"Well I want to kill this waitress......(but I believe in peace, bitch)" (tori amos)

Well. I thought I'd come have a cup of tea and finally blog about the LGE protests that have been going on in the last month. Instead, as usual, Chile had other plans for me.

I walked into Cafe con Letras, which has wireless and is a bit of a gringo-haunt. I spend a lot of time here; I like it a lot, actually. So I came in, sat down, and ordered a tea.

I am not exactly sure what happened. The waitress started to hand me a menu and I told her I already knew what I wanted, and asked for a tea, please and thank you and all normal courtesies included.

She gave me a mean look. I was puzzled. Her friend, a guy siting at a table about oh, 6 feet from me, had been looking at me mockingly since I came in. When she sat down again at his table, he leaned in and they began talking very quietly and throwing glances in my direction. Seriously. Now, let's imagine I speak no Spanish at all. Do they think that not speaking Spanish also means that one can infer nothing from body language and, oh, pointing and laughing (nearly)?

So this proceeded for several minutes. I kept throwing meaningful glances back, sending brain waves: yes, hello, please stop talking about me.....they didn't pick up. Then the waitress got up and went around behind the counter, which I am sitting next to. She started talking to the other woman working. In essence:

"I am so sick of these gringos, they only speak English. They used to come only in the summer but now it's all the time, it's such a headache. They are so irritating! And that accent! It's like an infestation, these stupid gringas with their attitudes."

But extended. The other woman talked for a bit but then noticed me listening and said, "Quiet! The customer understands you!"

"No, she doesn't," said Favorite Waitress.

Then she went back to the table and talked about gringos some more with her other buddy.

Now, in the cafe at this moment there is only one other gringa; she is a sweet older woman who is smiling and polite and clearly at ease in Spanish. Then there's myself. A rough estimate of the entire exchange I had with this woman:

"Oh, that's ok, I don't need to look--I'd like to have an African Victoria tea, please. Thank you."

I would love to know what strange and terrible gringa vibe must be emanating from this woman and I without our knowledge.

So I stewed for awhile. Then I decided to deal a passive blow. I texted Allie that I was going to call her in Spanish. So I did. We discussed our plans. I used the past tense, future tense, etc. My accent didn't suck. The conversation lasted a few minutes.

The peanut gallery is veeeeeery quiet now. Take that.

So here's the thing: Gringo Guilt. We're filled with it. We are convinced that by being in other countries we are somehow a burden; that we have to shoulder the blame for every US American who ever spoke English to someone without asking them if that was alright, or said something obnoxious about "locals," or did one of the ten thousand annoying things that tourists can do. Just today I found myself apologizing to a Chilean about the fact that not enough North Americans try to speak Spanish.

Well, wait a minute. I try to speak Spanish--a lot. I observe local rules about politeness. I try to blend in, if not physically, at least in behavior. In short, I am a very nice immigrant. Just the fact that I'm here already excludes me from at least a dozen of the most common anti-norteamericano complaints. And when it comes down to it, there is absolutely no difference between this waitress and her generalizations and the people I've met in the US who go on about "lazy latinos." There are arrogant gringos who only speak English. There are lazy people who aren't from the US. But there are also plenty of arrogant Chilenos who only speak Spanish, and lazy norteamericanos.

So let's please. just. stop. it. I believe in peace, bitch, I believe in peace.

Thaaaaat's Chile.....

...............is just what you have to say sometimes. Explain and clarify in 500 words or less.

Both Valpo and Viña (and Santiago, for that matter) are full of street performers who jump out in front of stopped traffic at red lights. Usually, they look approximately like this:



At night, sometimes, they juggle fire. Unfortunately both you and I will have to live with the fact that my camera is not capable of taking a good picture of this, or at least so far has not proven itself able to.

Yesterday I was in a bus, riding back through Viña del Mar after making some reckless purchases at the mall (more on the mall another time). I was looking out the window and listening to a podcast from NPR's Here On Earth , which I highly recommend. Bits and pieces of everything. This week I've learned about the historical context of Edith Piaf and the history of Argentinian mate, for example. In any event, this particular podcast was on the subject of Rwanda. Specifically, an author was being interviewed about the rebirth of the country since the genocide. They discussed a number of interesting angles: the leadership role that women have taken, the use of traditional tribal law, the concerns about authoritarianism and human rights abuses, the economic growth, and what not.

As I am listening to this very interesting interview about Africa, I look out my window down Avenida San Martin, a busy street along the sea. What I saw I wish with all of my heart I had a photograph of, but unfortunately it was too late to jump off of the bus. There was a street performer. He had painted his entire body black-brown. He was wearing a grass skirt. He was waving a paddle of some sort. He was holding a spear in the other hand. He was jumping around and one can only imagine making some sort of savage-esque noises.

At noon. On a main avenue. For public entertainment.

Thaaaaaaaat's Chile!