Una nota desde Chile

I decided to study in Chile this semester to practice my Spanish. I assumed, after I got past the rustiness of not having spoken it for two months, I would jump right into fluency, possibly with a sweet Chilean accent to take back and impress my classmates with. If this accent does return with me, my classmates will not be as impressed as I had hoped because they will not understand me—how could they when I’ve been learning some strange mutation:

“Gueon, ¿cómo estái? ¿Que pasó en el carrete ayer?”
“Aaaah, gueon, este gueon estaba con esta mina, ¿cachai? Y después de unos copetes…se apaguen las luces.”
“Siiii, po."

Todo es “rico” o “suuuuuper,” algo es “fóme” o “bacán,” y solamente tiene que decir “porfa” si quieres decir gracias. Si tu frase es demasiado corto, añade algunos “po”—o no te preocupes porque cada palabra es más pequeña: pancito, cafecito calientito, cervecita, momentito… Peor de todo, hay palabras de ingles: el mall, el souvenir, football, sorry. Entonces— ¿Cómo puedo mejorar mi español cuando nadie acá habla español?

Well, for starters, anyone of any other nationality now speaks Spanish like it’s my native language—as does anyone who actually modulates their sentences and uses more than five vocabulary words. My ear is much better attuned now to context and can understand people who speak faster. And I have finally overcome any fear of speaking Spanish because down here there aren’t too many other options. And if I can survive this country for five months—this place

• where the bus drivers are as likely to run you over as they are to stop for you;
• where no one has thought of a word for PDA because everyone is too busy making out on park benches;
• where “Gordita” is an appropriate nickname for a granddaughter;
• where men carry their girlfriend’s purses in public but won’t wash the dishes;
• where class is canceled because the teachers are on strike—or because there’s no room big enough to host all the students;
• where a white girl can get more compliments and catcalls on one street than she has gotten her whole life (even if she didn’t shower that morning);
• where the population wears sweaters and 3 piece suits in the sweltering heat of summer before they go home to eat soup for lunch;
• where the beggars on the streets can afford Adidas and cigarettes;
• where dinner is toast and coffee, and breakfast comes with a slice of cake;
• where the United States means New York or Los Angeles and anywhere in the middle might as well not be there;
• where the news reports President Obama appearing on Jay Leno before it even mentions the Chilean government;
• where the stray dogs run the city and will attack anyone at will—or walk you safely home;
• where it’s BYOTP and soap to every bathroom;
• where no one goes out for the night until at least 11 pm, and returns at 5 in the morning…

If I can survive all that, plus get the chance to work on my “Spanish,” then senior year of college shouldn’t be that hard…but leaving this place might be.

-Kelsey C.