WHEN IN ROME

Something about the phrase "When in Rome..." really tickles me, you know?  I think it has something to do with the fact that the expression is frequently employed to justify heavy alcohol consumption and/or generally erratic behavior.  And also that "Rome" can be anywhere from, well, Rome, to Saskatchewan, to your grandmother's nursing home.  It's all about blending in.  Cultural camouflage.  Being at one with your surroundings.

In the spirit of doing as the Romans (in this case Chileans) do, I've been trying to achieve the most Chilean lifestyle possible.  This means:

• Eating a giant brick of food mid-day and sleeping it off with a delicious afternoon nap. 
• Minimal exercise. 
• Listening to reggaeton, pop latino, cumbia, pachanga, and bachata.  To share the love, I recommend that you listen to this, this, this, this, this, this, and this.  This in no way means that I have left behind my love for gringo delicacies like this.
• Drinking pisco and going dancing when all I really want is a fine microbrew and some quality conversation.
• Growing accustomed to "piropos."  Let's face it...I can walk the walk and talk the talk as much as I want, but my pasty white skin and strawberry blond locks won't ever really blend in here.  After two decades of being the most whitebread variety of 'murrican imaginable, it was something of a shock to suddenly become exotic and different upon hitting Latin American soils.  Now, though, I've come to expect eyes to follow me as I go about my daily business.  I know with 100% certainty that when I pass a certain type of man, whether I'm well groomed or flushed and soaked in sweat after a jog on the beach, said gentleman will whisper something along the lines of "come closer, tasty gringa."  If he is more creative, he might say "a ten" or "blondie, you beat me."  My personal favorite began with the typical "precious, tasty gringa" dog and pony show, but ended with "Take care, my dear.  Walk with God."  This combination of hot-blooded perviness mixed with genuine goodwill struck me as 100% Chilean.  Far from being chauvinistic or insulting, "piropos"are considered perfectly appropriate and, in fact, flattering within Latin American society.  While at first they made me feel uncomfortable and objectified, these little comments have come to be completely commonplace.  And honestly, they don't hurt the ol' ego.  A little part of me will feel disappointed and insecure when, upon returning to the United States, I don't get ogled and jeered at on my way to the supermarket.  
• Dealing with the presence of paperwork and bureaucracy in nearly every aspect of everyday life.  This one's pretty self-explanatory, but I'll share a little anecdote just to drive home my point: A few weeks ago, I needed to pay my cell phone bill.  You can't just pay online in Chile, oHOO no.  One must go to the special bill-paying store, take a number, and wait in line.  Well, I arrived at "ServiPag" and, remarkably, there was no line, just one woman paying her bills.  Feeling that the "take a number" system was irrelevant in this situation, I merely sat down and waited for my turn to come.  In the meantime, another woman arrived, scanned the room, CLEARLY saw that I was there before her, and took a number.  When the cashier finished with the customer in front of me, he hit the button to advance the number and I walked forward to pay my bill.  Before I could say "hola," this wack-job of a woman behind me in line marches forward and says "EXCUSE ME, THAT'S MY NUMBER."  I started to explain that numbers are far from necessary when there are only two customers, before taking a deep breath, resignedly shrugging my shoulders and allowing her to cut me in line. From this experience, I learned two things: 1) in Chile, bureaucracy is king and 2) I am the bigger person.  
• Greeting with besos.  I kiss everyone I meet on the right cheek now.  It's such a warm, nice way to greet people.  I think I'll be bringing it back stateside.    
• Spending as much time with family as possible.  Family is at the center of Chilean life.  It's not uncommon to spend an entire Saturday or Sunday gathered around the kitchen table and talking, with lunch blending into dinner.  These marathons of family togetherness are wonderful.  
• Gaining a new appreciation for youth activism.  Where I come from, the highest expression of student discontent is a strongly worded (read: bitchy, but with an intellectual veneer) e-mail to the editorial staff of the college newspaper.  Here, it's a national strike where students march in the streets and barricade academic buildings.  Different?  I'll say.  Critics will tell you that this kind of militant approach has become kind of knee-jerk...reaching the extreme where students take to the streets for a 1 cent increase in bus fare.  I, for one, love that young people here are so passionate, willing to do whatever it takes to get their government's attention.  It's refreshing, frankly.  And it all ties back to my favorite chilenismo: "the baby that doesn't cry, doesn't eat."  Watch out, America.  Next time you see me I'll be sticking it to The Man, quoting Che Guevara incessantly, and drawing sharpie anarchy signs on anything within arm's reach.  
• Throwing my toilet paper in the wastebin next to the toilet.  After the initial shock, I'm now 100% used to this custom.  Family, friends, if you notice an unpleasant smell in my bathroom back home, know that I am missing Chile and kindly allow me to continue coping with my reverse culture shock the only way I know how.  

Well, I've only got three weeks left in this whirlwind adventure.  Where the H-E-DOUBLEHOCKEYSTICKS has the time gone?  Next week I'm headed to Peru to visit my friends Joanna and Ben and see Machu Picchu!!!!!

XOXO, K8

PS:  I had a CLASSIC "when in Rome" moment last week, sampling Chorillana- typical Valparaíso dish consisting of a mountain of french fries topped with, onion, cheese, fried egg, and assorted meats.  Note how in this case "when in Rome" means "I'm going to eat like a fatass and chalk it up to cultural immersion."  See photo below.