Mortification

After three months in Chile, I've yet to hit anything resembling a "stride" or "groove". Normal, everyday activities (such as grocery shopping) that formerly gave me no problems at all are now nightmarish tests of how badly I can embarrass myself. It makes the days interesting; I'm never bored for too long.

Chilean grocery stores hum with the kind of nervous energy most people feel in doctor's offices, none more so than the big chains (Lider, Jumbo, Santa Isabel). Being in a WalMartian atmosphere in a foreign country, in a foreign language is an experience unto itself, but much like their North American counterparts, people in these mega-stores charge up and down the aisles full of purpose, often leaving a path of destruction in their wake. Even so, the weekday evening/weekend shopping experience can take hours.

As people in Chile love to eat, so do they love to shop for food in miraculously large quantities. Chileans eat the most bread, ice cream and coca-cola per capita than any other country in Latin America, and Lider reflects this perfectly. There are aisles devoted exclusively not only to these foods, but to mayonnaise, yogurt and powdered juice. The bread section or Panderia, is a personal favorite as I often watch middle-aged housewives scrambling to get the fresh, inexplicably cheap bread by the ton.

While the grocery store (Lider, to be exact) can be a source of amusement for me, I am a constant source of amusement for its staff and patrons. I attract a lot of attention from men, due to my blonde hair, a lot of attention from their wives, because of the attention from the men, and even more attention from the shelf-stockers, who cannot understand why I’d rather pile things on top of me than use a cart. They don’t realize that I have no idea where the carts are, and am too afraid to ask.

Last Wednesday was a very special day for me at Lider. I arrived with a very short, very specific shopping list.

condoms, candles, corona, safety pins

I had exactly an hour to leave my friend's apartment, get to Lider (15 min walk), buy my four items, and return. It was an ambitious mission.

The Lider ambiance is always a bit off, with strange musical choices adding to the lazy urgency of the shopping experience. On this day, I was treated to an instrumental version of "I Just Called to Say I Love You". It struck me because I found it very difficult to recognize without Stevie’s lyric and voice; I kept thinking that it had to be another song. I only had a moment of certainty 10 minutes later, when I was on instrumental version three of "I Just Called to Say I Love You". And counting.

No two Lider’s are the same; they have drastically different floor plans, and carry different items at opposing prices making most people loyal customers to one particular store. I’m not one of those people, and I live for the challenge of finding everything I need. Given the complicated list I was holding, and the time constraints, I had to choose my path carefully. Easy items like beer (also having its own monster-aisle) and candles (which I buy often) were checked off within minutes.
Safety pin is not a word that you learn in college level Spanish; perhaps in Spanish for Seamstresses or something. I called a friend to ask for a translation, but with the shaky cell-phone connection, blaring fake-Stevie Wonder and Chilean catcalls, I forgot it about five seconds later. I searched my vocabulary for some words that I could use to describe safety pin and came up empty until it occurred to me that I might have a safety pin on my person, so I dumped out my giant black backpack (containing: tampons, a small, useless dictionary, Carmex, mascara, rubber gloves, confetti). Happily I did find a safety pin, and marched up to an innocuous-looking woman behind a shampoo display and asked her where I might find more of the little object como se llama.

They don't sell safety pins at Lider.

To buy the condoms, I had to go through check out and wait on line at the farmacia where, of course, only judgmental-looking men work. This was partially due to the fact that like most predominantly Catholic nations, condom use in Chile wasn’t exactly widespread, and is in many ways discouraged. Expecting mothers of any age are highly revered, and even get their own line at check out, making condom purchase something out of the ordinary.

There was no line at the farmacia, for which I was grateful, so I blazed on up to the counter and asked for condoms, which I believed to be the same word in English and Spanish. I vowed to brush up on my vocabulary as judgmental-pharmacist stared blankly at me. I summoned the courage to speak again.

“Condoms, por favor,” I said, two notches above 'audible'. There was now a line forming behind me.

Again I received only a blank stare in return, and I studied the man’s face to be sure that he wasn’t making fun of the obviously frazzled, obnoxiously blonde American girl, who is apparently promiscuous. I gave him the benefit of the doubt, because so often in restaurants or stores, people of different native languages have a harder time communicating than they might in other situations because 1) They are so nervous, that they slur their speech or swallow words 2)They assume from the beginning that they won’t understand what the other person is saying, and never really hear them

This happens to me a lot, but I still felt like there were larger forces at work here and I came to the realization that I might have to ACT OUT what I wanted. With panic rising and the clock ticking, I managed to remember that I do actually know quite a few words in Spanish, and I could surely find something to serve me in the Chilean pharmacy.

Using the words I knew for “safe” and “sex”, I said to the man “Necesito una cosita para sexo seguro.” Seguro turned out to be a poor word choice, as I said something closer to “I need a thing for sure sex.” Had I chosen any other word, or even just said “sexo” I may still be able to frequent that Lider. But I went with seguro, which is really translated more like "sure", so I told the man that I want a thing to have SURE SEX. He smirked at me. I turned red and looked at my watch. He repeated back to me sexo pumping his fist back and forth. I said yes, because I had no choice. He laughed, turned to his left and asked me which kind I'd like.

So I chose from the GIANT display case, which had been right in front of me the whole time.

And then I fled.

Subtlety

Its kind of a running joke, or fact really, among my gringo friends here, that Chileans lack subtlety. Like a tia asking you within two minutes of meeting you about your polollo (boyfriend). The question is not "Do you have a polollo?", but rather "Who is he? Where does he live? When will you get married?" Answering with "I don't have one" just makes you a liar.

Its kind of refreshing, the directness. As all the new people arrived (our September Class is here, in all their freshfaced glory) and we tried to dish out advice, there was so much to say about talking to the people here, and how it can be confusing. They will call you fat. They will tell you that you look sick. They will make fun of your Spanish. To your face.

Today, the 18th, is a big day in Chile. Its Fiestas Patrias and unfortunately, it cold and gray. Its a day of barbeques, and kites and chicha and general merriment. There are carnivals all over the city, no one is working and the Chilean flag is everywhere. The celebration will last until tomorrow, with many taking the whole week (my school included) as a patriotic vacation. Seeing another country celebrate itself like this is exciting and alienating at the same time. But this is Chile, and the holidays are just as blatant and blunt as the people. Everyone dances, gringas included. Did I ever think I'd be standing in a Chilean bar, listening to traditional music and dancing with anyone and everyone who comes within two feet of me? Not really, as most who know me understand that I'm not so much a dancer. But something about the way that Chile chooses to celebrate feels real. Viva la Chile!

Oh, and I know we've been on the edge of our seats waiting for pics of the Tortugas Ninjas. They are a bit dark, but still completely awesome.

Tortugas Ninjas!!!!

Blogger Beta? Totally killing my world. Well, that and the fact that we 'accidentally' blew out our cable modem while we were rearranging the office. Thank goodness for neighbors!

I'm not particularly inspired at this very moment, and as usual wish that I had some wit and witticism for my (3? 4? readers). At this very moment, all I am is tired. Preparation for the new class (the first ones arrive tomorrow) is exhausting, even though I'm not all that involved. But the general energy of the organization is GO! GO! GO! and it’s the sort of this where if you don't have something to do, there must be something wrong with you. Right now, it is 11pm and we're all in the office, working. I've been designing place cards for PalooooZA, which is our celebration of the work we've done in the last few months. It’s a big deal. I even got a new dress. ROCK!

And the kids are frustrating. Everyone in Chile is pregnant, so my tias have been sort of rotating, leaving me solita in my class with no idea what I'm doing. Mostly we do puzzles and work on letters of the alphabet when I'm left to fend for myself. Or we play Abajo! Arriba! which is just as complicated as it sounds. But they love it, because jumping is fun.

My kids are rotating, too. My little favorite (not Ojos, the one who gives me the finger) has been out for almost a month, as he's apparently prone to illness. I miss his constant shooting at me (he brings fake guns to school, and I've yet to figure out the translation for 'recipe for disaster'), and the way that he mocks the other kinds with no malice. I think about the way that we all mock each other and feel like its a healthy part of growing up. If you can't call a friend out on something ridiculous, are they really your friend?

They've also placed me in another classroom for part of the morning, since another volunteer left. Its the jumpy jumpy room for an hour, which flies because of one little boy who thinks he's Superman. He has multiple Superman t-shirts, and wears one everyday. I can just picture his madre in the morning, trying to get him to wear something else. He probably just screams, as they all do, because they can. Its standard practice at my colegio.

Chile loves Superman.

I'm working on getting some photos to post of Dia del Nino, which is bigger than Christmas down here. I recall myself asking my dad at some point when I was growing, that if there was a Mother's Day, and a Father's Day why wasn't there a Kid's Day.

"Everyday is kids day," he said. My dad is no joke.

In Chile the respect for kids (and soon-to-be-mothers) is EVERYWHERE. There is actually a special line at the grocery store for those who are expecting, which includes those with little ones. So Dia Del Nino was a huge frackkin deal. Our celebration included: A dance contest (you haven't lived until you've seen the girls in the hogares dance to the reggaeton....it's an art), an art contest (which I missed because I was at dance central), a presentation by the Carabineros and their perritos which I will totally not explain to its fullest hilarity without the aid of photos and.....wait for it....the Tortugas Ninjas!!!!!!!!

Remember them? Raphael, Donatello, etc? As it turns out, in addition to Superman and knocked-up women....CHILE LOVES THE DAMN NINJA TURTLES!!! So much in fact, that the carabineros have a show where they dress up in costumes, do motorcycle tricks and JUMP THROUGH A RING OF FIRE!!! Possibly, the most awesome thing I've ever seen. Besides, of course, the first season finale of LOST.

So that's what I got. The men are still men. The kids are still kids. And the tortugas, well, they're gonna live forever.