A day in the life of a santiaguina...

8:00 - 9:00:
I wake up and eat breakfast with my host mother. Contrary to what people in the campo claimed, meal size does not decrease in the big city and I still eat at the rate of 250 lb. man. A typical breakfast is this: coffee or tea. Ham, egg, and cheese sandwich. Crackers or bread with kiwi or apricot mermelada, (or butter but who wants that with those other choices.) Some type of fruit like peaches, cantalope, or honeydew, (I have been eating peaches at every meal for two straight weeks because Eliana, my host mother, bought a huge tub of them.)

9:00 - 10, 10:30, 11:
Transantiago time! The new transportation system in Santiago really sounded like a great idea: regular buses, scheduled bus times and routes, no crowds or lines. Too bad none of that actually worked. Public transportation is actually worse than it was before, and although it is incredibly frustrating, it is also good to know that it is not only because I am foreign that I do not understand it. And after this, I am more than greatful for the ever faithful and on-time-to-a-tee Milwaukee transportation system.

11:30 - late afternoon:
I go to two or three classes, depending on the day. I am taking a really entertaining Theology class, an Introduction to Literature, and a Mexican history and culture class. I am also required to take a Spanish for Foreigners and a Chilean Politics. These I have found to be the most valuable. Not only does it help me to actually understand what is going on in my other classes, we also have talked about the history of Chile and its recent demonstrations: one over the death of the former dictator Pinochet, another the riot of the Pingüinos, or poor kids, that have realized that they can protest for a better education. Also, we discuss many other topics in Latin America and the world, besides what´s happening in Chile.

?... Whenever I get home:
After another ride back in two metro lines and one Transantiago bus, I study, read, or go for a run. For me, this part of the day is where I can completely relax without having to pay 100% attention to what is being said, written, or shown and where my brain unwinds.

9:00 - 10:00:
I eat dinner with my family, which usually includes my uncle who is recooperating from cancer and staying with us. As we have eaten so many delicious things, (Eliana is an amazing cook) no meal has been without a side of tomatoes, bread, and avocado. There is always some type of fruit juice (last night we had grape juice, without any other enhancers and it was one of the best drinks I have had in my life.) Fruits, vegetables and bread are really the staple of the Chilean diet, and I can see why because they are all used in such different and intriguing ways. I am completely fascinated by their use of the lemon. My favorite salad has been avocado, potato, carrot, cheese, tuna mixed with bits of onion, all doused with lemon and salt. The worst thing I can say about the food is that it is a pity it has not caught on in the U.S.

After dinner:
I go back to studying or watching a teleseries here that is new called Papi Ricki. It is corny, of course, but oh so entertaining. There aren´t as many shows here, so everyone of all ages and almost every house watches this show. I pass out at around 12 every night after what is a usually tiring mentally and physically long day, not in a bad way, but because I am learning so many new things each and every hour. It is the type of rewarding sleep that comes after really working hard all day, or doing something that requires a lot of energy, and I am grateful for it.



Now that I am here in the city, I usually find myself missing life in the campo. At first, it was a relief just to be able to take a hot shower again, and Santiago reminded me so much of Milwaukee that I felt almost like I was back in the U.S. But now that I am here, I realize how much I value my experience in rural Chile, and how much it has taught me. These people may not have had a lot of things that people in America are accustomed to, even demand. They looked older than their years from working hard physical labor, from not using sunscreen or Pantene Pro-V, or from dressing in hand-me-downs or from second-hand stores. My mother and sister do not know how to drive a car, and are expected to do ¨women´s work¨ around the house. My brother and father work long hours, spending only dinner with their family and only having Sundays off. My parents go into town to shop and visit with friends one night a week. Their house was plain and simple, without modern appliances, a near-empty fridge, without even a functioning indoor oven, without doors to some of the rooms, without carpeting and air conditioning.

But they were so alive, so welcoming and so friendly. My parents, aunts, uncles and even neighbors called me, a stranger who barely could speak Spanish and who they just met, hijita, which literally translated is daughter. Their life is lived in such a way that they can hitchhike without fear of being abducted and leave their doors unlocked without fear of being robbed. Both sides of their extended family live all around the neighborhood or in town, or in the town nearby, and in my family there were five living generations of people. Even neighbors who are not blood-related know each other as well as if they were. I spent as much time living in the houses of my aunts, uncles, grandmother, great-grandmother, and neighbors as I did with my parents. Here, family is alive and strong, and central to the life of any singular person.

Life was not perfect in the campo, but it wasn´t horrible either. I know that there were ways we as Americans could say here, this is how your life could be better. You save up your money, send your kids to college, then hopefully through them, can raise their standard of living. They won´t have to plow with their own two hands, or ever milk a cow, pick a berry, or grind corn using ancient methods again. You could spend much more time together, take vacations, buy a new house, own a new car. You could become civilized, globalized, connected to other parts of the world, more than just your own tiny 500-person town.

But what´s the tradeoff? My neighbors in the U.S. know me, but not well, and many of them don´t even know my name. Hitchiking in the U.S. is practically like asking to be killed. I have never gone to bed in my home or my college home without locking the front door. Ever. There are constant stories in the news of kidnappings, murders, robberies and other brutalities. My family is my one exception. I am so grateful and lucky to have them all around me, and to know them so well and love them so much, but we are deifnitely the exception. Most other people in the U.S. and world do not even know the ages and names of their cousins, don´t visit them regularly, and have no idea what they´re like and who they are.

Our two societies are so different, yet in past times, everything was more like the Chilean campo. People are always saying that there is more violence in today´s world than in the past, and less respect and love for one´s neighbor, and for life in general. But as a whole, the world is supposedly improving because people are raising their standard of living. So, in terms of the free world, are we trading a harder life for a more violent one? Do we live better because we live easier, or do we live better when we aren´t ruled by fear? Do most financially successful people only elevate the means to having a better life, or do they actually have one? I think there are a variety of complex answers to these questions, but I believe it is something that my generation and generations of the future will have to address.

In short, my experience in the campo has profoundly affected how I view my life in the city, and in the U.S. as well. There are new things that I have never thought of that I think of now because I spent a few days with a family that is stuck in the past century, but is quickly becoming caught up.