¿Cachai?

Everyone says “cachai” in Chile about once every few sentences. It originates from the word “catch,” so it’s literally saying, “you catch?” like “you know?” Cachai was the first “Chilenismo” I learned, and every day I learn another two or three. They’re slang words and phrases, basically. But gosh, there are so many! I feel like I’m learning Spanish all over again.

When I return to the States, I will be fluent in Chilean slang. Spanish in general? We’ll see. And of course, Argentina will be a completely different story. New accent, new slang, new social behaviors. It would just be much too simple if every Latin American country spoke the same way. I mean, really, how boring would the US be without the southern twang, the slang of Philly and New York, or, my personal favorite, the Pennsylvania Dutch inflection? Is it pop, Coke, or soda? Awesome or wicked? Coffee or “cwafee?” Exactly.

Ok, so there’s the slang…and then there’s the accent. Oh, Chilean accent, how you confuse me so! Here are a few examples for the Spanish-inclined among you: when saying “mas o menos,” one will hear “mah o menoh.” Where did the “S’s” go, you ask? Beats me. “Pescado” (pess-kah-doh) sounds like “pescao” (pess-kow). “Me gusta” (may goo-stuh) becomes “me guta” (may goo-tuh). Okay, enough illustration for now; you get the idea. Long story short, in a conversation with a native Chilean who doesn’t tone down the accent or slow down at all, I understand just about 10%. At the end of the day, my brain is fried. Sometimes literally, I think. Talk about a great experience, though! It has definitely been a lesson in humility, having to ask so many questions and feeling out of place all day.

Moving on…



The transportation in Santiago is worth mentioning. It is absolutely wonderful for the most part: super efficient, relatively new, and best of all CHEAP, but nevertheless, it has been my main source of awkward encounters. I wish I had a picture to illustrate what I experience on the metro each day. Believe me, if I were to have sufficient room to move my arm to reach inside my bag, pull out my camera, and take a picture of this scene, I would. Actually, that’s a complete lie. Then I would look even more like a foreigner than I already do. Let’s just visualize for now, shall we? Picture this: it’s rush hour, which means wall to wall people on the metro. The man standing beside me holds on to a ceiling handle; my face comes entirely too close to his armpit. It’s summer here, so he’s wearing a tank top. In case you just recently finished eating, I’ll stop there.

I often find myself in the middle of the pack because the good spots around the handlebars have been taken, so there’s nothing around me to hold on to. Not that that really matters, though, because we’re so squished together that we all kind of lean on each other as the metro train sways back and forth, school-of-fish style. I have never been surfing, but “freestanding” on the metro is certainly a physical activity that comes close in my mind. As the train slows down for the oncoming station, I can’t possibly imagine another body fitting into the leftover space, but without fail, somebody always jumps on, almost losing a nose as the door closes. And then we all breathe a little less. It’s that simple.

Well, that’s enough cultural observation for today. I hope all is well with you; don’t forget to keep me updated on your lives, too. To my friends at UR: have a wonderful Spring Break! Enjoy what’s left of the snow!

Love to all,
Jenna

PS Just so you know, I do have classes and homework. More on that later.