August 23, 2007
Notice how almost all the people are dark haired. The population is mostly short, with black/very brown hair and eyes, and medium color skin tones (they’re obviously not white as a baby’s butt, but in general I don’t think they’re as dark skinned as people typically think of when Latino comes to mind).
There are not a ton of different races living in Chile. This country definitely isn’t what you would call a “melting pot.” Those foreigners that do live here generally stay on the outskirts of the society. Anyone with slanty eyes is a “Chino,” or Chinese, and anyone extremely indigenous looking is an “Indio,” Indian (yeah, I probably didn’t need to translate those words for you did I?) without distinction as to where they’re actually from.
I have heard so many Chileans proudly tell me that racism doesn’t exist in Chile. I never point blank contradict them by saying, “Umm, yes it does.” All I have to do is just steer the conversation towards Peruvians and Bolivians and it usually doesn’t talk long until the racism rears it’s ugly head. The prejudices that some Chileans have towards those that come from Peru and Bolivia are much like the prejudices that some people in the US have against Mexicans or other Latino groups.
Anyways, my point being is that racism in Chile is still a hidden agenda because most Chileans don’t even think there’s a problem. But then again, most Chileans still haven’t even recognized how discriminatory their own country is to themselves! To get a job here you still have to attach a picture to your resume. And TONS of jobs will specifically request somebody with “buena presencia,” or good presence…aka you need to be attractive, aka you can’t look at all indigenous or they won’t hire you. Well, that’s tough since I’m sure like 99% of the population has indigenous blood.
Getting back to the matter at hand, racism does exist in Chile. When I was riding the metro yesterday a black man got on same car as me. There are far fewer blacks in Chile than blonds…judging by people’s reactions you would’ve thought this guy had like 7 arms or something nutty like that. But no, alas, he was not a human octopus, he was just black. When he hopped on the metro next to me, two people in the same general vicinity looked at him and then pointedly moved away. Sure, they might have moved away because that made their spot too crowded. But the whole metro was crowded. It was one of those things where I just knew by the look on their faces that they moved away because he was black. Just like when you can hear people whispering and you walk up and they stop. Even though you didn’t hear any exact words that they said, sometimes you just know they were talking about you.
As soon as the black man got on the metro nobody even paid any attention to my yellow head. They were too busy ogling this guy as if he had come from another planet. I smiled at him and he smiled back (aside from the fact that he was black, that’s how I know he was foreign too. Chilean people think that you’re going to rob them if you smile at them). I felt uncomfortable for him as people continued to stare and whisper.
And then I realized being blond isn’t all that hard.
August 20, 2007
Since people constantly ask me about how my husband and I met, I thought I’d clear things up for once and for all on this blog. No, he was not a mail order bride. We were actually introduced by mutual friends while I was in my first semester of study abroad in Chile. With no further ado, I present to you, My Study Abroad Romance:
When I arrived in Chile I was not at all pleasantly surprised by the quantity of hot men. Maybe it was the fact that I’m taller than a lot of them. Maybe it was the fact that they’re all waaaaaaay too hairy for my taste…I don’t mean furry chests or back hair sprouting out of their shirts, I mean they all had long hair on their heads and lots had facial hair. I’m just not into the straggly, wannabe rock star look.
When I first laid eyes on S., he was like a breath of fresh air. His head is shaved, so he’s like a sexy, small version of VinDiesel.
The first time I saw him was at a birthday party. His 24th birthday party to be precise. I had been invited to accompany a girl on my program who had been invited to the party by S.’s best friend. When she called me and practically shouted, “I’m going to a Chilean’s birthday party and he and his friend are actually hot!” I was into my hooker boots and out the door so fast I didn’t even have time to hang up the phone.
I arrived at the fiesta and my friend introduced S. as the birthday boy. He seemed a little shy and thanked me for coming. Throughout the rest of the night I noticed him staring me down and I tried to smile and look inviting so he would come and chat me up, but it didn’t work. He later told me that he was completely intimidated by me. Well, the whole night went by and nothing other than eye flirting was going on. I got bored and put on my coat to leave, and he ran up to me. He asked for my phone number. I didn’t understand him. He tried again and I still didn’t get it. I just laughed. I was tipsy and I couldn’t understand the crazy Chilean kid at all. Finally in English he asked, “How will I find you again?” and pointed to his phone. BINGO! I understood. I gave him my number, he hugged me goodbye and promised to call the next day.
TWO WEEKS PASSED and I didn’t hear from him. I was pissed and a little shocked, to be honest with you. I usually have a pretty good radar and can tell if a guy is into me or not. S. definitely seemed to be in to me but he hadn’t called. I gave up hope of ever seeing the only hot guy in Chile again.
Then one day I was walking at my Chilean university when I heard a voice calling my name with an accent. I thought that was really strange since at that point I had zero Chilean friends. So I figured the mystery voice wasn’t talking to me. But, lo and behold, the hot bald Chilean ran up to me. The first thing he said was, “Please tell me now if you gave me the wrong number on purpose and I will just leave you alone.” Ooops, my bad. Like a true, dumb gringa, I had gotten my own phone number all mixed up. But, people, cut me some slack…seis and siete sound kind of alike. We corrected my error and the rest is history. S. and I were pretty much inseparable from then on.
I began staying over at his house constantly (I’d say I moved in, but I still had to go back to my own apartment every couple of weeks to pick up more clothes and stuff). We had only been together for about a month when I had to make the decision to stay another semester in Chile or return to my university in the US. I had been considering staying anyways, because my Spanish hadn’t improved as much as I thought it would (obviously… seis and siete, yeah, DUH) but the fact that I was madly in love weighed in on my decision pretty heavily.
I moved in permanently with S. and his family that second semester. It was about that time that I began to ponder the perplexities of Chilean life.
For instance, why don’t Chileans believe in screens? The pollution in Santiago has not yet killed all living things, including bugs and rodents so it just doesn’t make sense NOT to use them. Why were my 24 year old boyfriend and his 27 year old sister still receiving monthly allowances? For that matter, why were grown adults living with their parents and not hating every second of it? Why are the people of this country so obsessed with blonds, palta (avocado) and terrible, cheesy 80′s rock music?
When I lived with my first Chilean host family, I attributed any strange customs in their household to them being weirdos. When I moved in with S. and his family, it became clear to me that all Chileans are weirdos.
And by that, I only mean that they do a lot of things that seem strange to somebody who is not part of their culture. No offense meant to any Chileans who might happen to be reading this. I know they think gringos are weirdos too.
So I moved in with S., stayed in Chile for three semesters, he came back with me to the US for three months (which was as long as his visa would allow), while I finished school he went back to Chile and found a job and when I finally came back to Chile, we got married.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
August 17, 2007
I just ate the world’s hardest granola bar ever. It was like biting into a rock. And that’s not just an analogy that I pulled out of my ass, I really have bitten into a rock before. It hurts. So did eating this granola bar. I’m pretty sure the workout my jaw just got chewing burned off all the calories I may have consumed in said granola bar.
Anyways, that’s not what I was going to blog about.
Like I’ve talked about before, I have a hard time falling asleep at night. As a result, I usually go to bed hours after my husband. I’m constantly in and out of bed, turning lights on, closing and opening doors and drawers…and the man never budges. I’d like to know how it is possible for a human being to sleep so deeply. Trying to climb over him to get into bed once I STEPPED ON HIS HEAD AND HE DID NOT WAKE UP. I thought I crushed his brain, I actually leaned in close to make sure he was still breathing. I shouted, “S! Are you OK?!?” and he respond, “mmmmmrhp,” which is his happy sleeping moan that let’s me know he’s not even close to being conscious.
I have realized that I am so lucky to be married to him! I’ve knocked over chairs, and ran into doors all while trying my hardest to be “quiet,” and not wake him up. But since it doesn’t matter and nothing I do is going to rise him out of his slumber, I might as well take advantage of that. So now I turn on the overhead light, watch TV or listen to the radio, basically I just go about as if it were daytime and I were living alone.
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