Top 11 Chilean Cultural Quirks (I Couldn’t Pick Just 10)

The theme of this week was very similar to that of last week—learning to deal with challenges. I bought another ticket to Mendoza and again, the trip was cancelled due to bad weather in the mountains. I enjoyed a spontaneous weekend in Santiago with no plans. I wandered the streets and found some new restaurants, new barrios (neighborhoods), and watched one of the biggest soccer games of the season in an American themed bar.
Since I have not accumulated any funny stories from the weekend, I decided I would write this blog about some of the interesting things I have come to notice about Chilean culture, things that you would only be able to notice if you weren’t from Chile but had still lived here for a significant amount of time. I would call these things cultural quirks. They don’t necessarily reveal a profound history or cultural influence of Chile, but I find them funny and refreshing.
Here goes.
Cultural Quirk #1: I’ve talked about this before, but Chileans have no shame in staring. Especially when it comes to checking out the gringa with blonde hair walking down the street (aka ME). They will look out the window of a car and whistle. They will look behind their shoulder as you pass. They’ll put their entire face against a window just to get a better look at you. I’m serious. None of these are exaggerations. I really have had guys press their faces against a car window, like they’re kids in a candy shop, and stare at me for an uncomfortable amount of time.
Cultural Quirk #2: Chileans love their little white dogs. I’ve noticed that the majority of Chileans that own a dog, first of all have a very small dog, and second of all, the dog is always white.
Cultural Quirk #3: They have a rhyme here that is the equivalent of “Eenie Meenie Minie Mo” but in Spanish. It has the same concept as our rhyme where they point to multiple objects as they chant the words and at the end when their finger lands on the last object, this is the one they pick. What’s interesting though is that the rhyme talks about God and the Virgin Mary and doing what they would want you to do. A little deeper and profound than “Catch a tiger by its toe.”
Cultural Quirk #4: They also play “Rock, Papers, Scissors” here but instead of pounding the different symbols on your fists, they put their hands behind their head and then at one time reveal which symbol they have chosen. Same rules, just different in how they reveal their choice of rock, paper, or scissors.
Cultural Quirk #5: PDA is definitely a thing here. Chileans are not embarrassed to publicly make-out with their pololo (boyfriend). Whether it be tongues out in the metro, mounting each other in the park, or kissing each others necks on the street corner, PDA is a daily occurrence here. I have seen it all when it comes to relations here. Not even kidding, I’ve seen a couple licking each other up and down their arms and necks in the middle of the dance floor. Too much? Apparently not here.
Cultural Quirk #6: La comida de Chile. The diet of Chileans is probably the thing I have had to adjust to the most. They have avocado and tomatoes with everything. Hamburgers, hotdogs, bread, spaghetti. Not kidding, I’ve eaten spaghetti with avocado and tomatoes; and I thought it was good. On the weekends instead of dinner, my family has a meal called once that consists of bread, avocado, and usually tomatoes. Bread is a huge staple here. I think my host mom must eat 15 pieces of bread a day. And the bread here is not like the sliced bread in the States. I would describe it as a French baguette in miniature. It’s a hearty bread and with pretty much every meal it is served and expected that you have at least one piece. While I have enjoyed the food here, I would not constitute it as having much flavor. Chileans are quite honestly a bunch of pansies when it comes to spice. The tiniest amount of flavor they would say is too spicy. But even when a dish has no flavor or taste to even talk about, they will still mutter between each breath, “Qué rico,” which means, “how delicious.” I quite honestly could write an entire blog solely on the food here, and maybe I will sometime. But these are just a couple of the interesting quirks of their diet.
Cultural Quirk #7: Another thing about the food—there is no such thing as finger food here. Everything is eaten with a knife and fork. French fries—you better not use your fingers. Fruit—don’t you dare put it in your hand and go straight for your mouth. My host mom gives me a knife with every piece of fruit I eat, assuming I will cut a slice before putting into my mouth. Whether it be a pear, a kiwi, a peach, I have to eat it with a knife. Even an orange, yes an orange, I will get a knife to cut it with. What am I going to do with an orange and a knife?! I’ve skipped the knife with the orange simply because I don’t understand the logistics.
Cultural Quirk #8: Guys here have no game. That is, when it comes to dating. They don’t believe in leading you on or playing hard to get. They simply ask you out if they like you. I’ve had guys call me “Qué preciosa” (How precious) after about 5 minutes of dancing with them, sometimes even sooner. I’ve been asked to go out from guys I’ve literally never seen in my life. Seriously, the first words they say to me are: “¿Quieres salir conmigo alguna vez?” (Do you want to go out with me sometime?) Really? We haven’t even exchanged two words yet and already you want to spend an entire night with me? There’s no such thing as having a “thing” here. Dates are on the table within the first 10 minutes of meeting a guy. There’s no messing around.
Cultural Quirk #9: Chileans think every kind of weather is cold. Everyday my host mom comes home from dropping my host brother off at school and says, “Hace frío” (It’s cold). Literally, its 70 degrees outside. They keep telling me it’s winter and as I walk down the streets I see that everyone is in winter jackets with boots, scarves, and gloves. But literally, it is 70 degrees outside. I’ll get stares if I wear a short sleeve shirt with no jacket. But come on! It’s 70 degrees outside. I would say this still constitutes summer, or at least a warm fall. Then when we do have the occasional cold day, my host family will complain how cold it is in the house, but yet they have ALL the windows open. The door to patio, the bedroom windows, the window to the kitchen, all open. I don’t know if they don’t know they’re open or what’s going on but it’s only logical to me that by closing them, it would make the house warmer. I’m just saying.
Cultural Quirk #10: Go to the supermarket here and everything is in a bag. You name it, it probably comes in a bag. Ketchup. Mayonnaise. Jam. Soap. Shampoo. Yogurt. Yes, all in a bag. It’s sometimes an interesting feat to pour my yogurt each morning out of a hole in bag and when it gets to the end, I still haven’t figured out how to squeeze every last drop out because that bag of yogurt stays in the fridge long after I think it’s all gone.
Cultural Quirk #11: Nothing is on time here. They’re on Chilean time, and the Chileans will recognize it. The other night I asked how long the halves for our games were, since I’m playing in a league here. The girls said they were 22 minutes. Twenty-two minutes? Why not 25, or 20, or even 30? Why 22? They answered me that this allowed time for people to be late, for the game to start late, and for there to be a longer half time and still not go over an hour. It’s for Chilean time, they said.

So there you have it. Chilean culture in a nutshell. I have one last story to tell you all before we part for the week. This didn’t quite fit into my list but it still goes along with the theme of learning about Chilean culture in a comical way.
I was wearing a Puget Sound t-shirt one day with the initials P and S on the front with an axe in between them. A typical Puget Sound shirt that I didn’t think anything about. When I sat down for dinner that night, my host mom asked what the letters meant. I told her they were for my school. As soon as I gave my answer, she started laughing. “I thought the letters stood for Partido Socialista,” she admitted. “And the symbol in the middle looks like the Communist anchor. I thought you were a Communist.” Oh God! So now my Puget Sound shirt can be mistaken for a Communist campaign. “No, no, no,” I assured her. “It’s just the symbol for my school.” So now if I ever go running out with that t-shirt I’ll know that everywhere I go people will think I’m a communist. Puget Sound represent.

Posted in Brenna Cameron '14, Chile | Leave a comment

From the drawing board to the stage: Princess Mononoke

After weeks of pent-up excitement, I had the pleasure of watching Whole Hog Theater, a London theater troupe, perform their stage adaptation of Hayao Miyazaki’s Shinto-inspired fantasy epic this afternoon: Princess Mononoke.

True to the film, the play had a distinctively ethereal atmosphere throughout, as displayed by the stage alone. However the acting was also top-notch, the costumes were delightfully accurate and the elaborate puppetry pushed the boundaries well beyond what I thought was possible in performance theater.

The leads, Prince Ashitaka and Princess Mononoke, were particularly strong, mirroring both the personalities and even the inflections of the characters I had grown up admiring from the English dubbed version of the film.

According to a recent article published in Japan Times, they had apparently rehearsed for a very long time to reach this desired effect. Since they retained most of the original dialogue, it’s easy to imagine the Prince and Princess mouthing along with the film repeatedly to match the voice actors’ delivery.

When Prince Ashitaka yelled “San!” as he attempted to rescue her from the accursed jaws of Lord Okoto, I found his voice to be nearly indistinguishable from Billy Crudup’s. Also the chemistry between Ashitaka and San was equally infectious, during both their transitional dance segments and their dialogue; I found myself bawling uncontrollably when San motioned to cut his throat for fully joining neither the the forest’s nor Lady Eboshi’s cause, to which he softly interjected, “You’re beautiful.”

Before coming to the show, I had wondered what the troupe’s costume directors would choose to keep and what to ignore from the film in terms of clothing. I was pleased to notice that the majority of the costumes, like Ashitaka’s iconic hood and straw coat, were kept intact.

San looked absolutely striking in her savage, tribal mask and ermine white fur coat, which appeared to be authentic. Considering the cast’s humble size, I was also very impressed by the speed at which they were able to change from Emishi villager garb to samurai armor to Irontown worker tunics, etc.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t take pictures during the show, but you can take my word for it that the puppets were anything but underwhelming, as I had feared.

They made me feel what it would be like to undergo a mix of awe and fear in the presence of enormous beasts like Moro, the mother of the wolf gods for example, who bellowed her hatred for humans while other puppeteers snarled beneath her to create a bone-chilling effect.

All their movements were so convincing that I often forgot I was watching giant paper-machete puppets rather than living, breathing animals.

Overall, it was a show I will never forget and I feel tremendously lucky to have had the opportunity to see it. Since it’s only playing in Tokyo and London this spring, it seems that I was meant to see my favorite anime on-stage.

It’s amazing to me that eleven years ago, I watched the film for the first time and also started eating sushi, which both spurred my growing interest in Japanese culture as a child, and now here I am seeing it performed live (in English too, no less) while I’m studying abroad in Tokyo.

Sometimes, life really is a funny thing.

Today, it’s not “funny-sad” though, as it tends to be in the midst of work and stress and school, but rather I guess you could say it’s “funny-glad,” for lack of better phrasing.

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Day one in Kyoto: sniffing out the fox god at Fushimi-Inari

Assuming the worst for the tail end of Japan’s busiest vacation period, Golden Week, some friends and I booked a house in downtown Kyoto where we would be staying for four days.

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We acquired the house from an Osaka blues musician who rents it out for extra income every now and then.

Once we had all finally arrived in Kyoto (we came separately, me preferring the shinkansen over the night bus due to the ride’s markedly beautiful landscapes), we met up with the property owner who promptly guided us throughout the house as we oohed and aahed at its immaculate, traditional Japanese aesthetics.

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The house even had a zen garden, functioning as the courtyard between the dining room and bathrooms; needless to say, we were pretty stoked.

We were not, however, terribly stoked about the position we were forced into after a couple of other students on our program had backed out of joining us at the last minute; since the price per person was practically doubled, I ended up having to borrow money from my friend Charlotte to cover my cut of the rent.

Moving on from that annoyance, we ventured out to a popular sake brewery nearby, or, nihonshuu, as the Japanese call it (sake simply means “alcohol”).

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After perusing the options for a while, two of my friends and I decided to split a variety case of three small bottles for the night (approximately $5 each).

When we got back to the house, all of my friends seemed to collapse simultaneously which led me to understand just how fatigued they really were from both their lack of sleep and their morning hike at the nearby Shinto shrine, Fushimi-Inari, devoted to the mischievous, though highly revered, Japanese fox god.

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Since I have always found the Inari Cult to be the most fascinating aspect of Shinto spirituality and especially because my energy was then at its peak, I figured I might as well catch up with my friends and spend my afternoon beneath the shrine’s innumerable vermilion torii.

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At first, I was underwhelmed by the size of the entrance shrine, expecting something even grander, but still excited to pray to the fox god at long last.

Of course, I didn’t have to walk much further into the complex to revere its its unfathomable vastness as the trails beckoned me to go up, down or around the mountain at almost every turn.

After having ascended about halfway up the mountain, I grew bored of the main drag with its domino-esque row of torii constantly leading the way, so I decided to follow my own intuition, which led me far, far away from other people and deep into a bamboo forest.

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I had begun to think I was lost until I finally discovered a set of shoddy, moss-ridden altars to the fox god, resting beside an eroded house.

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The stone reads kami, the kanji word for “god,” which is repeated several times.

I stayed at this one for a while, offered fifty yen, clapped my hands twice to summon the fox god, prayed and bowed before the altar, until I noticed a cat on the trail beside me.

It looked at me with a knowing expression that seemed to penetrate to the core of me, though its body language grew skittish as I drew closer.

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Then, it bounded up a different trail that seemed trodden, though heavily overgrown, before turning to stare at me again with that same esoteric expression (except this time I managed to capture it on-camera).

With no reason to go home early or to reject a potentially spiritual animal connection, I decided to trust my instincts that the cat wanted to lead me somewhere so without further ado, I took on after it.

As the climb grew steeper and steeper, I began to seriously doubt my sanity.

“Who else is crazy enough to follow a cat through a mountain forest they’ve never even been to before?” I asked myself.

But just as I lost sight of the cat, as I panted and cursed from my fatigue and the stifling midday humidity, I reached the summit, which was only a couple minutes down from the complex’s main shrine.

Reveling in the surprising outcome of following my feline friend, I decided to wander a little more before reaching the very top and thus, admitting defeat.

Of course, this is where things go wrong and karma, inevitably, enjoys a good nibble of my puffy, proud ass.

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This oni looks about how terrible bad karma feels.

I went where I felt like going, which led me through some pretty woods, though it was clearly nowhere on the shrine’s map due to its lack of distinctive torii, which then somehow led me to the outer suburbs of Kyoto, where I was welcomed by a committee of pointing, gawking Japanese children.

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As the sun began its descent, I climbed up, roughly, the way I came and asked the first person I encountered to point me the way to the top.

Luckily, the man understood me through my debilitating exhaustion and I finally made it there, just in time for sunset.

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I prayed once more at the final altar, took a few more pictures and chatted with a fellow photographer until the sun actually set, then ambled my way down the mountain, damning my day’s considerable amount of activity but not regretting it for a second.

On the way home, I got terribly lost on my way home but thankfully received some help from officers at a police station who helped me figure out where a taxi driver could drop me off nearby, since our house’s street was inaccessible by car.

Stress, combined with hunger and fatigue, led me to decline my friends’ offerings of beer as I kicked off my socks, threw my head onto the couch pillow and descended into dreams of foxes, above and below the earth.

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Maifest!

May!  Joyous, beauteous May!  The sun is shining, the flowers are blooming, and ALL of my pupils are most anxious to forsake their classrooms and schoolwork.  They have another 7 weeks until their summer vacation starts, but May is peppered with holidays, starting with the very first day.  No one works on May 1st, and all of the stores, schools, restaurants, etc. are closed.  At the animal shelter, where I volunteer, this is a mite problematic, since the animals within need to be cared for everyday.  This is also why volunteers are needed on Sundays.  I was one of several who agreed to work Wednesday morning.  Arriving at 8:00, I showed two new volunteers around, and then the three of us swept the rooms, changed the litter boxes, and refreshed the water and food bowls in record time, giving us a moment to sneak into the private room and greet the kittens.

WE HAVE KITTENS!

One mama cat with four tiny babies, who are so young that their eyes are still closed.  She hates it when people come into their room, and hisses at the intruders.  I suppose it is good for the kittens that she has strong mother-defensive instincts.  We also have a kindle of kittens who are older, a few months, at least.  They are bright, playful little creatures, and everyone wants to take them home.

Ahem.  May 1st, animal shelter.  Right!  I worked at the shelter for 3 hours, and then returned home, did important but inane tasks, and then returned to the shelter for the Maifest.  I don’t know what you picture, when you think of a “Maifest”, but I was imagining a folksy celebration, lots of flowers, singing and dancing, particularly around a tall wooden pole with ribbons.  Perhaps that happened elsewhere in Germany, but it did not here.  Actually, the spring festival Mackenzie, Kayla and I saw in Krakow, Poland, 5 1/2 weeks ago, more closely resembled the festivities I had imagined.  Here, at the Tierschutzbund, people came to look at the cats, browse the secondhand store, and eat!  A grill was set up, outside, and inside the building, Annika and I stood behind tables laden with coffee and various sweets, which we bestowed upon out guests for a mere 50 Euro cents per piece.  None of it was vegan, which was fine by me, because the vegan/vegetarian group had a table outside, and I spent some time hanging out with them.  Lovely people, yummy food!  As Annika and left, 3 hours later, a band had started to play.  Everyone was well-fed, enjoying the weather and the music, and in good spirits.  It was a lovely way to spend my holiday.

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Adding a Little Spice

Studying abroad has already presented me with so many obstacles. Obstacles that I’ve gladly approached and usually overcome with success. But there seems to be a theme with the obstacles. While obviously there are distinct obstacles that come with studying abroad in a country that speaks another language, this theme could be found in any study abroad experience whether you’re studying in London or in Thailand. I’ve noticed this lesson coming back again and again but this weekend I noticed it the most. The lesson: be flexible. Go with the flow.
This week, on a Tuesday afternoon, me and some friends decided that we wanted to go to Mendoza that weekend. We bought our bus tickets and booked the hostel within 24 hours and were pumped to enjoy a weekend in Argentina, tasting the many wine flavors and exploring a new city. When entering Argentina as an American, you have to pay a fee of $160, pretty pricey for just a weekend away from home. We all looked at our budgets and decided to make paying this fee worth it we would fly to Buenos Aires later in the semester.
Thursday arrived. My class, called Observación Clínica, which is usually in the morning got moved to the afternoon that day and we had no idea how long it would last. We assumed it would be a four-hour class like normal. When we got there, we quickly realized that we were going to take a tour of the hospitals we would be working at in the upcoming weeks. These hospitals were about an hour away from each other on public transportation. After a two-hour lecture, we finally left for the tours. At this point we were all very nervous that we wouldn’t be done in time in order to return home, pack, and catch the bus. The class finally finished and we all rushed home to get our things organized.
After I had packed my bag and was about to sit down to a quick dinner before leaving for the bus, one of the girls who was going on the trip with me, Nadeen, called me and said that the bus was cancelled. How could this be? I ended up having my host mom call the company to confirm that this was true and that there was no way that we could go with another company that night. After getting off the phone, my mom confirmed that the bus was indeed cancelled due to rain and snow in the mountains that had closed the pass. In order to get to Mendoza you have to go through the Andes Mountains and cross a pass. It can get pretty dangerous when there is even a slight change in the weather because the highway that runs through the mountains is not very safe and the rain and snow can push sediment onto the road making it impossible to pass. My host mom gave me a big hug and said she was so sorry that I wouldn’t be able to make my trip this weekend.
I was a little upset but quite honestly I laughed immediately after it happened. It didn’t seem like such a big deal. When in a foreign country, there is always something to do and I was confident that me and my friends would find something to do in the place of going to Mendoza. My mom was amazed at my resiliency, even saying she was surprised I hadn’t cried about it. I came to realize that I had grown so much since the beginning of this trip. When my flight out of the States was cancelled and I had to leave for Santiago the next day, I was distraught and overall so upset about the whole situation. But now my entire weekend’s plans had been thrown away and I was laughing. I found it comical and honestly a great opportunity to explore the city. What a different mindset than two months ago.
The next night, since we were in town, me and a friend decided to start planning our trip to Buenos Aires with the full intention of buying tickets that night. After searching on every site possible, we thought we had found the best deal for the times we were going. I booked the ticket and my friend Courtney said she would book it the next morning. The next morning, Courtney emailed me to confirm the flight, but when she was in the process of booking it, she saw that the price had jumped up by $100. Wow! I looked at my ticket to make sure that I had paid the price that the site had advertised. I found that the actual price of the ticket, after fees, was what Courtney had said, $100 more than it had been advertised for. We had definitely found better deals than this and I was fairly upset that we hadn’t noticed this rise in price.
I ended up calling the airline and seeing if there was any way I could get my money back, saying they had some false advertising on their website. There were not very keen to listen to my story. Again, I was running into a series of unexpected events where I needed to learn how to be flexible. After the whole situation I was quite honestly still a little upset, but not as much as I usually am about these kinds of things. I thought, you know its only $100 and in the scheme of things, this is not the end of the world.
In the end I felt proud of myself because I had dealt with an adverse situation with grace and I had also had to deal with an uncomfortable situation over the phone in Spanish—a sure sign that my Spanish was improving.
While this weekend definitely presented a few more obstacles than normal, I realized I’m learning how to be more flexible and go with the flow. Challenges like this don’t rattle me anymore and I’ve come to realize that everything works out for the best. Even though this story doesn’t seem to have a cheery end, I learned a lot about myself this weekend and how much I’ve grown while I’ve been down here. I still had an awesome weekend, filled with exploring the city and hanging out with friends, and a few lessons learned on the side. I’ve faced a lot of challenges while I’ve been down here and I’m starting to see that I can deal with adverse situations much better now. When I come home, the things I used to constitute as “problems” or “challenges” will no longer seem like anything at all. The challenges I face down here seem to put everything in perspective. When living in a foreign country everything is a new experience and adversity only adds a little spice to the whole journey.

Posted in Brenna Cameron '14, Chile | Leave a comment

The riveting realm of Japanese cinema

On the first night of Golden Week, Japan’s period of celebration at the end of every April, I decided to remedy the fact that, regardless of all the other sorts of fun I’d been having, I was neglecting one of my favorite pastimes: watching movies.

Having recently worked as a volunteer at Tacoma’s independent theater, The Grand Cinema, my craving for a theatrical experience had reached a head, so I opened up my laptop to check showtimes and, luckily, I found that the non-dubbed version of Iron Man 3 would be playing shortly at a theater called Cineplex nearby.

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Although I was initially disgruntled to discover that Japanese theaters primarily show American films, having Iron Man 3 as a brief respite into my homeland’s culture felt like a rare luxury after a month’s worth of cultural immersion here in Japan.

I arrived at the theater just in time and paid about $12 worth of yen for my ticket before walking in to the theater where I was immediately welcomed by the familiar sounds of squealing J-rock guitar and a deep male voice, advertising this or that soon-to-be-released anime feature.

Finally, once all the previews were over, Robert Downey Jr.’s distinct, charmingly sardonic narration as Tony Stark prefaced the events that were about to unfold, wherein old friends become new enemies and nothing is as it appears to be.

But, as Downey’s delivery gathered in intensity and his sarcasm made me giggle more and more, I began to realize that I was the only one reacting to his humor in the nearly full theater.

Then suddenly, a “fun fact” from the dustiest, most neglected part of my brain reached the front as I recalled something a friend had once told me about Japanese humor: sarcasm is not widely considered funny.

The film itself was excellent (the best Iron Man thus far, in my opinion), but I had never felt so conscious of my own behavior in a movie theater before; every time I laughed at a scene exhibiting Tony Stark’s tremendous hubris, I felt as if all eyes were on me, scrutinizing my bizarre sense of humor.

On the other hand, when I went to Cineplex again to see Dragonball Z: Kami to Kami (Battle of Gods) with my host family, audience members were laughing hysterically at Goku’s dimwitted antics and singing along with the series’ theme song “Cha-La, Head-Cha La!” during the credits.

Since my host father offered to pay for my ticket and food from the convenience stand, I decided on nachos and a Coke to really set the familiar movie-going feeling into my bones.

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Here is a free Dragonball Z postcard that was handed out to everyone before entering the theater. As soon as I figure out where to purchase a set of stamps, I’ll be sending it to my family who remember, not all too fondly, my childhood obsession with the series.

After a forgettable set of previews came and went, the movie immediately caught my attention with the introduction of its cat-like villain, Bills-sama.

Although he was more voyeuristic than villainous, since he simply wanted to visit Earth in order to understand the different levels of Saiyan transformation, his character made the movie what it was: lighthearted, fun and often surprising.

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Disregarding its lack of a classic Dragonball Z nemesis like Cell, Frieza or Majin Buu, the series’ latest addition hardly had a moment that wasn’t filled with intense midair combat, slapstick humor or a combination of the two.

Not only did audience members get some of the jokes referring to prior sagas, but I also heard some of them express concern by muttering characters’ names softly, as if they were old friends.

The majority of the adult audience members seemed to be long-time fans of the series, perhaps having grown up watching it everyday after school, just as I once did.

 

Goku and Trunks, with me wherever I go.

Although Dragonball Z was a bit of a letdown as far as the whole series is concerned and inferior to Iron Man 3 plot-wise, it was certainly a better movie-going experience for me.

It struck me that the Western, linear style of storytelling exemplified by Iron Man 3 did not seem to resonate with the Japanese audience as Dragonball Z clearly did; not a single person left the theater once the credits started rolling alongside images from the original manga.

It may be true that Marvel’s new brand of “cool” superhero movies are stealing the limelight from other paragons of geek cinema, but what I learned from these contrasting experiences at Cineplex was primarily that nostalgia carries much greater weight among Japanese moviegoers when compared with American moviegoers.

The size of the audience for Dragonball Z was evidence enough of that because even after a month of having been released, about half of the theater was filled for a mid-afternoon showing.

Unlike American theaters, Japanese theaters cater to the resident otaku by offering some free omiyage (souvenirs, like the postcard for example), t-shirts, posters and stickers for whatever movies are currently showing, and they also allow your ticket stub to count as one credit for the souvenir-snatching machines located on the floor below.

You can bet that I used that credit toward a Dragonball Z figurine because, although I didn’t catch one, you would be betting right.

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Be mine please.

 

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A Part of the Family

I’ve had another exciting week where I have too many things I want to write about. But I won’t bombard you all with the crazy adventures I’ve been having. Instead I’m going to talk about my host family this week. This past week was my host mom’s birthday and because of this there were some festivities in the house. And while I have definitely felt apart of the family before this, I feel like my participation in these festivities solidified my spot amongst them.
My host family’s history is a bit confusing but here is some background. I live with primarily my host mom and her 14-year-old son, Pablo. My host mom, Gladys, also has another son, Juel, who is in his early 30s and has a 7-year-old daughter who I absolutely adore, Julieta. Juel and Julieta live in another apartment in the city but they come over frequently to share meals. Juel and Pablo have different dads both of whom Gladys married and then divorced. I’ve never met Juel’s dad but I’m very acquainted with Pablo’s dad, Ignacio, because even though Gladys and him divorced earlier, they are now dating again. Ignacio comes over for dinner about every night and thus I would say I have a good relationship with him. A bit complicated, I know, but what family isn’t complicated these days.
Anyway this past Thursday was my host mom’s birthday and I had no idea what to get her. My two default gifts—wine and flowers—I knew I couldn’t buy for her because she has told me she doesn’t like either one of these. I felt like chocolate was too small, but with no other ideas I ended up buying her some Tobelrone and making a card for her. I thought my Spanish writing in the card was abominable but when I gave it to her, she couldn’t stop saying, “Qué linda, qué linda” which translates to “How beautiful.”
I woke up early that Thursday because I had class at nine. I expected to find Gladys asleep and Pablo getting ready for school but as I opened my door to the hallway I saw wrapping paper littering the floor. It was only 7 am and already the celebration had begun. When I came into the kitchen to give Gladys my gift, I found that she had already received a laptop from Pablo and Ignacio. My chocolate bar didn’t look too appealing after this, but what could I do? She was obviously very happy with the small gift I bought her, though, as she kept my card on her dresser the whole day and showed everyone who came through the house that day what I had written her. I felt honored that she liked the card so much, especially since I knew my Spanish grammar had definitely not been perfect and my words probably not quite right for the moment.
When I got back from class that afternoon, champagne glasses were set on a tray and Gladys was in the kitchen cooking for what looked like a lot of people. She told me that we were having 16 people over that night, all members of the extended family, to celebrate her birthday. I immediately got nervous. While I’d met and talked with Juel and Julieta and even the siblings of my host mom—Sergio and Pati—I didn’t know how I would survive with 16 people conversing all at once in a language I still hadn’t quite mastered. The few times we’ve had big lunches with about 6 or 7 people I’d been totally lost in the conversation and had literally no idea what was going on.
People started filing in. Champagne glasses were filled. Kisses were exchanged. I learned too many names to remember. And the festivities began. Julieta brought balloons from her dance class and I helped her blow them up as other people hung them up around the dining room. As the party continued, I became more and more confident as I realized I understood everything that people were saying around me. I was participating in the conversation and actually enjoying myself. Gladys turned on some music and she started to dance, trying to pull people in to join her. Ignacio and Sergio ended up dancing with her a little and I really enjoyed seeing the whole family interact with another. I felt so honored to be apart of this obviously very intimate family gathering. They all welcomed me in like a regular member of the family, including me in the pictures and making sure I was apart of the conversation.
Dinner was served—chicken sandwiches with avocado, mayonnaise, and tomatoes, a typical plate here called Completos. The music continued to blare in the background and the chitter-chatter got louder and louder with each glass of champagne that was refilled. After the plates were cleared, the cake was prepared. Candles were placed on top and the lights were turned off as we sung “Feliz Cumpleaños” to Gladys. Gladys held Julieta in her arms and they blew out the candles together after everyone had finished singing. I helped Pati cut the cake and we handed out the pieces to everyone.
The party dwindled late into the night—by American standards anyway. Here it was a very early ending to a party as it ended before midnight. However this being a school night and all of us having to get up by 7 am the next day, I thought it was a late celebration. As the apartment emptied and only me, Pablo, Gladys, and Ignacio remained at the table, I felt that I had truly been incorporated into the family. They had not only invited me to this intimate family gathering, but had included me and made me feel like one of their own. I felt like I was starting to become Chilean—a real Chilean. I had conversed fluently, more or less, with all of the family, leaving me feeling not only confident about the progress I had made with my Spanish but also included in this close family circle.
As I went to bed that night, I thought about how I really only have about 2 months left in Santiago and how hard it’s going to be when I have to leave my host family. They have been such a big part of my life down here and because of them I feel I am integrating myself more and more into the Chilean culture. They have supported as I take this scary and incredible journey abroad. They have truly become my home and family down here. Not everyone feels like their host family becomes their real family but I as I lay in bed that night I knew I had been blessed. I can honestly say I am apart of this family and have someplace to call home here in Santiago.

Me with my host mom Gladys and host dad Ignacio

Me with my host mom Gladys and host dad Ignacio

IMG_3914Glady’s with her two sons, Pablo and Juel, and Juel’s daughter, Julieta

 

Julieta and Pablo dancing

Julieta and Pablo dancing

singing Feliz Cumpleaños to Gladys

singing Feliz Cumpleaños to Gladys

Me and my host brother Pablo

Me and my host brother Pablo

 

me and my host mom Gladys enjoying the cake

me and my host mom Gladys enjoying the cake
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Drunks, punks and debauchery in Kisarazu

Shambling out of the rain into the cramped but cozy confines of Pig Bar, my friend Tony and I were welcomed by a barrage of familiar sounds: primarily, we recognized a song by Rage Against the Machine playing on the speakers and a greeting from our already intoxicated friend working behind the bar, Kazuki.

Having visited for the first time the night before, I informed Tony that not only did Kazuki’s bar offer absinthe but delicious, high-quality absinthe served with a burning sugar cube on a spoon.

As a fellow American, Tony seemed intrigued enough to order it while I ordered a glass of Suntory Highball.

Then I chatted with Kazuki who told me he had just returned from a successful shopping trip with some other friends while Tony chatted with the twenty-something-year-old sporting a tribal-patterned fleece to his right.

Since the round trip from our part of Tokyo to Kisarazu was quite expensive, I explained to Kazuki that we had come to check out the late-night punk show at a nearby venue called Kavachi where the local hardcore punk band, Efu, would be headlining.

In a brief aside while we were talking about the local punk scene, Kazuki mentioned that he had also hosted local punk bands a few times, including one time when the bands were so deafeningly loud that the cops came to break it up.

 

Here is Kazuki and I the night we met, looking our finest.

The place was otherwise empty and pretty quiet aside from the music so after our conversation spread to Tony and his neighbor, we proceeded to take this picture, which highlights the bar’s cutting edge aesthetics.

After we downed a couple more drinks, Tony and I immediately recognized a couple of English speakers chatting as one of them walked through the door.

At first, we struck up a conversation with Scott, the thirty-year-old Scotsman sitting behind us on the couch about the bar and Kisarazu as a whole.

Quickly, we discovered that we shared a similar taste in music and literature, as he was also a punk-loving bookworm like ourselves, and that he had landed my dream job of teaching English in Japan at a school nearby.

Needless to say, we had a lot to talk about and that we did.

Then, we met the other English speaker sitting to our left; a shrill-voiced, rotund  woman from New York who seemed far too open to talking about Japanese sex culture and our cell phone numbers for our liking.

So, without further ado, we asked for our check and directions before saying our goodbyes and making our way over to the venue.

It was easy to confirm that we had found the right place by the time we started seeing Japanese guys and girls in black leather jackets and combat boots smoking cigarettes on a nearby storefront stoop.

We paid the fee for our individual tickets and required drinks (in total, my admittance costed around $15), then walked into the venue’s lobby which displayed each band’s raunchy merchandise.

We were about to head toward the stage area when suddenly I jumped at the sound of my name as a lovely girl I had met the night before, Mitsu, came up and hugged me, asking me how I’d been.

I gave her an honest “Genki!” meaning that I felt great, then she introduced her friends, whose names were unfortunately lost on me almost as soon as they were said.

We walked in just in time for the eccentric opening band, Yoppa, who had one of their percussionists begin with a simple beat on a taiko drum before building up to their full folk-punk sound, complete with upright bass, accordion, banjo and bongos.

Immediately, they reminded of party-punk bands like Flogging Molly and Gogol Bordello, especially when they mentioned their name, which is an abbreviation for “drunk” in Japanese.

 

After Yoppa’s highly energetic, danceable set, the hardcore-punk band from Tokyo, Cheerio, took the stage for a set that never slowed down, even for an instant.

Two days later, I’m still sore from all the moshing and headbanging that I did during their set.

Although the entire band was stoned drunk and one of the two singers had a bellybutton deformity that looked like a diseased sexual organ, take your pick as to which, I was totally enthralled by their catchy punk choruses and relentless hardcore guitar shredding.

After their set wrapped up, Tony and I went to order our drink with just enough time before the next band, The Inrun Publics, began to play.

Before coming to the show, The Inrun Publics was the only band I had been able to hear fully on YouTube due to my spotty internet connection.

I was glad to see their dancy, clean guitar breakdowns and crunchy, punk buildups intact and sounding as fresh as they did on their recordings.

My enthusiasm for the music was, luckily, joined by a good portion of the crowd who expressed theirs through stage diving and crowd surfing.

Finally, Kisarazu’s esteemed hardcore-punk band, Efu, then took the stage for a performance that, while mind-blowing, I simply couldn’t handle at three in the morning, so I mostly hung out in the back and sipped from my Nalgene to cure my worsening dehydration.

 

I yelled the samurai-bunned bassist’s name during his solo parts (I had met him along with a few other band members in between sets), but other than that I stayed quiet and saved my energy for the last couple of songs when I felt I could join Tony in the moshpit again.

Once Efu ended around four, Tony and I went to grab pastries at a nearby FamilyMart, then headed to a second-floor darts and pachinko bar for another drink.

Our conversation deepened into grumbles as we walked back to the Pig in the rain, arriving in time for their early morning after party.

We chatted with a few of the band members who stopped by for a while, especially Yoppa’s attractive accordion player, before we finally bid the bar adieu for the night and headed back to the train station.

As soon as we plopped down on our westbound train, our heads nodded off into a sleep that was soundless, besides the lingering buzz in our ears.

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Arriving at Otaku Central

This gallery contains 3 photos.

As I stepped off of the train, it was immediately clear to me that Akihabara does not appeal to the general taste of Tokyo’s homogenous culture; it caters toward a highly specific niche. There was a bout of heavy rain … Continue reading

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Leaving Dublin

I’m not leaving Dublin just yet.  I wanted to get that out there, just for complete honesty’s sake.  I am, however, leaving Dublin very soon, and most of the students in my program left today.  I am hitting up Rome for a few days, then dropping by Dublin again before I depart Europe entirely.  I’m leaving in a week.  I’m keeping sadness at bay by just looking at the town where I got to spent three and a half glorious, adventurous, hilarious months.

I’m still finding new things to entertain and amaze me.  For example:

daffodil hill

In St. Stephen’s Green, there is a rolling little hill that is now blooming with daffodils.  It’s like something out of a children’s book.

snowglobe Mary and Jesus

Here we have Jesus and Mary in a snowglobe.  I snicker every time.

a perfectly poured pint

Ah, the proof that a pint is perfectly poured!  The foam on the top of your Guinness should be able to hold a match upright.  Note that this does not apply if you’ve taken a sip first. (I don’t like Guinness but it is a beautiful drink–the fact that it changes color from latte-brown to black within a minute constantly impresses me.)

balcony

 

I have always adored this balcony.  It’s a second-floor one and it just looks so pretty and so out of place on this building.

IMG_1785

It’s sadly hard to read, but this building says “Sick and Indicent Roomkeepers Society Founded A.D. 1790.”  I have no idea what goes on in there.  I’m not sure I want to find out.  Perhaps it’s been quarantined.

I will hopefully post a few things about Rome after I return from there but my study abroad experience, my travels, and my blogging are drawing to a close.  I’ll probably have some sappy reflections on my life in my last post, so consider yourselves warned!

 

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