February 29, 2008
I have a growing group of friends who are all expats in Chile, mostly here for Chilean men Interesting side note, why are there no gringo men here for Chilean women? That doesn’t seem to be a very popular scenario.
Anyways, in hanging out with my group of amigas, I think it’s really interesting to see where each of them is at in her life and in her feelings towards Chile.
Two of the ladies seem to have mostly pure and unadulterated hatred for this country. Granted one of them basically lived in the bowels of Chile for a few years without the modern comforts that the city has to offer (ummm, like lack of central heating and a generally crappy, overcrowded transportation system?) and the other’s husband has a kid from a previous relationship. I mean, not that children make people despise Chile, but emotions can be very circumstantial and I think being a stepmom with no kids is probably one of the hardest roles in life that a person can take on. Add to that the stresses of living in a foreign country, plus in-laws that make you want to hurt them on a regular basis, and you have a recipe for not being in a very good state of mind.
Then two other friends have quite the opposite take on things. They are both madly in love with this place and never want to leave. Well, never say never, as they’ve only been here 3 months. When you’ve only been here 3 months, even if you are planning on staying indefinitely, you’re still basically like a glorified exchange student. Everything is still new and exciting, especially if you arrived in the summer. But when the aforementioned lack of central heating kicks in and you realize that you are constantly wet and freezing during the glorious season of winter, even inside any building you enter, including your own home, the rose colored glasses generally shatter to a million, tiny, sad little pieces. Unless you’re rich of course.
Which brings me to several other gringas I’ve met who have all come here a. with money, or b. for a Chilean with money. These people live in apartments that have central heating and go places in cars, which is a HUGE luxury in this city. In some situations their daddies might pay the rent and they are never forced to realize the limitations of living off of an actual (triste) Chilean salary. If they’re women who married into Chilean money, they might not work, they probably have at the very least one live in maid, if not more. They shop at Portal La Dehesa and don’t worry about silly things like an exorbitant book tax making some books cost up to $300 dollars. If these women want the damn book then they buy the damn buy…with hubby’s money obviously. I’m not going to lie, sometimes I envy these women. If you have money, Chile feels just like the U.S. It’s frighteningly easy to forget about the other 98% of the country that doesn’t have it as good.
I also have two friends (weird how there are two of each isn’t it?) who live in Santiago Centro. Just speaking those words brings dread to my heart. People are constantly robbing other people in El Centro. Seriously, you can walk down the street, any hour of the day and it’s not uncommon to spot a thief pulling the grab and run with some poor old lady’s purse. And there are SO many people. Herds and herds of people, like animals with mad cow disease, running into each other and not saying sorry. I imagine that this is what any major city is like in China, except that the herds are probably shorter and skinnier and possibly more polite (although that could definitely be an untrue stereotype. I have no idea, I’ve never been to China).
El Centro is unpleasant to say that least. I give any gringa that braves it out there a lot of credit. Both El Centro gringas that I know are very chill, laid back girls who don’t seem to let city life get under their skin. I say, if you’ve ever lived Baquedano o mas abajo, you should get to wear a special gringa badge of honor. Estacion Central REPRESENT. I did it for two years and you could not pay me to move back there now! Anyways, the two El Centro girls are also here more permanently. One works an actual Chilean-like job (meaning she gets off of work at 7pm) and one studies here, as in not abroad, but is actually completing her entire degree here. Maybe since they are actually living inside the culture rather than on the outskirts of it, but they seem very happy here. Not euphorically happy like the ones of have just moved here, but not miserable here either. They’re just living Chilean life, and they seem to accept things as they are rather than wish things were different, or wish that they were somewhere else.
Why did I write this giant post on my friends and not on myself, since that’s what we narcissistic bloggers normally do? Because I receive lots of emails from people who want to move/study abroad in/visit Chile and I want to give them some other perspectives besides just mine.
More than anything, the people who write me are always curious as to the why’s and how’s. Why am I here, how did I do it? And then there are always the “Is it easy” questions.
Is it easy to get a job in Chile?
Is it easy to learn Spanish?
Is it easy to make friends there?
Is it easy find a place to live in Santiago?
Over the course of my correspondence with many people who have found me via my blog, I’ve discovered that everybody wants to know how easy everything is here. The answer is no. To every question. Nothing here is easy in the slightest. Chileans actually pride themselves on making life hard for themselves and everyone around them. I believe I actually read that the national motto is, “Why wait in one line, when we can make you wait in four?” And suffering is just something to brag about. Example:
“Hey Chilean person, will you turn on the air conditioning in the car?”
“No you crazy gringo, air conditioning is for wusses, it’s never too hot for me. Watch me swelter, I can stand the heat because I’m awesome.”
When people ask me questions about whether I’m happy here or not I give them honest answers. I am. I have a great life here (which my husband and I have worked our respective asses off for).
I’m extremely happy but at the same time I don’t want to encourage those romantic notions of living this amazing life in some crazy foreign country. People who have those sort of expectations about Chile (or anywhere, I imagine) are usually let down. Your life is pretty much what you make of it, no matter where you are. If you are a happy person in the U.S. you’ll probably be happy in Chile. If you’re miserable wherever you are, don’t even bother coming, because Chile will just compound that emotion and make you want to throw yourself off a cliff.
Here are some other gringa expats in Chile married to Chilean blogs if you want to know more about life in Santiago:
Transcultural Vogueing
A Chile Tale
Girl. Meets. Chile.
Don’t Call Me Gringa
February 21, 2008
Yep, it’s my birthday. I have completed my 24rd year on this earth successfully. To reward me, the universe gave me an eclipse. I’m special! Haha, as my friend Amanda said, as the moon was glowing red in the sky, “It’s like a birthday balloon given to you by god.” I imagined him booming down in Morgan Freeman’s voice (from Bruce Almighty, one of my favorite movies):
“Happy birthday my child. Enjoy my eclipse and don’t forget, thou shalt always do unto others…”
But, seriously, an eclipse that starts at 12:01 on my birthday must be a good omen. I’m feeling lucky 
February 17, 2008
We’re not newlyweds anymore! We’ve officially completed our first year together as wife and husband.
Our first anniversary was this weekend, and my lovely husband surprised me with a trip to a hotel here in Santiago. His original plan was to rent a car and take me somewhere outside the city but with his work schedule we really would not have had the time. But I’d say a nice hotel is more than enough. I was just thrilled because I really didn’t think he had anything planned. Then on Thursday he asked me to clear my schedule from lunchtime on Saturday through lunchtime on Sunday. So I got all my Saturday reports for my dad done late Friday night, then woke up early on Saturday to do more work so I could be done in time to go. It was a close call but by the time he was back from work I was ready to go! He arrived home and told me to pack my bag and not to bring anything too fancy but to make sure I didn’t look too “trashy” either. Thanks honey. Haha, he does have a point, I often go places in my pajamas. What can I say? I’m used to working from my apartment so I pretty much never change into real clothes. I couldn’t stand the suspense so I begged and pleaded until he told me our destination — the Marriott hotel! Hallelujah!!! I was so excited just for one night in luxury (aka AMAZING feather pillows and the softest mattress EVER).
When we got to the hotel, we checked in and went up to our room. The first thing I did was turn the air conditioning down to sub-Artic temperatures. Anybody who has ever roomed with me in college knows how I feel about my air conditioning. I like to be freezing during every season of the year! In Chile air conditioning does not exist in any of the houses or apartment buildings, so I jumped on my chance to shiver the night away under a huge pile of covers.
After resting and relaxing, showering in the huge shower, and enjoying our beautiful view towards the mountains from the 21st floor, we headed out for a romantic dinner. We found a nearby restaurant with a nice breezy patio and ate delicious food. Then we walked around the mall looking for tennis shoes for S. No dice. Since we were unlucky in shopping we stopped at the grocery store (that S. built when he was working for his old company) and picked up champagne and rum and Coke. We got back and drank and cuddled in our awesomely chilly air conditioned room, it was so wonderful! And the next morning we got up and ate the Marriott’s breakfast buffet, which coincidentally, cost us more than our hotel room (we got a huge discount on our room because of being cousins with someone who works there. We paid less than 25% of the full price). The food was so ridiculous. I calculate that I ate something like 8,000 calories in bacon and hash browns this morning. What?!? Don’t judge, that breakfast was expensive, I needed to eat my money’s worth! Oh yeah, and it was like true gringo food that I haven’t had in forever. I couldn’t get enough!!!
So that was our first wedding anniversary. We each wrote each other nice little letters too, since the first anniversary you’re supposed to give a gift of paper. I don’t really know why, but I figured it’s better safe than sorry So we followed tradition in order to not bring bad luck upon us, but really I thought the best omen of the weekend was something else. When we were out to eat on Saturday night we met a couple dining at the same restaurant. They were Canadians who were here exploring and then going on a cruise around Cape Horn. The duo declared that Chile was “paradise,” and that Santiago, is “…Amazing! What’s not to like?!?” I kept my mouth shut and smiled and nodded. They’ll never be here long enough to know what the reality of life is really like. For them Santiago’s reality is the Marriott hotel. Anyways, when we got on in the conversation we found out that they have been married for 40 years. They looked truly in love and I was so impressed when I heard how long they had been together. Still traveling, still in love and still loving life together…now that’s a relationship I can tip my hat to. Their advice they gave when they heard we were celebrating one year of marriage, was that we should take things just 5 years at a time. Ok. I guess I can handle that. Although the truth is, for the most part I only take things one day at a time anyways. Five years is pretty much way too far in advance for me to plan.
We could literally be anywhere in the world in five years. But I like the concept of their advice, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
I had a whole bunch of stuff that I was going to write about my husband and how he is the best husband I could ask for, and how being a newlywed was challenging but rewarding and I know the future has good things in store for us…but then I decided not to get sappy on this blog. I’m pretty sure that’s not why people read me
Postings here have been sparse lately, but I just started a job at a new blog — Styledash, check it out, I actually get my name under my stories, not like at my other job where I’m a ghost writer and nobody even knows I exist! My last post for my new blog was about vaginas, that’s always a fun topic.
Anyways, I am basically a writing machine these days, so I’m a little drained when it comes to creativity. Pounding out 12 stories a day is harder work than it sounds even if they are short, and about fun topics like celebrities and vaginas and style. When you throw the work I do for my dad in the mix as well, I’m pretty much at a computer for 12 hours day. Finding it in me to write a blog entry here isn’t as easy as it used to be. And then the fact that I don’t have time to comment back just embarrasses me. It’s like not sending thank you notes (speaking of which, I have some just waiting to be sent out from over 6 months ago, I really need to get on that). It makes me feel completely guilty and awash with shame. *Hangs head* Sorry.
February 8, 2008
Since I have now joined the gym I thought I should get my money’s worth and start going to some classes. Actually, that’s a total lie. Going to classes is really easy cardio. I suffer way less than when I’m on the treadmill. That’s why I occasionally go. So far I have went to several Aerobox classes. I really don’t think they’re terribly challenging, but the Chilenas who also attend would probably beg to differ. Each class we lose at least two women before the end, and that’s not counting those who just sit down on the floor taking periodic rest breaks. We usually begin the routine by simple feet moves and air punching. But when the teacher starts throwing kicks in that’s when they start dropping like flies.
I’ll be brutally honest on here and admit that I had been feeling quite athletically superior to the other girls in my class. Aerobox doesn’t fatigue me, I learn the routines easily, and the teacher always nods approvingly at how hard I punch and how high I kick. Basically, I’m an Aerobox champ. So when Aerobox started getting boring after a few sessions I thought I’d go on to conquer another cardio class simply called Baile.
Negative. There was no conquering to be had of any sort.
WHY WOULD I DO THAT TO MYSELF?!?! Baile means dance in English. I would NEVER submit myself to the tortures of a dance class in the U.S. I guess saying baile, rather than dance just sounds much less threatening so I figured I’d be ok. But no, I was about as equally sucky in my Baile class as I was awesome in my Aerobox class.
White men can’t jump and white girls can’t dance.
That’s just the way things work. Ever since I was a child I’ve had no rhythm. I have specific memories from 4th grade when I went to a Janet Jackson concert where everyone in the audience was waving their arms in the air and clapping to the beat. The dancers on the stage were doing a ridiculously, insanely amazing routine, Janet panted into the microphone as she tried to sing along. The energy in the air was palpable. I wanted so badly to clap along with everyone else but I simply could not get it. I clapped at the wrong moments every single time. Consequently, I went home from the concert and decided I wanted to be a dancer, OR a famous singer when I grew up. 4th graders dream big. My always positive mother did nothing to discourage these ideas in spite of the fact that I couldn’t carry a tune or shake my booty to save my life. Just like when I wanted to be an Olympic gymnastic after I watched heroic Kerri Strug do a gold medal vault on an ankle with no bones…or something, my mom didn’t say me, “Kyle, you’re chubby, you can’t do the splits, and you’ve decided on this career way too late in life. Gymnasts peak at 10. You’re 11, you’re over the hill, forget about it. You’ll never be an anorexic midget like Olympic gold medal winner.” No, my mom encouraged my love of dance watching endless routines (on roller skates nonetheless) set to the music of Janet’s awe inspiring, “If I was your lover oh the things I’d do to you…”
By the way Mom, who lets a 4th grader listen to that kind of music, let alone go to those kinds of concerts? You’re lucky I didn’t turn out to be promiscuous!
Anyways, back to the point, being that I danced and gymnasticked my way through childhood, never realizing the full extent of my suckage at both. It wasn’t until I was in college that I actually saw myself in a mirror trying to move to music. Let’s just say that this was not a pretty sight. For some reason those memories had faded when I signed myself up for Baile class at the gym but oh how they came rushing back when the music turned on and everyone started to shimmy and shake accordingly.
Fortunately I am a direct descendant from a long line of Those-Who-Are-Not-Easily-Embarrassed. Like my forefathers (and foremothers) before me, it takes more than salsa and merengue to make me feel stupid. So at Baile class I watched the instructor closely, I followed her every move closely but I knew that I was way too stiff to be doing it right (thank you for that, 6 summers of cheerleading camp). Even though I picked up the routines easily and remembered the steps that I should have been doing (and thank you for that as well, cheerleading camp hell making us practice routines until 2 am and then waking us up at 6 am for more), I knew I looked nothing like the rest of the girls in the class. For example, you know the boob shimmy, when you walk forward holding your arms out wide and shake your boobs like Shakira? When we did that I’m pretty sure all I did was just walk forward with my arms out. There was no gyrating involved, not for lack of want, but for lack of talent. Or when the routine involved clapping I just air clapped after the first couple times when I kept making noise on the off beats and people kept staring. Basically, the Chilenas kick my ass at the cha cha, the salsa, the mamba and any other dance that involves utilizing your assets.
I was busy holding my breath the entire time wishing and hoping that the teacher would, at no point in time, say the dreaded words freestyle. If you’re like me, you understand. Freestyle is your worst enemy and line dancing is your best friend. Fortunately I wasn’t subjected to that. What I was subjected to was a veritable sea of camel toes. Seriously. Some of these women really need to look into finding new outfits for their vajayjays.
So I spent the hour trying not to look down and composing this blog entry in my head. From now on I think I’ll stick to Aerobox.
February 3, 2008
In other news, I got another blogging job! I’m pretty excited about it! I’ll be working for Styledash which is a really awesome AOL fashion blog. I applied on Thursday night, right before their deadline, and heard back on Friday. It was soooooo nice not to have to go through the agony of waiting to find out. I hate not knowing about job, it’s the worst kind of suspense there is.
I haven’t been updating this blog as much lately, but if you really miss me, I’m posting a lot more regularly over at The Skinny In Chile.
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- @dregonzrob, hahaha, eating wall paper, that's a new one. Dog whisperer dato coming your way :)
- @lanapuckett, when we get back I'll have to introduce you to @gabrielrodriguez, @sebamilla and @sebastiankaulen!
- @dregonzrob, you need the dog whisperer!!!
- Brian McBride is announcing his retirement from the game today. He will go down in history for me as my favorite U.S. player ever. LOVE him.
- Caroline and Tommy should probably stop being this hot or somebody's going to catch on fire. http://tinyurl.com/2feozcy
- Writing w/ @imnotobsessed tomorrow early! Love catching people up on their daily dose of gossip and I <3 @inosherry, my online co-worker :)
