Chi-Chi-Chi, Le-Le-Le

For those readers who don't keep up with fútbol, last night Chile beat Colombia and now they are going to the World Cup in South Africa. Good news, yes, but an excuse for violence and debauchery in the streets. Sirens, breaking glass, lots of "Viva Chile"-ing...I thought perhaps there was another coup, but I had to remind myself that football is a matter of life and death here, and besides, it's Latin America, where people like to get riled up and hit the streets. It was exciting to walk around Plaza Italia, noticing the police barriers strewn across the street and manic fans swarming over the statue of a guy riding a horse, waving huge Chilean flags. I don't care much about the World Cup, but I know that tonight I'm glad I was in Santiago and not Bogotá.

This Thursday night

I am told by many people that Santiago de Chile, for a city of six million, is very provincial; it is no Buenos Aires, and certainly no New York or London or Paris or Tokyo. But to me, a boy from a city of barely more than 200,000, Santiago is an enormous place of blocks and tall buildings and pigeons and plazas. There are no Markhams or Kavanaughs or Dave Wards here—but there are Providencias and Vicuña McKennas and Franciso Bilbaos. When I walk home from school I count taxis and palm trees and pisos of apartment buildings.

 Tonight I went to a barbecue at my school, in celebration of graduating students (that’s me in less than two months) and las fiestas patrias, September 18, the Independence Day of Chile. I met almost every student at the school over red wine and empanadas and kebabs, made plans to travel to Mendoza and Machu Picchu, and later, outside a bar, had my first run-in with the carabineros (look it up—and I promise it’s not as dramatic as it might seem). It was one of my best nights so far in this new country, speaking confusedly a vaguely familiar and labyrinthine language, running across empty streets and humming along with my iPod songs from the Smiths, Talking Heads, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Kanye West.

 (Should you be interested, my main stomping grounds, between school and home, is Roman Diaz 257 and Eliodoro Yañez and Ricardo Lyon 1690. Mapquest it, if you must.)

 I wish that I possessed the patience to explain, detail by detail, the goings-on of my school day and a typical Friday night or Monday morning, or to document the way that Chileans live and the way that I live among them, but because I send too many emails and watch too much CNN (in English, I lament to say) it is sadly not possible. Life here is exciting in a way that can only be understood by the studying abroad or the studied abroad, people who know what it’s like to be in another part of the world doing things that are not entirely untypical, and entirely untouristy—it is the same life played a half-key off, consciously different and yet still the same. Frankly, I love it—every minute of this opposite America.

There are pictures on their way. At the moment my camera is in the apartment of a friend who is out of town, but by next week they should be here or on Flickr.

Until my next disjointed entry, Ciao.

Words, wordiness

My first five days in Santiago were spent halfway avoiding Spanish; times were not trying, and English served well my purposes. Only in the last 48 hours have I been thrust into the “immersion.” To toot my own horn, I’ve been very graceful throughout it all, both at home and in school—I understand almost all that I hear, and I handle my responses well. To silence my horn with a terrified squeak, I realize that I’m still unable to comprehend the machine-gun like man-on-the-street Spanish, which, unlike that of my teachers and family, is rife with vernacular land mines—so-called Chilenismos—and not as amused by a gringo like myself.

It is interesting (for me, anyway) to note which words I use most frequently. Obvious, perhaps, but I will record them anyway. Hablar, to speak, is one I predictably find myself saying quite a bit. Also, necesitar, as in, “necesito…?” “Do I need to…?” Two that are more surprising are olividar, to forget, and comprar, to buy. Yet another verb I find myself constantly repeating is caminar, to walk. Unfortunately I haven’t paid as much attention to the popular nouns or adjective, but I’ve had to pull out poco, little, more than I expected. Why poco? No sé.

Fascinating, I know. Naturally there is also plenty of “My name is—” and “What time is it?” And, por supuesto, the million-dollar word: gracias.

From the sound of it one must think I’m just boring the hell out of Santiago. I quote from my last blog post: “Hopefully soon there will be more interesting, anecdotal things to write about.” On second reading this line really does no justice to my experience here—for the first time in what feels like ages I’m not waking up to cheap Kroger coffee, strolling awkwardly across Donaghey Avenue into some half-rate professor’s class, and spending the afternoons looking out the window while trying to do homework. No doubt this is why, all summer long, my trip to Chile was surrounded with a certain amount of anxiety as well as excitement—it represented an excursion into the unknown, which in a way represents the gradual unfurling of my future. I am doing something different with my semester, in the same way that I will eventually be doing something different with my life, although the latter is certainly more mysterious and meaningful. I’m having an excellent time down here, and though it’s not exactly a roller coaster ride, there’s nothing like that feeling of maturation. And, I mustn’t forget, I’ve got three months to go.

Yadda yadda yadda. Ciao.

FYI

Surprise! I’m in Chile. Did you know they speak Spanish here? I’ve been assured that two months is plenty of time to learn the language and already I feel like I’m on the brink of the brink of quasi-fluency. Last night, over the first dinner with my family, I listened patiently to conversations about literature, the Chilean education system, and UFOs. I didn’t have much to contribute but I was delighted to nod my head occasionally and say sí.

My private apartment is at the back of the house, behind the garage; it’s small but, of course, entirely functional. I can come and go without bothering anyone, and there are no rules regarding curfew (whew). The weather, however, has not been so fortunate. Since I arrived on Tuesday it has been overcast and rainy, and I’ve only gotten a few glimpses of the Andes. Because of this I’ve waited on taking pictures, but there will be plenty soon.

This morning I hiked over to the school to take a placement exam and I’m pleased to have made it into the afternoon class, from 2 to 6. Most of the other students I encountered are German or Swiss, which I hope doesn’t set me behind making friends with them. Only two others are from the US.

Boring but obligatory blog post. Hopefully soon there will more interesting, anecdotal things to write about.

T-8 days

I have been in some of the world’s busiest airports: Hartsfield, O’Hare, JFK, Charles de Gaulle, Barajas, Heathrow…but in a week I am going to get on a plane all by myself for the first time in my life. I can imagine it unfolding in short, idiosyncratic episodes—“Bernard Tries To Check In His Luggage,” “Bernard Can’t Find the International Concourse,” “Bernard Spends the Night in the Airport Hotel.” Barring any pre-flight fiascos, I look forward to making up a fabulous life story to tell the person sitting next to me.

I’ll explain myself. On August 31 I’m flying to Santiago de Chile to study Spanish and…well, do other things that, fingers crossed, will be meaningful enough to be recounted in this here blog. Because I’m no good at handling myself in English, I thought it might be a good idea to thrust myself into an entirely new speech community—one that uses a language in which all I can do is ask for the time, the location of the bathroom, and (hopefully) another drink.

My visit to Chile is scheduled for three months. Only two of these will be occupied with school; that final month represents a very rude overindulgence on my part—what am I going to do? Will I have managed to make friends who can keep me company? Will I end up in the gutter? If you’re as excited about all of this as I am, be sure to stop by every now and then to see what’s up.