A critical fall from grace

My friendly unnamed Mexican man fell from grace today. I don't understand why someone would want to ruin a perfect lovely late-morning stationary bike ride by repeatedly telling me that they don't like black people. I find it further un-understandable that said person would scorn the thought of living in a place like the United States because they're are multiple languages spoken (unlike Chile--or any of Latin America, I was told--where there's only Spanish). Nevermind Brazil, nevermind Belize, nevermind Guyana (ok, I actually had to google that one). Said Mexican wouldn't even accept my point that in Chile and much of Latin America--and notably in Mexico--there are numerous indigenous languages spoken. I really had to restrain myself from hitting said idiot when he tried to tell me that indigenous languages are merely dialects of Spanish, and that as a history and literature major (thank god I took some fellow COPA students' advice and stopped telling people I'm a Latin American Studies major), I should really know about languages and cultures--apparently they're important. Ugh. When I left the gym, I made sure not to kiss him goodbye.

I hate finding out things like that about people; it makes me want to kick something, crush something with my shoe/boot, and then show that person what I crushed so they can have some visual aid in order to understand how much they suck. And I wonder...for all the problems the U.S. has with race relations, I don't think I've ever heard such blatant racism as that I've heard while in Latin America. Maybe it's just me desperately trying to cling to some semblance of political correctness in a sea of "negro" this and "chino" that and "gordo" every third phrase. But I think it's more than a difference in tact; my unnamed Mexican gave me the sense that there was hostility of the non-dormant, non-buried variety right below his veneer of ignorance. At the same time, though, I keep thinking about this ridiculous essay I've been trying to get through for my Post-Modern Chilean Lit class. It's this really jargony critique of "Latinoamericanismo"--of scholarship that looks at Latin America from the outside and places outside value systems on the culture and reinforces a colonial relationship without the acceptance of those within who actually experience the culture and the place. Basically, it's a critique of my major. So I find myself caught between whatever I've been told by my slightly eccentric ivory towers of Carleton, my sincere desire to experience and understand Chile and other Latin American countries (careful not to lump countries together...) from the inside as a quasi-native, my incredibly influenceable nature (I believe whatever I read until I read something else), my own self-conscious perceptions, my host dad who tries to get me to boil all of mexicanidad, costriccensidad, and chilenidad into one neat comparison, and this looney at the Y.

Ok, so my morning visit to the Y wasn't quite as uplifting as yesterday's, but for lunch we had cazuela, a typical Chilean dish that's basically everything you own that's large put into a stew (this seems to be a trend, I've found), and that made me much happier. My gigantic bowl heaved itself in front of me complete with an entire potato (size large), half a pumpkin, and an entire side of beef. Plus the stew. Then there were the accompaniments on the table that were to be added to the cazuela--carrots, celery, piebre (like pico de gallo), bread, etc. It was lovely. Plus, we had a cintillating conversation about ice cream, and my mom's friend Jasmine taught me some handy Chilean slang.

I later went to grammar class at just the moment Chile decided to rain again. On the upside, my grammar class was actually fun and interesting. Sweetness. On the bus ride home, the waves in the ocean were all cresting and violent and dark, with jagged swells crashing against the black rocks and upsetting the floaty-thingies further away from the shore. To the north, a dark wall was descending on the hills of Reñaca and Con Con, threatening my home in Viña, and blurring the line between land and sky. It was all very dark and forboding. Now I'm back at home, and feeling really happy and settled with my family, despite any differences I might feel at times. And I'm looking forward to a long weekend in Santiago with my mom, her family, and a friend from Denver!