It was a typical night on the town: eating in a non-descript, overpriced restaurant, trying to mumble Spanish while slightly buzzed, laughing at how awkward we were as a group of eight laughing gringos. But this night was no ordinary night. To be sure, the meal passed without any problems. However, when we finally gotthe bill, things started to look a little strange. At first, there was no list of orders, just one suspiciously-large number circled in red ink. After this was exchanged for an itemized receipt, however, the financial tricks continued. First, two dishes were conspicuously overbilled. This error was dutifully fixed. Then, the tax was discovered to be inaccurate, which was grudgingly corrected. Finally, when we were on the verge of unearthing several more mispricings, the waiter desperately threw us the bill, ordering us to write in the correct total, pay it, and get out ofthere. When we finally fled the sidewalk cafe that night in early February, it was with the indignant sentiment of being erroneously targeted. As one of my friends put it, “We may be tourists, but we’re also students!”
While this story is comical in retrospect, I think it also exposes the most fundamentalaspects of being on a study abroad program – the identity crisis between the tourist and the student. On one hand,we’re ignorant but curious travelers, on the other, we’re tight-fisted, low-key“scholars” who want to make sure that next month’s loan payment didn’t go into last night’s steak. Sometimes, we even feel like we’re caught in some sort of limbo between the two – we want to travel, but hate paying for bus tickets, we want independence to explore, but also the dependability of a loving host family. We’re neither students nor tourists, but rather an awkward hodgepodge of the two.
What doesthis imply? Well, most obviously, it means we have few concise resources to help us on our way. While Lonely Planet – the traveler’s Bible – has ample recommendations about where to drop $15 on a nice meal, it’s rather lacking in information that students care about – where to hang out for free, what the local music scene is like, and how to meet Chilean girls. And while LP is a great resource for booking long-haul transportation, it lacks details about the intricacies of how to get around in our little town – like which stations will sell you student metro tickets without an impossible-to-procure Scholar pass (San Joaquin and Santa Ana) or how to go about purchasing a bicycle (which, most often, is not “new” as advertised, but rather a rebuilt trade-in). Though some resources can fill this information gap, a great deal of this information is simplydiscovered through the old standby of trial-and-error.
The length of our stay in Chilealso amplifies this identity crisis. As tourists, we only have twenty short weeks to see the country; as students, however, the same time is a long five months’ separation from loved ones in the States. And thus, the conflict of interest: how much do we stay in touch with friends and family at home? When swapping stories with host brothers and sisters cuts into Skype conversations and day-long bus rides prevent regular communication, it’s much easier to sing make new friends but keep the old than to actually accomplish it.
School is a similar beast. While we need to get to know Chileans, the only way to do so is by leaving the Americans. It means surrendering the comfort language of English and consciously declining invitations to hang out. The latter is, perhaps, hardest of all, for the sole reason that the other estadounidenses are ridiculously fun to be around. Our group includes a world-hardened daughter of relief workers, an anthropologist who’s curious about everything, two adventurers planning a three-month journey from Santiago to Detroit and many more intelligent and intriguing characters. The only problem? They’re not Chilean. And while this factor wouldn’t stop our friendship from blossoming in any other setting, it feels quite contradictory to come halfway around the world just to spend time with other Americans. (Nevertheless, I’m definitely demanding emails and phone numbers as soon as this program is over)
Even without the influence of otherAmericans, the identity crisis causes conflicts in the classroom. Although we’re already bound by ties of commiseration to Chilean students, to make inroads with these shy colleagues requires whispered conversations while the professor stresses some undoubtedly vital point. Needless to say, the balance between developing friendships and paying attention is difficult to attain.
And so, this study abroad experience has left me feeling a bit like Frankenstein’s monster. With legs firmly planted in Santiago but gaze inclined towards the road, with a heart of a tourist but the brain of a learner, I lurch through this city and these schools, wondering why people don’t stare more than they already do. I only hope that I can live the best of both worlds – with the raging curiousity of a traveler but the measured prudence and dedication of a student. After a while, perhaps even these dual personalities will start to make sense. I don’t know for sure. But right now, it’s just one foot in front of the other, learning lessons as they come. Just don’t try to sell me on a “$15” steak again!
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