to familiarize myself with the area and get my bearings. For as much as I studied the Chilean past in school, there’s really so little I know about the Chilean present. (The photo to the left is a view of my street.)
There’s a little park just a few blocks west of where I’m staying. It was a gorgeous day so I slowly meandered over there…strolled through the park where children were climbing jungle gyms while adults rested on park benches. As I walked around I tried to listen to the tidbits of conversation around me to see if I could understand what they were saying. I walked up to La Plaza Italia (see the photo to the right) and down streets that housed Universidad Católica buildings and Chile’s Olympic Committee building. Then I crossed a little river and made my way to a neighborhood called Bellavista. The sign denoting this area described it as the Bohemian part of Santiago. There was an open market and a lot of little sidewalk vendors selling all sorts of things. And then I saw I sign up above that said “Dublin.” Being so Irish, of course I had to see what it was! As my mom said, it was like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow! It was this little Irish restaurant in this nice plaza called Patio Bellavista. It has all sorts of little shops and restaurants of all varieties. I found the little Irish pub, a sushi place and an Italian restaurant! Lots of foreigners were hanging out there so I imagine it’s a bit of a tourist place to go. Nonetheless, it seems like a neat little place and I’m sure I will be making my way back there at some point or another.
Last night, my roommate and I decided to get a late bite to eat. So we hopped a bus that took us a little bit further into the heart of Providencia. When we stepped off the bus, the first restaurants I saw were McDonald’s and Pizza Hut. No, thank you. We decided on a Spanish tapas place and had croquetas de pollo, tortillas, patatas con salsa brava, some shrimp thing (the name slips my mind) and for dessert, pastis xocolata…or as I would like to compare it to, exploding chocolate lava cake! Not quite the traditional Chilean cuisine, but even so, muy delicioso! The restaurant seemed to be a big date night spot…lots of couples and lots of PDA. From what I hear, Chileans are not shy about their PDA. From making out to restaurants to embracing each other as they cross the street, they are not afraid to show their love for one another.
Like other cities, they have taxicabs, so we hailed one and got a ride home to the tunes of Frank Sinatra. They sure do seem to love their American music down here, but how can you blame them, Frank is great! When we got home, teenagers were hanging out on the sidewalk. Two boys were sitting in the bushes by the door to the apartment building trying to hide the fact that they were drinking! Ah, to be in high school again!
Tomorrow I start my job and make my debut as an official English teacher here. I’m excited, but have those initial nerves you get when you start any new job. I can’t wait to get settled into a routine and meet more people! So, I’m relaxing today and getting ready for tomorrow…and trying to keep up with the score of the Packers game in hopes that they do not disappoint like the Badgers did yesterday. So far, it’s looking good.
¡Hasta luego!
Yesterday, I took it upon myself to venture out a bit on my own, not with any real direction in mind, but just a walk around the neighborhood to familiarize myself with the area and get my bearings. For as much as I studied the Chilean past in school, there’s really so little I know about the Chilean present. (The photo to the left is a view of my street.)
There’s a little park just a few blocks west of where I’m staying. It was a gorgeous day so I slowly meandered over there…strolled through the park where children were climbing jungle gyms while adults rested on park benches. As I walked around I tried to listen to the tidbits of conversation around me to see if I could understand what they were saying. I walked up to La Plaza Italia (see the photo to the right) and down streets that housed Universidad Católica buildings and Chile’s Olympic Committee building. Then I crossed a little river and made my way to a neighborhood called Bellavista. The sign denoting this area described it as the Bohemian part of Santiago. There was an open market and a lot of little sidewalk vendors selling all sorts of things. And then I saw I sign up above that said “Dublin.” Being so Irish, of course I had to see what it was! As my mom said, it was like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow! It was this little Irish restaurant in this nice plaza called Patio Bellavista. It has all sorts of little shops and restaurants of all varieties. I found the little Irish pub, a sushi place and an Italian restaurant! Lots of foreigners were hanging out there so I imagine it’s a bit of a tourist place to go. Nonetheless, it seems like a neat little place and I’m sure I will be making my way back there at some point or another.Last night, my roommate and I decided to get a late bite to eat. So we hopped a bus that took us a little bit further into the heart of Providencia. When we stepped off the bus, the first restaurants I saw were McDonald’s and Pizza Hut. No, thank you. We decided on a Spanish tapas place and had croquetas de pollo, tortillas, patatas con salsa brava, some shrimp thing (the name slips my mind) and for dessert, pastis xocolata…or as I would like to compare it to, exploding chocolate lava cake! Not quite the traditional Chilean cuisine, but even so, muy delicioso! The restaurant seemed to be a big date night spot…lots of couples and lots of PDA. From what I hear, Chileans are not shy about their PDA. From making out to restaurants to embracing each other as they cross the street, they are not afraid to show their love for one another.
Like other cities, they have taxicabs, so we hailed one and got a ride home to the tunes of Frank Sinatra. They sure do seem to love their American music down here, but how can you blame them, Frank is great! When we got home, teenagers were hanging out on the sidewalk. Two boys were sitting in the bushes by the door to the apartment building trying to hide the fact that they were drinking! Ah, to be in high school again!
Tomorrow I start my job and make my debut as an official English teacher here. I’m excited, but have those initial nerves you get when you start any new job. I can’t wait to get settled into a routine and meet more people! So, I’m relaxing today and getting ready for tomorrow…and trying to keep up with the score of the Packers game in hopes that they do not disappoint like the Badgers did yesterday. So far, it’s looking good.
¡Hasta luego!
Saturday, October 17, 2009
¡Bienvenidos a Santiago!
Well, friends, I made it to Chile...and lucky for me, my way overstuffed bags did, too. Now, I'm not sure if any of you have also seen pictures of celebrities like Victoria Beckham after a cross-country flight from L.A. to London, stepping off the plane, impeccably suited up in a mini-dress and heels with a full face of make-up and a flawless hairdo, but I can assure you, that was not me. In fact, if Victoria has some secrets to share about international traveling, then I would love to hear them because never have I felt more exhausted and disgusting than stepping off a plane (in sweats, mind you) from nearly 24 hours of travel.
It all began in Chicago. I had a short flight from Chicago to Des Moines with a flight attendant that could have been Liza Minnelli's long lost twin sister. That was followed by another short flight from Des Moines to Dallas-Fort Worth, TX. On this flight I struck up a conversation with a nice man that said to me, "Name's William, but you can call me Will." Now Will was an interesting man, native to the State of Texas with a love for Texas that outshines even the love Sconnies have for Wisconsin. This was the first time in 2 years since he'd been back to his home state and was on leave from his tour in Iraq with the Navy. We shared laughs over a book he was reading and giggling about, a book that I read this past summer entitled, I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. Now, I know a lot of you are getting a chuckle over this because of course, I would make a new friend in an hour and a half flight, but what can I say, I just love people. Will came from such a different background than me and was doing such different things with his life, yet we bonded. He talked about his fiancée, his children, why he joined the Navy and what he wanted to do after he was done serving. Fascinating, really. Despite the many obstacles he seemed to have encountered over time, there was rarely a moment when there was not a big grin plastered on his face. Sensing my nerves about the big move, he assured me he had been to Chile and how awesome of a place it is. His optimism was inspiring and if only for that short time in air, I was comforted by the words of a stranger.
My layover in Dallas was a couple hours long, so I made my last few phone calls from my beloved U.S. cell phone…and had a few drinks. I boarded the plane a little before 9:00 pm. For the first time, my nerves seemed to dissipate and were replaced by waves of excitement as I heard mumblings of Spanish from all over the plane while I made my way to my seat. It reminded me of why I’m going on this adventure in the first place…to better my Spanish language skills! The flight itself was remarkably uneventful…and the 9 hours it took to get there flew by fast. We were served dinner and an early breakfast and had the option of watching a dumb Jessica Biel movie. I opted to sleep. The unseasoned traveler that I am did not bring a neck rest and eye mask with me, so the sleep I tried to get was interrupted by the kinks I would get in my neck and the lights from people around me trying to read. However, once day broke out over the wings of the plane, the Andes were revealed and it was a beautiful sight! The only thing that would have made the view better was a window seat.
Once I landed, I stood in long lines to pay my entrance fee into the country, collect my bags and go through customs. Toto, we are not in the Midwest anymore. This is the moment I realized that Chilean Spanish is unlike any other Spanish I’ve encountered. Meanings of words and phrases that I know were totally lost on me when spoken. The woman directing the traffic through customs wanted to know if I was carrying any food…I thought she wanted to check my documents. She was not happy with the misunderstanding. Then, the man at the customs station asked me if I needed his help…his “ayuda.” Now, I know this word, but for some reason, however he was saying it did not sound like “ayuda” to me. After he said it a couple times over, I finally understood. I seemed to have no communication problems with the man at the taxi stand, thankfully, but the taxi driver himself could not understand the address of the location I was trying to tell him. One of the other passengers, a Chilean who had spent some time learning English in New York, helped bridge the gap in understanding between the driver and me.
I made it to the place I’m staying and a little man helped me lug my very heavy bags up four flights of stairs. The look of disdain on his face clearly questioned what the hell was in my bag, but all I could respond with was a “muchas gracias.”
It’s amazing the connections you will find once you make plans such as this and move out of the country. My Aunt Tracy’s friend’s daughter, Alana, also from Wisconsin, is in Santiago and happens to be a teacher at the school where I will be working. She was kind enough to take me in for a little while until I get settled into a place of my own. Her roommate, a German woman, coincidentally spent some time in Wisconsin as an au pair…it really is such a small world!
Shortly after I arrived, Alana took me to the supermarket, which was surprisingly just like ones back home. It was clean, sectioned off in the same ways and featured many of the same products. They were even playing Steve Winwood’s “Higher Lover” as we cruised around the store. After, we walked around the neighborhood a bit and made a few pit stops on the way home. The neighborhood of Providencia is nice. The streets are narrow and the buildings brightly colored. It’s just a little outside of the main downtown area. As we walked around, it became very apparent that I am going to stand out as a tall person…and a tall woman at that. However, the people seem very friendly and smile often.
After a much needed nap and shower, I ate a little empanada I bought earlier at the store and watched some TV. The funny thing was, almost all the stations featured American shows! I flew all the way to the other side of the world to watch Two and a Half Men, Seinfeld and Scrubs. Too funny!
I’m hoping to spend the rest of the weekend exploring a bit, getting to know the area and getting a feel for the transportation system. I start work Monday morning at the Institute and am really excited for it! The only thing that I am really missing at this point is the ability to call and/or text whoever whenever I feel like it. Skype and video chat through gmail has already been put to use to remedy the situation. Thank god for advances in technology!
Take care and talk soon!
BESOS! :)
It all began in Chicago. I had a short flight from Chicago to Des Moines with a flight attendant that could have been Liza Minnelli's long lost twin sister. That was followed by another short flight from Des Moines to Dallas-Fort Worth, TX. On this flight I struck up a conversation with a nice man that said to me, "Name's William, but you can call me Will." Now Will was an interesting man, native to the State of Texas with a love for Texas that outshines even the love Sconnies have for Wisconsin. This was the first time in 2 years since he'd been back to his home state and was on leave from his tour in Iraq with the Navy. We shared laughs over a book he was reading and giggling about, a book that I read this past summer entitled, I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. Now, I know a lot of you are getting a chuckle over this because of course, I would make a new friend in an hour and a half flight, but what can I say, I just love people. Will came from such a different background than me and was doing such different things with his life, yet we bonded. He talked about his fiancée, his children, why he joined the Navy and what he wanted to do after he was done serving. Fascinating, really. Despite the many obstacles he seemed to have encountered over time, there was rarely a moment when there was not a big grin plastered on his face. Sensing my nerves about the big move, he assured me he had been to Chile and how awesome of a place it is. His optimism was inspiring and if only for that short time in air, I was comforted by the words of a stranger.
My layover in Dallas was a couple hours long, so I made my last few phone calls from my beloved U.S. cell phone…and had a few drinks. I boarded the plane a little before 9:00 pm. For the first time, my nerves seemed to dissipate and were replaced by waves of excitement as I heard mumblings of Spanish from all over the plane while I made my way to my seat. It reminded me of why I’m going on this adventure in the first place…to better my Spanish language skills! The flight itself was remarkably uneventful…and the 9 hours it took to get there flew by fast. We were served dinner and an early breakfast and had the option of watching a dumb Jessica Biel movie. I opted to sleep. The unseasoned traveler that I am did not bring a neck rest and eye mask with me, so the sleep I tried to get was interrupted by the kinks I would get in my neck and the lights from people around me trying to read. However, once day broke out over the wings of the plane, the Andes were revealed and it was a beautiful sight! The only thing that would have made the view better was a window seat.
Once I landed, I stood in long lines to pay my entrance fee into the country, collect my bags and go through customs. Toto, we are not in the Midwest anymore. This is the moment I realized that Chilean Spanish is unlike any other Spanish I’ve encountered. Meanings of words and phrases that I know were totally lost on me when spoken. The woman directing the traffic through customs wanted to know if I was carrying any food…I thought she wanted to check my documents. She was not happy with the misunderstanding. Then, the man at the customs station asked me if I needed his help…his “ayuda.” Now, I know this word, but for some reason, however he was saying it did not sound like “ayuda” to me. After he said it a couple times over, I finally understood. I seemed to have no communication problems with the man at the taxi stand, thankfully, but the taxi driver himself could not understand the address of the location I was trying to tell him. One of the other passengers, a Chilean who had spent some time learning English in New York, helped bridge the gap in understanding between the driver and me.
I made it to the place I’m staying and a little man helped me lug my very heavy bags up four flights of stairs. The look of disdain on his face clearly questioned what the hell was in my bag, but all I could respond with was a “muchas gracias.”
It’s amazing the connections you will find once you make plans such as this and move out of the country. My Aunt Tracy’s friend’s daughter, Alana, also from Wisconsin, is in Santiago and happens to be a teacher at the school where I will be working. She was kind enough to take me in for a little while until I get settled into a place of my own. Her roommate, a German woman, coincidentally spent some time in Wisconsin as an au pair…it really is such a small world!
Shortly after I arrived, Alana took me to the supermarket, which was surprisingly just like ones back home. It was clean, sectioned off in the same ways and featured many of the same products. They were even playing Steve Winwood’s “Higher Lover” as we cruised around the store. After, we walked around the neighborhood a bit and made a few pit stops on the way home. The neighborhood of Providencia is nice. The streets are narrow and the buildings brightly colored. It’s just a little outside of the main downtown area. As we walked around, it became very apparent that I am going to stand out as a tall person…and a tall woman at that. However, the people seem very friendly and smile often.
After a much needed nap and shower, I ate a little empanada I bought earlier at the store and watched some TV. The funny thing was, almost all the stations featured American shows! I flew all the way to the other side of the world to watch Two and a Half Men, Seinfeld and Scrubs. Too funny!
I’m hoping to spend the rest of the weekend exploring a bit, getting to know the area and getting a feel for the transportation system. I start work Monday morning at the Institute and am really excited for it! The only thing that I am really missing at this point is the ability to call and/or text whoever whenever I feel like it. Skype and video chat through gmail has already been put to use to remedy the situation. Thank god for advances in technology!
Take care and talk soon!
BESOS! :)
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