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.

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.