A Chilean Summer
Ellie McCutcheon spent six weeks learning how to become a local in Chile (and how to act in a riot).
Our eyes, hair and skin exposed our cultural differences as we faced each other for the first time. His black eyes pierced my blue; his black mullet contrasted my long, blondish-brown hippie hair. With an eager yet hesitant hola, I shifted awkwardly as my new Chilean hermano, Matias – with my four inches on him – stretched upwards for a kiss on my freckled, gringa cheek. My distinctly American hair blew across my markedly American face at exactly the wrong moment, causing even more stumbling and hesitation between our 19-year-old selves.
Moreover, I had just attempted the handshake even though I knew well enough that this gesture in South America looks as strange as seeing an alpaca wandering through New York City.
This initial encounter with my newly acquired, mullet-sporting hermano commenced my ‘summer’ Study Abroad in Chile (with mid-June comes winter, after all). For the next six weeks, I would live with – and be an honorary member of – Matias’ Mormon family in the alluring gem of a town, Viña del Mar. Scratching our heads, we wondered if communication would be an issue. Who knew if my high school Spanish would translate into real-world Chile? I sure didn’t. I had little time to dwell on that though, as he whipped out two bus tickets from his fanny pack that he strung casually and fashionably (so say Chileans) on his back right hip.
On the bus that transported us for two hours from Santiago to the coastal town of Viña, a tape of Cirque de Soliel flashed across the TV monitors, giving me my first glimpse of the American (or at least international) culture so overwhelmingly prominent in Chile.
As we sped northwest between the winding hills speckled by lush palm trees, time traveled surprisingly fast.
Matias and I quickly became engrossed in each other’s cultures, comparing food, music, educational systems, weather, religions – anything and everything that came to mind. He slowly and tolerantly chiseled away at the language barrier with his unending patience for my broken Spanish, teaching me Chilean slang and unwearyingly explaining himself over and over until I grasped a concept. “Cachai?” he would ask constantly – Chilean for “Got it?”
This is how our six weeks together would go and how our friendship would grow. He took me to local and tourist bars, rode the micro with me to school, and taught me the numerous national fútbol songs. In return, I taught him American slang, baked him brownies (he had never seen brownies or chocolate chip cookies before), and brought him Pirates of the Caribbean.
One night, Matias struck a deal with me. If I helped him apply to Brigham Young University, the Mormon university in Utah, he would show me the true essence of Chilean culture – local fútbol. His Uncle Pedro had already made it to the States and had graduated from BYU, and each of my hermanos had goals of following the same path.
Although Chile remains officially a Catholic country, 3.4 percent of the population is Mormon (nearly 555,000 people), according to the CIA World Factbook.
As the fastest growing religion in the world, Mormonism provides a comfortable community for families like the Avalos. Matias and I spent hours searching the website in an attempt to figure out the logistics of applying as an International Transfer student to BYU. He still needed to take a ‘Book of Mormon’ class and a ‘Doctrine and Covenents’ class to be eligible for applications, but his major in sociology fulfilled many of the other requirements.
His desires to leave Chile, or even the Vi a/Valparaíso area, are unusual in Chilean culture – universities have no dormitories so students generally attend schools nearby home. Many have no desire to leave their home towns at all. Matias seemed the exception, both as a Mormon and as a student wanting to travel away from home.
Fast forward to my last night in Viña when a highly anticipated fútbol rivalry flashed across the TV screen of every Chilean bar: Colo Colo versus La Universidad de Chile. Since Matias’ mom, Pamela, (Pah-MEH-luh) forbade us from attending the game due to the notorious fights between the rival fútbol gangs, Matias and I walked seven blocks to the local bars.
Each one brimmed with fanatics singing songs, beer in hand, fútbol in heart.
Four consecutive bouncers shrugged and shook their heads helplessly as they directed us to the next bar – the room might have exploded if they let any more people in.
Finally, we miraculously stumbled on a wee bit of standing room in the boondocks of a smoky local hotspot full of supporters. Matias’ friend, Belén, bought us all a round of beers as we held our now-sacred standing room which we vowed to protect for the rest of the night (a big feat!). As she handed me a Baltica, the entire bar – walls, chairs, people and everything – burst out in yet another song.
Very few sat and if people used chairs, it was only to stand on, never to sit. In the end, La Universidad de Chile prevailed for the first time in five years with a heart-wrenching goal. Immediately, the crowd poured out into the streets to begin the celebration. The road and sidewalk became impassible as the crowd rushed to the middle of the road. A giant blue flag with an owl appeared out of thin air and soon we were surrounded by a hundred people jumping, singing and celebrating under a patriotic canopy for La Universidad de Chile. Then things got rowdy.
The carabineros (armed police) showed up on their motorcycles to keep the crowd in check, but the fans’ adrenaline skyrocketed. Rebels began throwing bottles at the police and knocking over their motorcycles. Smoke bombs diffused the crowd and we all began to run. Meanwhile, Matias stuck by my side and calmly warned me to walk:
“Camine, camine. No corra (Walk, walk. Don’t run),” he advised. If we ran, he explained, we would look guilty; instead, walk and be left alone.
At that moment a carabinero bolted past us in pursuit of a vandal, helmet on and baton firmly in hand. We followed the singing that continued down the road until we came across a calmer crowd of fanatic fans, flying flags, and soaring pride.
As much as I desired to be an intricate part of it, my gringa-ness sold me out – my blonde hair floating amongst the sea of stylish brown mullets and dreadlocks proved I could not understand their passion. But, as Matias’ hermana I could be less of an outsider. They welcomed me, but I could never be one of them; they included me, but knew to me La Universidad was just another team to cheer for. To them, it was something to worship, something to fight for, a centerfold in life.
As for Matias, he will remain a brother in my heart. If there are three things I learned from my time with him, they are that communication has no limits; friendship has no language barrier; and distance cannot erase memories.
In a country that is so pervaded by American popular culture, Matias brought me beyond the globalization so that I was enriched with experiences that were purely Chileno.
Category: From the Road
