Oh, history

So that test that was supposed to be Monday but that got moved to Thursday has now been “suspendida” once again. Cristian called me around 9pm, his cell phone cutting in and out, to tell me that I could stop studying because Josue had just called him with the news. Once again camped out on my bed, surrounded by my now-completed fichas (about 70 or so in total), I smiled and thought to myself how very strange this country is.

I’ve found myself once again running (still not literally, but I think I’m getting closer!) from one thing to the next this week. Despite how obnoxious it is to always feel like you’re pressed for time, it’s kind of comforting—a sure sign that I’m settling myself into a routine and acostumbrandome. I’ve got myself a nice little schedule that includes two classes a day Monday through Thursday (though that includes a three-hour-long class on Tuesdays before my COPA Spanish class), physical therapy three times a week, and three happy days of weekend and Viña/Valpo nightlife. My host mom has even come around to the idea of me making my own dinners when I get home at night—I think she might even enjoy it now.

Alex and I finally got to spend some time together last night. We went searching for a place to have dinner and somehow found ourselves deciding between gringo-plastered Café Journal and a bar/restaurant across the street. We elected for the place across the street only to find that they were empanada-less for the day (this, of course, was only found out after we’d ordered a starter-sandwich because they’d told us they’d be ready in an hour). It was okay, though, because their pisco sours were really cheap, and the sandwich ended up being really big. But in the end we gave in and transferred to Café Journal a few hours later, where we ordered an empanada. It’s an oddly surreal feeling to suddenly find yourself leaning on the arm of someone so intimately familiar in a place that has nothing to do with the origin of that familiarity. I keep having to remind myself that yes, it is possible for us to both be here, at the same time, together. But strangeness aside—or maybe strangeness on top of strangeness; it depends on how I choose to approach it—it seems that, in addition to the fact that it’s possible for us to both be here, I think it’s also possible for us to successfully both be here—as a couple, and as individuals. So that’s cool, if complicated.

After my poetry class today, I met up with Cristian in Valpo and we headed to the municipal library (cool, by the way) to study for our test…which at the time was not suspendida. My relationship with Cristian confuses me sometimes. I’m not exactly sure why he’s chosen to take me under his wing. I’ve recently developed the theory that he and Minna see themselves as exchange student missionaries—they search out bumbling gringas and invite them to their house, to their parties, to their study sessions; they make them feel like they have friends; then they release them back into the wild of their home countries where the students are able to proudly declare that they made friends with the natives (and the overly-blonde, casi-natives), and here’s a picture of us at Isla Negra as proof. It turned out that 1., Cristian had lent his fichas to Ernesto, and therefore had no materials with him, that 2., he already knew everything there was to know about Latin America ever, and that 3., he had decided that he would teach me, the poor, stupid, bumbling gringa all his wondrous knowledge in the most condescending way possible. Lovely. I’ll be the first to admit that, despite the fact that I’m a Latin American Studies major, my knowledge of Latin American history is sorely lacking, but I wasn’t quite prepared to feel as degraded as I ended up feeling. I’m really not used to finding myself in a position in which I feel like my very ability to reason is being questioned. It’s an odd feeling when you realize that the person you’re with may actually think you’re completely stupid. And it’s not your broken Spanish that’s struggling to explain the concept of Latin American economic development “hacia adentro” that makes the person question your IQ; it’s the simple fact that he thinks you’re dumb. And you don’t really have a way to prove him otherwise. So we sat there for a couple hours, and despite the soul-crushing condescension, I learned some good stuff about Latin American history. Plus, he invited me to Huevo for tomorrow night.