Group Post: How to Alienate a Chilean

Margaret at Cachando Chile proposed a group blog on things that alienate Chileans. I'm a little late jumping on the bandwagon because I had other things to blog about, but here goes my interpretation. Check out Margaret's post (especially the comments) and these posts for some other great ideas. I also wrote two posts on Chilean courtesy which are here and here which address many of the same issues.

Don't call me gringa
Annje
La Gringuita Diaries
A Gringa Living in Santiago
Transcultural Vogueing


As Margaret mentioned, Chileans LOVE their sandwhiches. And the concept of the sandwhich is very different here in Chile than in the US. Go to places like La Fuenta Alemana, Dominó or Dónde el Guatón and you'll get something that looks like this:

This is a Churrasco Italiano, which is thinly sliced steak, with mayonaaise, mashed avocado and tomato slices on pan frica, which I don't know how to translate, but it's like a high quality hamburger bun. There are other variations, on this sandwhich. You can subsitute the meat for pork or thicker steak or even chicken. You can subsitute the condiments for sauerkraut, salsa americana, green beans, cheese, onions and eggs. Don't ask me why it's called salsa americana. I've never tried it, but it looks like this and is maybe kind of like relish? Anyway, these sandwiches all have special names depending on what condiments are used. My favorite name is the Chemilico, which has fried onions and an egg.

Salsa Americana...looks...delicious?

Anyway, soon after I arrived in Chile for the first time, I went to a friend of a friend's house because it was her birthday. There were four of us sitting around, chatting: three Chileans and me. For some reason they started talking about sandwhiches. At this point in my aquisition of Chilean Spanish, I was definitly in the "listening" stage. I didn't talk much. However, my friend wanted to involve me in the conversation, so he asked what my favorite sandwhich was. So I started describing it: good whole wheat bread...WAIT! My friend yelled out. WHOLE WHEAT BREAD? How BORING!! Um...oops?? I thought, but he encouraged me to keep describing. Okay, good whole wheat bread, smoked turkey, lettuce, tomatos, sprouts, cheddar cheese and honey mustard.

The Chileans stared at me. And do you eat that hot or cold? They asked. Cold, I replied. That's so boring!! They all proclaimed then started describing various versions of the sandwhich shown above. At that point, I'd never tried anything of the sort and it sounded kind of gross to me, but they all promised me they'd take me to Fuente Alemana some day to see what a real sandwhich was like. I should point out that this conversation was all in buena onda, as in, we were all laughing as I was unsuccessfuly trying to laude the merits of a US-style sandwhich.

I have to admit that a good Churrasco Italiano is now one of my favorite types of sandwiches. Yes, it packs a punch in terms of calories, but oh man is it delicious. Apparently, I really didn't know what I was missing! Now when Chileans ask what my favorite sandwich is, I don't miss a beat. Churrasco Italiano, of course!

Gringo or not?

Chileans like to lump people into Ethnic groups. If you're Asian, you're Chino (Chinese). If you're Middle Eastern you're Turco or Arabe (Turkish or Arabic). If you're Canadian, from the U.S., British, Irish, Scottish, Australian or Kiwi, you're Gringo. In fact, a lot of Chileans lump Germans, French and other light haired, light eyed Western Europeans in with the Gringos, despite the fact they're native tongue is not English.

In Chile, I've never thought twice about being called Gringa. I realize that in other Latin American countries, like Mexico, it can be offensive. During my time in El Salvador I don't remember the topic coming up, but I do remember no one called me gringa or gringuita (little gringa) but rather chele or chelita which basically translates to "whitey" and "little whitey." (Funny, in Chile chela or chelita means beer!) But the point is, in Chile being called gringo or gringa is simply a descripitive term 99% of the time.

However, I never thought about how English speakers from across the pond thought about being called gringo. Apparently, some of them don't like it very much!

Yesterday I went to N.'s* soccer game. He plays in an International League and there are teams made up of ex-pats and immigrants from various countries around the world. I think that most of the teams are Chilean, but there was a Japanese team playing when we arrived, and N.'s team was going to play against the team he called, "Los Gringos." He wasn't sure where they were from, but he guessed they weren't from the U.S. He was right. They were sponsored by Flannery's Irish Pub and from what I could tell, there were some British, some Irish, maybe Australian players. There were at least two Chileans as well.

This game was important, because whoever lost was in danger of dropping down into the second division of the league, which would be very damaging to all of the players' egos. N's team was pretty confident they were going to win because they had beat this same team 6-0 a few weeks ago. However, after N's team made the first goal right off, The Gringos came back strong and at half time the score was Gringos 3, Chileans 2.

Things got sloppy in the second half. The refs were calling lots of fouls and giving out yellow cards left and right. At one point the Gringos were up 4-2 after putting in a penalty kick. Everyone was pretty tense, and some choice words were exchanged between the Chileans and Gringos. The Gringos threw around the F bomb as if it were nothing, and one Chilean player called one of them "gringo culiado"(effing gringo). The gringo in question got mad. Really mad. So he goes, "I'm not even a gringo!" and proceeds to pull down his pants and moon N's team's bench. Lovely.

The ref didn't see, but N. (who was on the bench at this point) went over to complain to the lady who was keeping the time. She had seen everything, so she called over the line judge (is that what they're called in soccer?) who called over the ref, who kicked out the immature little twit who had mooned us. The idiot kept insisting that he was just arranging his tee-shirt, but he was full of it.

I'm not sure if this was just because the atmosphere was so heated during this game, or if people who aren't North American, or aren't from the US even, don't like to be called "gringo". And if they indeed don't like it, I don't really understand why. Is it because they don't like being grouped into a stereotype? Does it have something to do with not wanting to be associated with people from the U.S.? I mean, showing your ugly white butt a bunch of Chilean players (and an innocent gringa bystander) is a pretty strong (if not strange and immature) reaction, even given the tense situation.

Anyway, N.'s team came back to win 6-5. It was an exciting game. Strangely, despite the fact that it was a Chilean team playing against a team called "Los Gringos" (a group I'm a part of, according to Chileans) not once did I feel any sympathy towards them. The guys on the bench were doing some serious trash talking and not once did I feel bad for "Los Gringos" or feel as if I were betraying my "kind" in any shape or form. I wonder if I would have had the same feeling if it were a team of players from the U.S.? Is it because the group "Gringos" is artificial for me, as in a group that was invented by Chileans but that I don't identify with? Maybe in my mind, although I call myself a gringa, I separate U.S. Gringos from Australian Gringos from British Gringos.

I could go on and on about all the societal groups I identify with, but that's another post.



*N. will now be "the guy I am dating."

Mi primer post en castellano

Me di cuenta hoy que nunca he escrito un post en castellano. Sé que tengo lectores que leen esto en traducción, así que pensé escribir un post en español. Aunque vivo en Chile, paso mucho tiempo hablando inglés por mi trabajo, y a veces temo que mi capacidad de hablar, escribir y leer castellano disminuya por esto. En la U, tuve que escribir ensayos en castellano practicamente cada semana, y leer muchas novelas. Entonces aunque hablaba menos cuando vivía en EEUU, escribía y leía más. Hace como año y medio que no escribo nada en castellano que sea más largo que un correo electrónico o una conversación en MSN, que quizás ni siquiera debería contar.

Ahora estoy tratando de cambiar esto. He empezado a leer una novela de una escritora chilena. El libro se llama Dile que no estoy de Alejandra Costamagna. Un estudiante mío, que era profesor de literatura de Alejandra, me lo prestó. Aún no lo termino, pero hasta ahora me encanta. Es uno de los libros que no quiero que termine porque me gusta tanto.

Lo que me soprende es que aunque no he leído nada más que el diario en castellano por el último año y medio, entiendo casi todo. No he buscado ninguna palabra en el diccionario. No sé si es quizás porque la escritora es chilena, así que usa palabras conocidas para mi. O quizás soy más capa que había pensado...jaja.

Bueno, de todas maneras estoy tratando de aprovechar más las oportunidades que tengo acá en Chile de hablar, leer, escribir y escuchar castellano. Porque aunque no lo crean, es muy posible vivir en Santiago y no hablar ni entender una palabra de castellano. No tengo este estilo de vida para nada, pero creo que sí, hablo demasiado inglés para alguien que vive en un país hispanoparlante.

No puedo prometer que estos posts serán una parte tan regular del blog. Lo que pasa es que escribo este blog para mi familia en EEUU, y creo que a mi Tía Bonnie, mis papas y mis abuelos no les gustaría que escribiera en castellano todo el tiempo. Pero voy a tratar de tener quizás un post por mes en castellano, eso sí.

PD. Si quieren corrigir mi castellano con buena onda, no tengo problemas. Sé que no escribo perfectamente, pero creo que por lo menos me entienden. :)

Thank You

My second ever video blog post! I'm awkward, but I'm also awesome, so they cancel each other out. I'm bummed to be missing out on the turkey and family time today, but I'm also so thankful for my life here in Chile. I'm thankful for my wonderful gringa friends who are the only people who truly understand what it's like to be here, because they're here too. Thank you RR, ES, EM, Sara, Isabel and Emily for listening, sharing, and mostly for understanding! I'm also thankful for my Chilean friends and family, for accepting my crazy gringa ways, for taking care of me, for helping me when I need it the most, like hanging up my curtains, helping me move, bringing me to the doctor, picking me up from work when I don't feel like taking the metro, making me soup when I'm sick and worrying if I got home safe.

I'm also so thankful for my wonderful family back home, who supports more than I could ever imagine possible. Thanks for singing to me this morning. It wouldn't be Thanksgiving without that song!

And to my friends scattered throughout the globe, ER, EL, DN, SB, RD, and KG: thanks for putting up with all my rants and for making me laugh even though we're thousands of miles away. Someday we'll all be reunited, I just know it.

So, now that that corniness is over with, I present you with more corniness combined with awkwardness:




Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!!!

Scatterbrained nitwits, apply within

Let's just get this over with: I'm no Susy Homemaker. I will never live up to my mother's or grandmothers' abilities in the kitchen or when it comes to scrubbing toilets or mopping floors. That being said, I do like a clean house and once in a while I get what I call the "cleaning bug" and madly clean everything. Last night the cleaning bug bit, and I started a mad frenzy of sweeping, mopping, dish-washing and toilet scrubbing.

I had just finished cleaning the bathtub and moved on to the mirror. I took out the Windex (well, not really Windex, but Limpiavidrios Multiusos) and then went to get some paper towels from the kitchen. I came back, and sprayed on the Windex and started wiping it down. The mirror was really gross so I sprayed on more Windex. Instead of getting cleaner, the mirror was getting dirtier. White streaks were forming everywhere. Annoyed, I sprayed on more Windex, only to see more white streaks appear. What the heck??? I thought. Then I noticed my nose was stinging. Then I tried to breath in and couldn't. I looked down to what I had in my hand and realized it was the cleaner I had been using for the bathtub.

I dropped the cleaner and ran like a madwoman out to my terraza to try to breath in fresh air. I had obviously created some kind of chemical reaction with the Windex plus bathtub cleaner (ammonia plus chlorine, perhaps?) My nose was still stinging, and then started to run. I plugged my nose, went and grabbed my computer, and called my dad to ask him when it would be okay to go back in the bathroom. I didn't want to faint from the fumes. He assured me that all the chemicals had probably dissappated by then, so I should be fine to go in and continue using the Windex to clean the mirror.

So while this little incident certainally doesn't showcase me at my finest moment, it's not that horrible. I mean, anyone could accidently cause a chemical reaction while cleaning. Right? RIGHT? Well, not that horrible, that is, until I tell you what happened a few hours before. I should preface this story by saying that I have a very bad short term memory and I get distracted ver....hey look something shiny!

What was I saying? Oh yeah. I get distracted easily. Sometimes I go into the bathroom to go pee, and I see some nail polish, so I go out and paint my toenails and then wonder why a half an hour later I still have to go pee. It's a problem. But anyway, I got home from work yesterday and went to take some ibuprophen. On the table next to the pills was a bag of peanuts. I thought, "Hmm, I'd like to eat some peanuts," so I took out a handful of peanuts, then with my empty hand, poked out an ibuprophen from the packet. I ate the peanuts and realized that I needed some water to take the pill. However, for some reason I went into the bedroom first and forgot about the water. I then felt something in my hand. Oh! I forgot to eat a peanut, I thought, and tossed it into my mouth and bit down. NOT A PEANUT NOT A PEANUT!!! It was the ibuprophen pill. DISGUSTING.

The moral of the story? Well, I guess there is no moral, besides despite being a somewhat intelligent, well-educated human being, when it comes to common sense and daily tasks, I act like a scatterbrained nimwit. At least I can laugh at myself though!

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

I know, I know. It's all what you're used to. But I would just like to say:

I CAN NOT STAND CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS WHEN IT'S 80 DEGREES OUT!

Ahhhhh. I feel so much better having gotten that off of my chest.

I realize that for Chileans, Christmas has always been hot. But for me, it's always been cold and snowy. There are many things I can and have adjusted to here in Chile, but this is a new one for me. This has been my first August, September, October, November and (will be) December in Chile, so this is my first time experiencing the Christmas decorations (which I first saw on October 31st), the Christmas music and the sweating Santas.

I'm just so grateful that I'm able to go home and spend a white, snowy, cold Christmas with my family.

Want to know what it's like to be an English teacher? See below.

Last night at 5:00pm, just when I was about to step into the classroom, my phone rang. Due to the random string of numbers I knew it was the Institute. I debated not answering. After all, I had a legitimate excuse, my class started at 5:00 and so therefore I could be in class, even though I had technically not walked through the door yet. But then I thought that perhaps they were calling to offer me a class. One of my business classes ended on Monday, and the students told me they were going to request me again, so I thought perhaps they were calling for that.

Nope.

"Abby, can you sub tomorrow from 8:30 to 11:00?" the secretary asked.

I don't know why I said yes, but pretty soon I found myself in a two hour battle with various secretaries from the institute trying to get them to send me materials. The work e-mail system is shaky at best, and the server is always down. so I called the secretary to have them send it to my personal address. This simple task resulted in the following conversation:

Me: "Mi correo es ah-kah-achay-ah-elay-elay dos arroba gmail.com" (My email is a-k-h-a-l-l-2 at gmail.com)

Secretary: "Que? No le entiendo. Mas lento. Ah-" (What I don't understand. Slow down. A-)

Me: "Si, ah, kah...."

Secretary: "Ah-ah-kah..."

Me: "No! Hay solamente una ah. Ah-kah-achay-ah..."

Secretary: "Que? No le entiendo. No entiendo nada." (What? I don't understand you. I don't understand anything.)

Me: (Getting peeved) "Ah, kah, achay-ah-elay-elay-dos arroba gmail.com"

Secretary: "Que? No le entiendo. Dame un segundo." (What? I don't understand. Wait a moment.)

Secretary 2: "Hello, please, Abby, your e-mail give it to me."

And with the second secretary the above scene was repeated but even worse, because I could tell she wasn't paying attention to me. She kept repeating my email like this: klla2 @ gmail.com which is not even close. I swear one time she thought the problem was that it was hotmail, not gmail. It was really hard for me to maintain my patience, but finally the neurons clicked and she repeated it back to me correctly. Then there was a problem with the famous e-mail server and they couldn't send me the e-mail for one hour, and then complained that I wouldn't be able to print it out, etc. It made my Friday evening very stressful and I was not looking forward to subbing for this class AT ALL. It was going to be a 30 minute ride on the metro and it was a kid's class. The class list showed 17 8-11 year old boys. JOY.

But I tried not to think too much about it and went out with my friends and got to sleep at (kind of) a decent hour and it didn't even seem so horrible to wake up at 6:45am. The metro ride down was pretty because it was early in the morning and the daily smog hadn't settled in yet. I found the place despite being confused about Poniente vs. Oriente (will someone please teach my brain to distinguish those two words!?!?) and waited in my classroom for the rugrats to come in.

Halfway through the class, while we were shaking our sillies out and wiggling our waggles away, I realized something. I was REALLY enjoying this class. The boys were all relatively well behaved and they were all nice to each other. I could tell they have a really good teacher because they knew a lot of vocabulary for their low level.

Then, right before the break we had a little Q & A session, first in English, then in Spanish so they could ask me harder questions. One boy shyly raised his hand and asked (in Spanish) "Have you ever been on TV?" I replied that no, although I had been in the newspaper. Then another one said, "Are you sure because you look exactly like this girl on this program." "Yeah!" replied another, "Bailey from Zak and Cody." "YEAH!" They all replied. Then they noticed my bag. It's a disgustingly dirty LLBean tote bag with my name on it. "LOOOOOOOK!" one yelled, "The Miss has her name on her bag! She MUST be a movie star! Miss you're lying. You've been on TV."

So despite several attempts to prove them wrong, twelve 8-11 year olds believe that Debby Ryan taught them English today. At least they'll have something to brag about to the other boys at school.

I look exactly like her, don't I?? (HA!)

So anyway, I guess the point of this post is two-fold. First of all, this situation reminded me why I teach English despite the fact that the administration at the institute is so disorganized and continually frustrates me to no end: the students. Also, it made me realize that sometimes when you think things are just plain going to SUCK, it turns out to be okay, maybe even fun. I need to try to remember that before spending so much energy getting frustrated.