Chile

This month I am participation in a blog challenge. I will write 26 blogs. Each title will begin with each of the 26 letters of the alphabet. My idea is to write about different countries and cities I’ve visited and share a specific memory experienced there. Hope you enjoy!

 Chile

 Santiago de Chile was the first place I had lived abroad. I believe this was the reason friends and family did not truly grasp the fact that I was living abroad rather than simply traveling about.  I would get several questions about when I would be returning and what sites I had seen.  It didn’t seem to matter that I was receiving mail at an address or paying rent and bills. It was significant that I was working and cashing a pay check every month, friends and family still thought I was basically on vacation.

Because of their doubts I began to have them too. I wondered how long it would take me to truly feel like I was living in Chile and not just visiting for a very long time. I became obsessed with the ex-pat live and desired to be a part of it, yet I felt like a fraud.  How long does one have to live away from their country to be considered an ex- pat I asked myself?  Were there blogs back then I would have searched them tirelessly looking for an answer.

Months went by like this; me, wondering what it would take to feel like I was actually living in Chile and not simply being a tourist. I had a favorite bar where a fair share of the patrons knew my name. I rode the metro everywhere.  I passed people I knew on the street.  The same stray dog followed me home each evening from my metro stop.  I made friends with the man washing cars on the corner I walked by each day on the way to work.  My neighbor asked to borrow sugar.  I watched his cat when he left for a long weekend.  And still, I didn’t feel right saying I was living in Chile. I still felt like a fraud.

It wasn’t until one day, perhaps six or seven months into my time in Santiago, that I finally knew I was truly and surely living there.  Walking to one class or another, hands in my pockets, I was stopped by an older women. In Spanish, she asked me how to get to such and such street. I gave her directions, she thanked me, and I went on my way. It was moments later when I realized what had just happened. 

At the time, I was just learning Spanish, yet I understood and answered her question flawlessly and without hesitation.  I do not exactly blend well into Chile. There is no mistaking my 5’7 frame, and while usually tan, my brown instead of black hair did nothing to lead people to think I might be a local.  Yet this woman asked me for directions. Directions!  Tourists don’t know directions, they ask for directions.  I knew exactly where she was talking about and how to get there from where we were. Now, if you know me, this is even more shocking as I am horrible with directions in the states or abroad. 

A smile crept onto my face that lasted the entire day and into the next.  I never doubted whether I lived in or was simply visiting Chile from that point on. A Chilean had asked me for directions and I was able to give them to her.   There are moments in your life, giant significant moments, where something happens and you forever mark time as starting before or after that event. After that moment on the street, my life as an ex- pat began.