Minor Celebrity

Chileans, from the very cultured to the very huaso (country folk) have usually not met too many foreigners. We bichos raros (literally: odd bugs), particularly those from the northern hemisphere, are a curiosity and Chileans tend to want to check out how we function. Is it true what they've seen in movies, about families, jobs, money, morals? It is hard to swallow the idea that we gringos come from a multi-faceted society where my experience is not your experience, and your interests are not my interests. The idea is difficult to fathom, both because the Hollywoodization of American culture leads to a pretty two-dimensional view of us neighbors to the north, and because conformity is a bit of a national pastime here in this thin strip of land, sandwiched between the inhospitably cold Pacific Ocean and the nearly impassable peaks of the Andes.

Due to the relative scarcity of gringos living in Chile, walking the streets downtown is a bit like being a minor celebrity. People don't exactly know who you are, but they sense you're important. They may stop and look, poke each other and point you out, wonder if they should come up and talk to you, or just leave you be. Or they might just savor the moment quietly, thinking, this person is a foreigner, this person is a foreigner. And smile the secret smile of knowing something without being told.

One product of being a celebrity is that you may not have a whole lot of privacy here in Chile. People may dip their heads into your field of vision and shout a well-meaning "Hello!" or a wildly mispronounced "Do you speak English?" This happens more when walking in a group, or at least a duo of gringos, multiplied several-fold if you have the misfortune of being blond or particularly tall. Being not so terribly tall, and dark-haired, I have this experience less than some of my more Nordic sisters.

Celebrity also means money, which means if you go to the produce market, until they know you pretty well and unless the prices are posted (which they usually are not), you will pay more for your produce. Come on! You're famous! Land of plenty! Not a single one of your siblings died of diphtheria! None of your family members has been killed by a despotic regime! You've always had dental care! Surely you can afford a few extra pennies for your tomatoes.

The positive side of celebrity is that people want to like you. They give you the benefit of the doubt. They remember you in stores, greeting you with a hearty "Buenos días!" when you walk in, ask after your pets, wonder where you've been in recent weeks if you haven't been by. The cashier at my dry goods store (coffee, beans, flour, nuts, etc) comes to mind immediately. You'd think I was her long-lost daughter. She's that warm. Then there's the possibility of getting good customer service, which, to be honest, is not generally a strong point in Chile. I recently had to return a pair of defective shoes to a store. When I went back to check on the process, they remembered me clearly, and easily gave me a store credit towards another pair of shoes.

And then there are things that not only are not likely, they are impossible. And yet they happen. Like using an expired coupon for two-for-one movie entry, or having the police keep an eye on your bicycle while you're in the bank. Well, if you're a celebrity, people tend to bend the rules. Assuming that you're nice, speak the language and have assimilated some of the culture.

Being a celebrity also means that a different code of behavior applies. Whereas your average Chilean disco-goer would easily drink from the offered drink of a friend, I will not. I am not very squeamish in general, but don't eat or drink from other people's food and beverage. I was offered a drink about eight times on New Year's Eve by a friend of a friend, and finally asked someone to tell the guy, who by this point was highly offended, that I'm not Chilean. Suddenly he whirled around to ask, well, why didn't you say so? I didn't say so exactly because I don't want to be a celebrity. I just want to be myself.

What annoys me most about the celebrity, besides the loss of privacy, is the simultaneous overvaluing of me, because of the accident of my birth in the United States, and the undervaluing of my neighbors, because they are Chilean. When renting an apartment, a Chilean will be called upon to produce their last three pay stubs, a copy of their work contract, and probably also an aval, or guarantor, who must be quite wealthy, debt-free, and own property in Chile. Sometimes a gringo will be asked for some of those things. Sometimes not. While renting me my current apartment, my landlady didn't even glance at the dossier of papers I had put together. I enjoy this privilege. But I wish Chileans could see the totality of the circumstances. People are people. Good, bad, swindlers and honest folk. From every country. They shouldn't treat me like I walk on water. Because I don't. But it's hard to want to fix a situation that so clearly weighs in your favor. And much as I want to be treated just like everyone else, when I am treated with the disdain and mistrust with which Chileans treat each other, I want to scream. And I have been known to do so. Sometimes I think I've gotten too comfortable being treated like a queen for the day, day after day. It makes it hard to think about living in a place where I'd just be one of the crowd.