Chi Chi Chi! Le le le! Viva Chile!

Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for a while and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same.
-Anonymous

“You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.”
-Pablo Neruda (Chilean poet and winner of the Nobel Prize in 1971)

Last Wednesday around seven o’clock, the people of Ecuador held their breath and crossed their fingers—and undoubtedly yelled strings of expletives—as they watched the epic futbol game against Chile. Thousands of miles away, in the land of the rival, I, too, watched with eager anticipation, hopeful for their victory. My host family and a few of their friends sat with me, amazed at my loyalty for a country I had but briefly known.

Later that night, after the devastating loss (0-1), I lay awake in bed, considering my deep-set passion for the small, banana-loving country of Ecuador. I began to realize that living in a place is completely distinct from traveling; a piece of yourself is left behind, a memento of what has transpired there, stored securely in the recesses of the heart. That place becomes a second home and, as I reflect upon my life’s travels, I can identify several spots that hold special importance: Libertyville, IL (forever home), the University of Notre Dame (where I became myself), Toledo, Spain (where I feel in love with Spanish), San Antonio, Texas (where I learned how to teach), and Quito, Ecuador (where I set myself free).

Driving down the streets of Santiago for the first time, I felt a strange cultural shock that I had not experienced when entering Ecuador. The neat rows of skyscrapers, the perfectly sculpted sidewalks, the abundance of Starbucks were all strangely reminiscent of my beloved hometown Chicago; however, I had grown so accustomed to the haphazard yet comfortable lifestyle in Ecuador, the woman selling golden oritos for 10 cents, the fresh scent of jungle air, the passion on the salsa floor. Coming to Santiago felt like I had arrived back in the states, leaving the magic of South America far behind.

Luckily, this initial reaction has gradually faded, as I become more ensconced in daily Chilean life, I discover that Chile is delightfully full of irregularities. I should point out that I do not intend to disparage all countries outside of the United States with the perception of “other;” on the contrary, I relish the differences, intrigued by linguistic and cultural variants, often finding that, the more I learn about dissimilarities, the better I understand both their culture and my own.

Oddities abound in Chile. For example, in Santiago there is no line number 3 in the metro system, despite the fact that there is a 1, 2, 4, and 5. The Linea Azul (Blue Line) bus company paints their buses yellow and orange. Chileans eat a snack called the “once,” meaning eleven, at five o’clock. Last week the weather was in the 70’s; today, we had a hailstorm. Yet, despite the idiosyncrasy, Chile is actually a well-organized and highly functional society. Public transportation is easy to manage—as long as you remember to flag down the bus—and you’d be hard-pressed to find a lazy Chilean roaming the streets. It’s no surprise that Chile has one of the strongest economies in all of South America.

Chileans are also very distinct from the typical expectation of a person from South America. In my classes, I have several students with blonde and red hair, and many with skin tones far lighter than my pallidity. Despite the European appearance of many Chileans, white non-Chileans or “gringos” are easily identified as foreigners, especially when they start talking. The linguistic differences are innumerous, including words exclusively employed by Chileans such as “po” and “cachei.” I have provided a brief dictionary of common Chilean terms below should you choose to further your knowledge of Chilean Spanish.

Important Chilean Words and Phrases
cachei? = do you get me? (a shortened vosotros version of the verb cachar)
filo = whatever
fome = boring (another common word employed by students when given assignments)
gringo = a white foreigner (a term that originated in Mexico)
huevon = dude/man (though be careful, in most countries other than Chile it is a very strong expletive)
ir a carrete = to go party (called “farra” in Ecuador)
po = well (comes from “pues” and is commonly attached to the end of ALL sentences)
pololo = boyfriend (novio in most Spanish-speaking countries)
pololear = dating
seco = pro or expert (literally means “dry”)
vacan = cool

Additionally, I should provide a little geographic background for those readers who, like me before arriving, only know that Chile is a long, skinny country on the west coast of South America. To give the size of Chile some perspective: if superimposed on a map of the U.S., Chile would stretch from northern Maine to Southern California. It is 2,647 miles long and only 110 miles across, halting at the natural barrier of the impressive Andes Mountains. Due to the distance, Chile incorporates many different climates and geographic regions, including the Atacama Desert in the north, the rich soil of the wine-growing central region, the scenic lake district of the south, and the rugged, formidable landscape of Tierra del Fuego in the south. Off the mainland, Chile includes Easter Island, renowned for its mysterious stone sculptures or Moais, and part of Antarctica.

Santiago, my home for the next fifteen months, is a sprawling city nestled in the Andes Mountains of the central region with a temperate climate and all the amenities a city can provide. For the next three months, I am living with a Chilean family, though I quickly learned that they are far from typical. For starters, my host father is Japanese (Seiji) and the two nannies (Maria Elena and Liset) that live and work at the house are Peruvian, making for quite an international mix. My three host brothers, seven-year old twins named Masaru and Satoru and a five-year old named Hikaru, take Tai Kuan Do and have a seemingly endless store of energy. Valeria, my thirty-something Chilean mother, is beautiful and one of the warmest people I have ever met.

My mom (Vale) and my twin brothers (Masa and Sato)

My host dad (Seiji)

Vale with my youngest host brother (Hiki)

On weekdays, we stay up late watching “Donde Esta Elisa?” a popular Chilean soap opera with dramatic pauses, close-ups and fade-outs, and ridiculously drawn-out revelations. Sometimes I accompany Valeria to her beat-pumping exercise classes, though the dance steps are a little too advanced for this clumsy gringa. Sushi is a popular treat and I have just about eaten my weight in seafood. We also enjoy a mutual cultural sharing, such as last night’s discussion about peanut butter where my entire host family revealed their disgust for this fattening substance. Maria Elena later asked me (in Spanish, of course), “So, you like that butter with peanuts?” Butter with peanuts??? I had never really considered the literal breakdown of my favorite snack spread, but I have a new perspective on why the rest of the world thinks it is so revolting.

Not to be outdone, Chileans have their own addictive substance that is applied to every flour-based food, from toast to cake: manjar. Similar to the Argentinian dulce de leche, manjar is a thick, carmel-like spread made with milk and sugar. Apparently it has less than half the number of calories as peanut butter, but I’m not about to change allegiances anytime soon.

Since last night, I learned that conversing about peanut butter reveals many commonly held opinions about Americans. For example, my host mother not-so-reluctantly revealed that, prior to meeting me, she worried I would be too obese to fit in the bed. When discussing the topic at school, a fifth grade boy looked incredulous when I responded affirmatively to his question, “And you eat bacon too? I hear they put it on hamburgers!” Americans, we have work to do!

Life in Chile is far busier than in Ecuador, mainly due to the drastic change from a leisurely four hours of Spanish class to teaching five to seven classes a day full of young, occasionally adorable, rascals who roll on the floor and make popping noises during instructional time. I should take a moment to explain the anomaly of an educational institution that is St. George’s College. With over 2,000 students ranging in ages from four to eighteen, the place often feels more like a university campus than an elementary, middle, and high school. The students typically come from middle to upper-class families and are given an abundance of independence.

For example, unlike my orderly lines of second graders in San Antonio who, always accompanied by a teacher, walked with hands behind backs and mouths shut tight, the students of St. George’s stampede from class to class without supervision, flinging school supplies through the air with complete disregard for desks, chairs, and young, blonde English teachers who happen to be standing nearby. Yet, despite the chaos, the students are remarkable intelligent and, beginning at age six, demonstrate a great deal of responsibility in remembering their own school schedules.

The Campus of St. George's

The Walkway

From a teacher’s perspective, the school is a dream come true. In Texas, I had one break a day for planning and my lunch and recess was spent with my students in close proximity. Here, all teachers and students have a twenty-minute morning break for “recreo” during which we snack on crackers and pate and down steaming cups of coffee. Lunch lasts an hour and another afternoon break of fifteen-minutes gives us another chance to unwind. As the traveling English teacher, I will have five classes of students and teach one or two English clubs, which are non-graded educational courses with a content-based focus such as story-telling or exploring nature. Meaning, I will likely have some days where I have two or three planning periods. Unsurprisingly, little to no planning or grading is done at home since there is ample time to finish everything at school. What a dramatic change from my Sunday afternoon cram sessions of planning thirty-five lessons for the week and grading mountains of student work!

At school this past week I have been subbing for the first grade classes since Patti is in the states for a wedding. Though they are a little crazy to manage, there have been many moments of hilarity, as is common with young children. For example, one morning, we were going through the daily routine of answering the question, “How do you feel today?” I was walking around, listening to partners, when I heard Luca declare, “I feel salami!” “No, no, Luca,” I corrected, “You feel happy.” Luca insisted, “SALAMI!” Giving up, I moved on to the next group until it was time to gather together as a class and share. Two students were seated at the front of the room holding the visual for this activity, a series of faces matching the words “happy, sad, tired, excited, and angry.” And, under “happy,” there was a crimson circle spotted with white and yellow dots. Ah, salami. Smart kid.

Another entertaining moment occurred with my host family. In the car one afternoon, my host mother Valeria tried to explain to the boys that I was more like a host sister than a host daughter since we are only eleven years apart. After several painfully long minutes of confusion, she began anew. "You see, Sato," she slowly and explicitly articulated (in Spanish, of course), "If Laura was my daughter, I would have been pregnant with her when I was eleven. Pregnant With Laura at Eleven. Do you understand?" Satoru fervently nodded. Satisfied, we turned our attention back to the road. After a moment, he jumped out of his seat and loudly proclaimed, "Laura is pregnant?!?!" We might have had better luck explaining in English.

Despite the numerous hours now spent at school, I have had a chance to travel around Chile a bit and to experience the lunacy that is the nightlife in Santiago. My second weekend, I joined Heather, Connor, and an American Ambassador named Patrick on a trip to Valle Nevado, a nearby mountain with beautiful skiing slopes. Thanks to Valeria, I was decked out from head to toe in ski gear: jacket, pants, boots, and even my own skis! In Ecuador, the phrase “puro equipo” is used to describe a person who has all the equipment and none of the expertise. Dressed like a pro but with wobbly legs designed for flatter terrain, “puro equipo” is an accurate summary of my ski experience.

Heather, Connor, Patrick, and me

"Puro equipo"

Heather and I spent the morning on the gentler slopes at the base of Valle Nevado. After embracing the inevitable face-plants in the snow, I began skiing without braking and found myself comfortably maneuvering down the slippery snow. By lunchtime, our confidence had peaked and Heather and I hopped on the ski lift to the top of the mountain to meet the boys for lunch. After sharing a delicious burger and hotdog, both with ample amounts of palta (avocado), a popular addendum to any meat product in Chile, we bravely and successfully navigated our way down the steep slope. We ended the day with a taza of hot cocoa and got back on the Santiago-bound bus for a much-deserved snooze.

Heather and I looking like pros

Valle Nevado

The next weekend, Johnnie and I were invited to join Gonzalo, an ND graduate and our newest Chilean friend, and his group for a trip to his lake house at Panguipulli. We left on Friday evening and, after a quick round of introductions in the parking lot of a gas station, we piled into three cars and began the nine-hour drive to the Lakes District of Southern Chile. Arriving at three AM, the gringa room (Johnnie, Katie, Molly, and myself) began changing for bed; but, if I have learned anything about Chileans, I should have anticipated that a weekend night cannot and will not end before 6AM. In our pajamas we pumped up the music and danced until the sun rose up to greet us.

Panguipulli

We spent the rest of the weekend relaxing, getting to know Gonzalo’s friends, and dancing away the nights. On Saturday, we made a special point to drive into town for the much-anticipated Chile vs. Colombia game. After much jumping about, the game ended in victory and we took to the streets! A stream of honking cars had formed a makeshift parade, with impassioned fans hanging out of the windows, chanting, and wildly waving flags. “Chi Chi Chi! Le le le! Viva Chile!”

Marly and I watching the game

The next day at the lake house was tranquil and warm, giving a chance to explore Panguipulli and take harta (plenty of) photos. I also squeezed in a few long runs on the gravel trails that weave through the graceful hills, revitalizing my passion for distance runs. Juan Luis Guerra kept me grooving with his quick bachata beat as I raced by sheep and horses along the wooded trails. Hopefully I can keep the fervor going until the Santiago marathon in ‘10!

Katie and I enjoy empanadas de pino

There is much more to write but, after more than three weeks of silence—a lot for this avid blogger—I think it is high time to publish this entry. Spring is in the air and I am certain that there will be many more stories to share before long. I am also including a couple of photos of my recent shopping venture with my new Chilean girlfriends, Marly and Rosarito. Soon, I’ll be looking so Chilean, even natives won’t be able to tell the difference—at least, here’s to hoping!

Johnnie and I showing off the goods

Rosarito and Marly showing off their Patronato purchase

Also, if the spirit should move you, send love, letters, and large packages to...

Current Address (until the middle of December):
Camino Los Trapenses 4820, Casa 18
Lo Barnechea, Santiago
CHILE

CHACE House Address (from this December until December ´10):
Napoleon 3400, Dpto. 12
Los Condes, Santiago
CHILE

I promise to respond with a postcard at the very least!!!! Thank you for the personal emails and, if you get a chance, do yourself a favor and download “Ojala que llueva cafe” or “Como yo” by Juan Luis Guerra. You won’t be disappointed!