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I have come to the conclusion that Chileans take themselves too seriously. Admittedly, they are nowhere near as cold and stuffy as Russians, but they are remarkably void of a sense of humor (at least in public). They don't call this place the England of South America for nothing.But let me justify that statement. Today I had to take Paco, my giant stuffed llama, with me to school because s
ome students needed him for a presentation. Paco is anything but inconspicuous, as he is three feet tall and not easy to conceal. I was not thrilled about having to carry him with me downtown and into the metro, but I didn't want to let my friends down. I sat at home this morning, trying to think of a way to get Paco to the university without hurting my pride. I considered taking a taxi but decided against it given the extra cost. I considered calling my friend and telling her to come pick up Paco, but that was too inconvenient. Finally I resolved to muster up the confidence and head out the door with Paco under my arm, wearing my sunglasses so that people could not look me in the eyes with their penetrating, judgmental gazes. I also wore a particularly bitchy look on my face to balance out the ridiculousness of the stuffed llama under my arm, so that people would think twice if they wanted to criticize or judge the gringa with the llama.
Sure enough, it appears that no one judged or criticized. In fact, I don't think anyone even noticed. But that's impossible. In a crowded metro, how could one not notice? My conclusion is that the Chileans did notice, but they take themselves entirely too seriously to laugh, break a smile, or even acknowledge anything out of the ordinary. Or maybe they could feel my embarrassment and decided to give me a break by pretending they didn't notice how stupid I looked carrying a giant stuffed llama onto the metro. Either way, in the United States the public reaction to such a spectacle would have been much more varied and interesting. I must admit I was a little disappointed at the Chileans' lack of interest. I thought that at least the experience would provide me with some good blog material. But ex post facto, I realize that I should not have been so afraid to carry the llama in public. I could walk around with a leg growing out of my head and Chileans wouldn't notice.
Jane and I took a nice outing to the Buin Zoo yesterday. I had been wanting to go there for quite some time, as I get thrills out of observing animals in captivity (not really). The truth is, I had heard the zoo had llamas, alpacas, and guanacos, and it's been a long time since I actually saw a camelid in person. And of course, if I am going to work on a llama farm for three months (knock on wood again), I need to be 100% certain that I love these animals enough to scoop their shit everyday.
Indeed, after my zoo outing, I still love camelids. In fact, if anything my love for them has grown. To be exact, my love for alpacas has grown and my love for llamas has diminished. However, given that LA = increase in love for alpacas, and LL = decrease in love for llamas,
|LA| > |LL|
In other words, after seeing the llamas, I am a bit disappointed, but not as excited as I am about the alpacas. The reason for my disapointment regarding the llamas is two-fold: 1) they are much larger than I had imagined them to be, and 2) they are dirty and swarming with flies. However, the alpacas more than made up for the llamas. First of all, alpacas are more compact--about 4 feet in stature with shorter noses than the llamas. Secondly, they are fluffy and have the softest fur ever. Thirdly, they are by far the cutest camelid there is. And fourthly, I got to touch a baby one at the petting zoo. As for guanacos, they look just like llamas except they come in only one color: light brown.
But I think I've exhausted the camelid topic. Besides, they were not my favorite
exhibit at the zoo. Jane and I agree that the best exhibit was the Hamadryas baboon (as shown in the picture). I had never seen one in person before, and his likeness to a human blew our minds. The lone baboon sat on a branch the entire time we observed him, with his arms around his knees looking pensive. There was something so disturbingly human about it. I've seen enough chimps in my life to know that apes act like humans, but this baboon was way cooler than any chimp.
In summation, the Buin Zoo was an enlightening experience at the expense of a large number of captive animals. The living conditions were favorable in comparison to other zoos, but my conscience cringes a little at the concept of paying to go stare at a bunch of animals trapped in cages. Maybe one day karma will come back to haunt me, and I'll end up in a cage somewhere, being scrutinized by baboons...
I am officially a professional reject. After months of anxiously waiting for a response from the State Department for a Critical Language Scholarship I applied for back in November, I have received my official "fuck off, you suck" letter. These letters are beginning to take on a character of their own. If such rejection letters were a human, they would be a bitchy woman in her mid-50s wearing a pant suit and glasses, typing away at a computer, too busy to look me in the face while she says "bitch, get out of my office, there are 5000 more kids just like you waiting in line". Oh, rejection. How compassionate you are.
All rejection letters follow a similar format. One of my favorite aspects of this format is the line that reads: "We thank you for applying to the [enter program here] and applaud your desire to [enter program activity here]. We received more than [enter outlandish number here] qualified applications for the [enter tiny number here] available scholarships". You applaud my desire? Great, that's nice. I can just picture a bunch of tight wads in business attire sitting around a long table, "applauding" my hopes and dreams. Do you know where your "applause" gets me, assholes? Nowhere. That's right. NOwhere. But anyway, thanks for applauding me. It makes me feel like a little bit less of a loser.
All right, I'll grant the fact that I wasn't particularly gung-ho about going back to Russia. It is, put simply, a miserable hemorrhoid on the ass of the earth. However, I had put a large sum of my proverbial "eggs" into the Russia "basket". I studied abroad there, learned some Russian, am minoring in Russian Studies, and even thought about going to graduate school in Russian Studies. This Critical Language Program was just one more step on the old resume/career ladder, eventually leading to a position as a Russia specialist in the U.S. government (oh, me and my silly dreams). Thank you, State Department, for reminding me how unpractical it is to dream.
Now, one might wonder why I harbor such bitterness toward the State Department. It's not just because it serves the dirty function of entrenching U.S. hegemony. Oh, no. It's simply because I've already been rejected before from the State Department. I applied for an internship there as well, to which the State Department responded "bitch, please". After two rejections, I am starting to realize that Buff Bagot was perhaps not cut out for the State Department. They are probably asking themselves, "can't she get the picture?"
Well you know what, State Department? I've got something bigger and better going for me. You know what it is? A llama farm. Okay, fine, maybe a llama farm isn't bigger or better, but it's certainly cooler.
Please, llama farm owners in Peru, please don't reject me.
On a lighter note, my Tahir Shah-inspired dream of working on a llama farm in Peru is gradually becoming a reality. At the risk of jinxing this whole thing (knock on wood), I have been corresponding with one of the owners of a llama farm in the Sacred Valley. He responded positively, and he is going to bring the subject up in a committee meeting next week. He said he should have a definite yes or no for me by next week, so I am keeping my fingers crossed until then. Based on what he has told me, it appears that the rest of the staff will be receptive to the idea. He even told me he already has a place for me to live while I'm working there. I know I shouldn't get my hopes up yet, but it's a little difficult when such cute animals are involved.
I should elaborate a bit about the llama farm I am talking about. It's called Awana Kancha, and it's located in the Sacred Valley of Peru (near Macchu Picchu) outside the city of Cuzco. I came across it during a pathetically vague Google search (key word: "llama farm Peru"), which produced a shit ton of results about tours to llama farms. Most of the results were long-winded travel blogs written by retired white Americans. In any other circumstance no one would have ever read these blogs, but fate drew me to one of them, and I discovered t
he name Awana Kancha. It turns out that Awana Kancha is a pretty famous camelid (read: llamas and the like) farm, known for its traditional weaving. I found the website, read up on it, decided I wanted to work there, and that was that. I've also found quite a few youtube videos about Awana Kancha, and the place looks pretty legit. I hope this plan works out, because that would be frickin' sweet. But as for now, it's up to the owners of Awana Kancha to decide my destiny.
People keep asking me the same question: why are you staying in Chile? To be honest, this is a question to which I don't know how to respond, because even I don't know the answer. It's not that I'm particularly in love with Chile. Aside from its uniquely Chilean idiosyncrasies, it's really not that much different from the United States. Things are slightly cheaper, the people are nicer, the language is different, the guys have mullets, there are a lot of stray dogs. But people are still discontent with their lives, they still have to get up and go to work every morning, they still get bitchy sometimes. Unlike Russia, Chile (at least for me) is not a constant struggle against difficult circumstances. I'm still the old Buff, only here I have to speak Spanish. What's more, I'm not as happy in Chile as I was in Russia. So why am I staying here until June?
Part of the reason is because I'm tired of moving around. I lived in Kansas for three months last summer, then Russia for three months, now Chile. I am tired of attempting to make a life for myself in a place, then, just when I'm starting to feel settled down, having to pack up and leave. For reasons unknown to me, I have a hard time making friends, and three months is not near long enough in my opinion to create the foundations of a meaningful friendship. Not that people don't like me or don't want to be my friend. I think I am just very wary of people and extremely aloof in social situations. It took me about two months to start warming up to the group of Stanford students here in Santiago, and within the next three weeks they are all going back to Stanford. All of the friendships I developed here will wane with time, and who knows if they will last until I come back to Stanford next September. Then, this group of Stanford students will be replaced by another group of Stanford students, none of whom I know. Surely it will be a repeat of the beginning of this quarter, when I felt extremely awkward and lost, unsure of where to start. The truth is, even though I did not feel particularly partial to the current group of students (save a select few), they have grown on me, and in the back of my mind I continually ask myself what I am going to do when they leave. But here I have gone off on a tangent.
But if I worry so much about loneliness and making friends, why do I travel? Traveling is such a lonely experience. I meet so many new people all the time, but about 95% of the time I know I will never see them again, because like me, they are just passing through. Being a nomad is extremely lonely, and one of my biggest fears is loneliness. And yet I continue to subject myself to it. This is something I don't understand.
I realize that there is something I am looking for, and that this is why I continue to travel. The problem is that I don't know what it is I'm looking for. If I went back to Stanford, at least I would be surrounded by people I know in my nice little bubble, protected from the realities of life. But even there, I feel an emptiness that I can't quite put my finger on. When I'm traveling, I am actively searching for something to fill that emptiness. Or maybe I'm just running away from something. Whatever that something is, I have not successfully escaped from it, because it follows me wherever I go. No matter where I go, Buff Bagot follows me, and there's nothing I can do to get away from her. So my only option is to deal with myself. I realize that being in another country won't make this process any easier. But for some reason I would rather deal with myself here than at Stanford.
So maybe that's why I'm staying here. Maybe it's not such a good reason to stay here, but I've made the decision and the deal has been sealed.
Today in political science class I came to the realization that Chile stole September 11 from us. Sure, their September 11 happened in 1973 (the military coup), and ours didn't happen until 2001. But I think our 9/11 should have overridden their 9/11, damnit. The rest of the international community recognizes 9/11 as America's 9/11, not Chile's 9/11. So hey Chile, stop being so unoriginal and pick your own special date. Stop trying to upstage the Greatest Country in the World. You know you can't. Because we're America. Fuck yeah.
P.S. For those of you who didn't realize that I'm being facetious, you're probably Republican.
Chile is so crafty. High unemployment? No worries. Chile can fix that with a little creativity. For example, instead of pumping your own gas at the gas station, how about creating a new job for someone by letting them pump your gas for you? Or instead of having your groceries bagged and paying for them all at the same counter at the grocery store, why not have one person bag them, one person calculate the total, and one person collect your money?
I think people in the U.S. who are upset about unemployment should stop their complaining and create exciting new jobs for themselves. Why not go to the gas station, rip the gas nozzle out of someone´s hands, and start filling their tank up for them? It´s genius.
ome students needed him for a presentation. Paco is anything but inconspicuous, as he is three feet tall and not easy to conceal. I was not thrilled about having to carry him with me downtown and into the metro, but I didn't want to let my friends down. I sat at home this morning, trying to think of a way to get Paco to the university without hurting my pride. I considered taking a taxi but decided against it given the extra cost. I considered calling my friend and telling her to come pick up Paco, but that was too inconvenient. Finally I resolved to muster up the confidence and head out the door with Paco under my arm, wearing my sunglasses so that people could not look me in the eyes with their penetrating, judgmental gazes. I also wore a particularly bitchy look on my face to balance out the ridiculousness of the stuffed llama under my arm, so that people would think twice if they wanted to criticize or judge the gringa with the llama.
