I Should Join the Heavy Hitter

...because I seem to have a knack for witnessing accidents.

Today was rather exceptional, though. I have been terrified of cars and the crazy Chilean drivers since I got here, and today reconfirmed my fears. No lie: I watched a child get hit by a car.

Yup, you read that correctly. I watched as a green sedan came barreling down a residential street and then slammed on its brakes for a short second before hitting a kid. I heard the mother scream, I heard the child cry, and then I watched as the driver sped away. A chileano and I ran after the car trying to get the license number but we couldn't catch the car.

A hit-and-run, in Chile, right in front of my face.

Now I am even more paranoid about crossing the streets and walking near the road. Not only are these drivers CRAZY, impatient, selfish, and careless, but they get away with it. I have never seen a single speed limit sign here, and I've never seen a car pulled over (even though I've seen SEVERAL crazy drivers do incredibly stupid things). My bus ride each morning is like playing Russian Roulette: will we hit the car in front of us, or won't we? It makes me wish I was Catholic so I could say Hail Marys or at least take comfort in some rosary beads.

I know we gripe about getting tickets in the U.S., but at least we have someone keeping an eye on drivers. Another another thing: It took the ambulance at least 10 minutes to arrive, so I truly hope I don't have an accident with serious injuries because I'd probably kick it before I get any help. Luckily, the kid wasn't bleeding, but I'm pretty sure his legs were broken. Not really a pleasant thing to witness. Sorry to be such a Debbie-Downer in this post, but I am shaken and stirred, and not in the good way.

I have very few complaints about the way things work in Chile, but now I have something add to the (albeit, short) list: CRAZY ASS PSYCHO DRIVERS.

Thanks to an asshole in a green sedan, I will now have nightmares about getting hit by a car. And when I wake up, I get to take the bus-ride-of-death.

Written with a smirk and smile

Needless to say, my summer has been quite a bit different than that of my law-school counterparts. While they are cranking out memos/briefs/motions/etc., I have been stumbling my way through the Spanish language, or at least learning enough Chilean slang to know what the men on the street are yelling at me ("Rubia, tienes un poto delicioso!").  While this is an important skill, I've been having a nagging feeling that I need to be doing something a bit more...legal, perhaps.  Learning Spanish during your final year of law school is all fun and games until the Bar Exam comes and bites you in the face.

However, this week I commenced my job...and therefore, the most interesting part of this trip:  learning the Chilean civil law system.  And oooooh how different it is!  Just when I think that something is the same as American law, I learn about some new quirk that completely throws me.  Por ejemplo:

Chile has a Supreme Court, appellate courts, and local courts for regions (there is no state v. federal system here).  Sounds mundane enough.  However, the regional "courts" are more like offices where the judge is rarely seen.  He/She reads motions and rules on them completely solo.  Still kind of mundane, yes?  Here's the best part:  all of files, including each party's motions, judicial rulings, etc. are kept in the local court, and you can only look at the file while standing at a counter.  An attorney is NEVER allowed to take the file home or have copies.  Therefore, your entire legal strategy is based of handwritten notes taken in 2 minutes.  And if you take the file past a certain red line behind the counter, there is a major financial penalty.  Personally, I can't imagine responding to a motion without the file in front of me, but Chilean attorneys do it all the time.  However, the craziest part is that the files are literally SEWN togeter.  With thread.   No computers, no online system, not even a file folder. Hundreds of pieces of paper...sewn together.  A-mazing.  

And I could go on and on about the major/minor differences.  Of course, the biggest difference is that case law has little importance here, but anytime a new code is released, people run like mad to get a copy of the new code.  For the law kids:  Remember pocket parts?  Chilean lawyers live for 'em.

For those of you who are not law-dorks (I have about 3 readers, one of whom is my non-lawyer Mom...so this one's for you, Mom), this probably sounds very boring.  But my point is that I am learning an entirely different system of law.  I'm learning how many South American countries, as well as France and Germany, use their legal system.  So maybe I'm not cranking out memos for super-exciting insurance fraud cases, but I am learning how a vast majority of the world operates under civil law.  I'm getting an in-depth comparison of the American legal system with civil law systems, and I'm learning what's great about our system and what's not. I'm learning about all the drama we could live without.  In short, I'm gaining REAL knowledge about the rest of the world...outside the detestable law-school box.  

Not to mention, I'm traveling to gorgeous little pueblos, eating delicious food, gaining proficiency in another language, and making new (hot Chilean) friends.  I wouldn't trade my experience for a corner desk at FBT.  Ever.  

In fact, given the option between a cushy American firm job and a job at my tiny little office with no heater, a coffee-pot straight from the 1970's, and three people (Sr. Caballero, Gonzalo, and I) crammed into an office the size of my bedroom...I wouldn't even have to think twice.  

Quien necesita una oficina grande cuando todo el mundo esta afuera??? 

(If you haven't noticed, it's official:  Y'all have lost me to Chile.  Chau!)

Regrets and then some

The thing about hanging out with 20 year-olds is that it all-too-ofen makes me pause and reflect on what I was doing at 20...and why I wasn't galavanting around Chile like these little chiquillas.

I am the oldest person in our little Adelante group by 3 years, and most of the time it doesn't bother me.  I adore the girls I've met here, and we get along just dandy (I'm trying not to decide if that means they are over-mature or I'm under-mature...).  However, certain conversations have caused me to regret my own choices I made at 20.  

I did not:

--study abroad

--travel abroad during the summer

--go on elaborate spring breaks

--spend a semester at another university

Looking back, I really regret not doing these things.  There was always some excuse:  A boyfriend, my family, the need to take a certain class, lack of money etc.  But the real reason I didn't do any of these thing is pure, blatant FEAR.  I was scared to death to push myself outside of my own comfort zone.  Going on trips with my family was great, but the thought of going abroad on my own--completely solo--terrified me.  And sure, money was a legitimate excuse, but not one that I couldn't have remedied.  I could have made it work, but the fear overpowered my desire to try. 

Now, I feel that I've missed my chance.  It's my last truly "free" summer.  When I return to Louisville in August, I'll have to hunker down for my final year of law school, only to turn around and hunker down for the bar exam.  And then...work begins.  For the rest.of.my.life.  The End. 

I hate that I feel this way.  The sweet little 20-something girls tell me that it's not too late, etc.  I would have said the same thing at their age, before I was saddled with school loans and an advanced degree that is trapping me into a lifestyle I don't think I want.  I've always wanted to join the Peace Corps, but if I do that after law school, I'll basically be ruining my legal career.  The same can be said for practicing law in another country.  I don't know many firms that would say, "Sure, come on board with us!  You've never really practiced law and spent the last two years living in the Ecuadorian swamp, but you'll still be a fabulous lawyer!"  How it wish it were so.  Unfortunately, the legal community is unforgiving and unimpressed with a mid-20's life crisis.  

And so I guess I'll just have to live with the choices I've made.  I pride myself on being optimistic, and I don't like to write Debby-downer posts on this blog...but I'm feeling pretty angry at myself lately.  Yes, I know, I can always travel abroad.  But it's not the same as living somewhere different.  My hateful lawyer-job will probably only give me 10 paid vacay days, and a week in Peru is not going to give me the same satisfaction as living there for several months.  And so, ladies and gents, I've trapped myself yet again.  Here's your bed, Kate, lie down it in.  You can't go back.  

I guess the old song is true:  I don't regret the things I've done, only the things I didn't. 

Apparently, I'm a Faux-Minority

Over-sensitive white folks, be warned:  I am in no way trying to relate to being a minority in the U.S.  Read before judging.  Tranquilla!  But by all means, judge if you see fit.   --K

Never before have I been in the minority, at least not looks-wise.  It's an entirely new experience that I am still analyzing and over-analyzing.  Being a blonde in America del Sur is enlightening, to say the least.  In the interest of fairness, I should note that I am a foreign-tourist minority, and I am not living in a country where my kind have been routinely persecuted and oppressed.  My ancestors weren't ever in slavery, and I haven't missed opportunities because of my race/nationality.  Quite the opposite in fact:  I am immediately thought of as semi-elite because of my "very American" look.  

[A quick note on that:  I seem to be dumb enough to think that Americans are not a homogenous people.  I thought that we (uh, white Americans, that is) don't have an identifiable look.  WRONG.  Chileans can pick out an American in 2 seconds...even the Americans with more "latino" coloring.  I'm still trying to figure out what our common look is, but the important part is that we white folk are apparently homogenous.  Intriguing.]

My life here is surrounded in stares:  people staring at me as I leave the house, people starting at me on the metro/micro bus, people starting at me in restaurants, etc.  Maybe I'm just hyper-sensitive (entirely possible), or maybe Chileans just don't think that staring is rude (but smiling at someone on the street is?!).  I've almost gotten used to the staring, but I almost lost it two days ago.  As I was waiting to cross the street, a man was so blatantly staring at me and giving me the once over that I almost yelled "Stare harder, jerk! Yes I'm rubia!" I decided this was not a good representation of my nice-little-girl upbringing, so I refrained.  Not to mention, the man was dressed in lawyer-ish clothes and he could work at my firm.  Once a law student, always a law student...even 5000 miles away from home.

The most difficult and different feeling is looking around any given area--bus stop, museum, restaurant, etc.--and realizing that NO ONE ELSE looks like you.  Given that, in the States, I am an average-sized, average-looking white woman, I have never before had this experience.  It's not necessarily a negative feeling, just...incredibly isolating.  And the stares aren't malicious or hateful, but more curious.  Why are you on my metro train, gringrita?  My sister said it best:  It's like when black folks visit Huntingburg.  It's just plain odd to see an apple in a bowl of oranges.  Disappointing but true.  People love to stare at something  different, simply because it's different.    

So while I've gotten a small taste of minority-hood, I can't forget the fact that I'm a privileged "minority."  I'm visiting this country because my skin tone, in all hemispheres, has allowed me the good fortune to go to college, go to graduate school, and earn enough money to travel.  I'm a minority because of my privilege.  I've made myself into a "minority."  Nothing gives me the right to feel sorry for myself, and I don't.  If anything, I have a perpetual reminder of my ridiculously good fortune on this planet, and also a reminder that I have that good fortune because of the persecution of others, both on this continent and in North America.

 Here's to being a faux-minority in the forgotten part of America.  It's good medicine for this gringa.

FINALLY!

I just had to share my excitement--I FINALLY was able to talk to my family tonight!  I talked my sister's ear off for over 30 minutes, and I even got to talk to the REB for a few minutes.

Thanks to my brilliant brother-in-law, we have finally solved the Chilean cell phone issue!  YAY for modern communication!

An American in Chile, o en otras palabras, una gringrita

First of all, I feel I should apologize for my last post, which was a complete Debbie Downer.  I wrote the post at the end of a very long and frustrating day--not a good idea.  But it must have been my rock-bottom day, because I am now officially LOVING Chile.  I've had several great experiences already, and I have grand plans for many more.

My reasons for loving Chile are many:  The food--I have yet to having something that is "American," or something I haven't liked.  The Chilenos themselves--ridiculously nice and very interested in American culture.  They have a great way of questioning certain American practices without being rude or insulting.  And as long as you TRY to talk Spanish, they are happy with you.  The lifestyle--late to rise (vs. American standards; here, a common time to leave for work is 9 a.m.), late to bed, and enjoying everything.  There is no great rush to get anywhere, and eating is a social event, not just a time to fill your belly.  All in all, the people are easy going and happy with life. 

I could go on and on and on, but that's not the point of this post.  The point is, my friends, I am definitely an American.  A few events have pointed this out to me:

Utilities are sacred here.  Turning on a light is an event, and you only do so when it's absolutely necessary.  And god forbid that you should forget to turn one out.  Chisto mio!  But utilities are conserved out of a great love for the environment; rather, they are conserved because they cost almost 3x as much as in the U.S.  Needless to say, Chileans are conservative with the goods.  That doesn't really bother me, but this does:  cold and short showers.  I think showering has become my least favorite time of day.  Also, 5 people share 1 bathroom, so time in the bathroom is also a hot commodity.  I've decided that my return to the states in August will be celebrated by locking myself in the bathroom and taking a LONG, HOT shower.  Very long, very warm.  

Chileans don't have to have an end goal when walking out the door.  They just like to walk.  Don't get me wrong, that's a great thing.  I've been on several treks already where the only point was to see the "cerros" (hills) in Valparaíso.  The part that bothers me is that they are THREE HOUR WALKS.  I'm sorry, the American in me needs a goal.  Are we going to see some gorgeous site outside?  Are we going to dinner?  Are we going to meet someone?  During the most recent three hour "walk," I found these questions racing through my head.  And Jonathan, my guide, merely wanted to take me on a walk to show me the city at night.  I tried my hardest to push my pushy American thoughts aside, but they kept creeping up again.  So I did the next best thing--I recognized the thoughts for what they are and tried to concentrate on just enjoying the moment.  And once I did that, I truly enjoyed our walk.  However, next time Jonathan asks if I want to go on a walk, I'm going to ask where we're going and why.  Forgive me, I was born in the EEUU. 

All in all, I think I'm starting to blend in better.  Minus the whole people-staring-at-me-on-the-bus thing.  Although I must say that everyone is very polite, and no one yells out "gringa, gringa!" (another very American stereotype of Latino men).  But I'm almost getting used to the staring.  It's a bit difficult for we Americans to understand, because many different types of people live in our country.  We may stare at someone because he/she is wearing odd clothing, or because they have a green mohawk.  But for the most part, we're taught that it's rude to stare at someone because of they way they look.  In Chile, starting is totally acceptable if you are literally the ONLY person with blonde hair and green eyes on a Metro train of 200 people.  They don't mean to be rude, they're just intrigued, I guess.  

I realize that these posts are very fragmented and have no real depth.  My goal over the next week is to find a more centered-route for this blog...sort of a unified purpose.  Or maybe I'll just embrace the Chileno in me and just walk along.  

Hasta luego, mis vidas.  

Soy vieja, no?

I am so tired I can hardly write this.  Running around town with 20 year-olds is apparently too much for me!  

Today was my first day at the language school, and it went really well.  I really like my teacher, and the other students are very nice...and very young.  I have planned to go out with them every OTHER time they go out, because that will still probably be 3-4 times a week.  These kids and their energy!  Also, we got another American student at our house today, named Paul.  If I do not kill him before the month is up, I should get a gold star and a guaranteed pass into heaven.  He is part of this big group of students from University of Richmond...all of whom are wonderful...except Paul.  I shouldn't say that.  Really, he's a nice person.  But SO SO SO immature and a typical loud American.  I know 20 year-old males are stupid, but he is both annoying (chews with his mouth open, interrupts conversations, etc) and LOUD.  On the micro (bus), he was talking so loud in English that literally every person on the bus was looking at us.  I wanted to die.  Rather, I wanted to slap him, and then die.  My whole goal here has been not stand out as an annoying American, and this kid makes it impossible not to stand out.  New goal:  AVOID AVOID AVOID.

Tonight was actually a very early night by Chilean standards, and even by American standards, for that matter.  Tonight, Lisa, Paul, Jonathan (Denis' son who is visiting), and I walked to the apartment of another student, Andrea on the north side of Viña.  It was neat to see the other side of the city, but it also made me very glad that we are living on the southeast side.  The north/northwest side of Viña is very new and much like any other beach-type city.  I prefer our little "barrio" which has more houses and fewer high-rises, and feels much more like a quaint little town instead of a big city.  But seeing Valparaíso from across the bay was well worth the trip.

I'm a little frustrated right now for 2 reasons:  1) there is so much i want to write on this blog, but I am so tired and my brain has reached it's maximum output for the day.  But yet I'm afraid that I'll forget what I want to say!  And 2) My internet (or lack of) and my troubles with Skype are making me crazy.  All I want to do is talk to my mom!!!!!  For all it's advances, the wi fi in Chile is still sub par.  :(  

This blog post is miserable.  I am too tired to even make sense or sound as positive as I feel.  Time for bed, and I'll try to write something more intelligent tomorrow!

Hasta luego!