The Dichotomy of Santiago

I can excuse this summer in any way, shape, or form: selfless civic engagement, a roundabout way of being with my family, a trial into a profession in economics, etc. But at the end of the day there is only one expression that truly represents the truth: my biggest adventure yet. There exists a dichotomy in every aspect of Santiago that intrigues me. Everything is at once old and new, colonial and modern, dangerous and secure, vibrant and somber, and for the life of me I can’t figure it out. This complexity reminds me of something my previous English teacher used to say: I am complex. I am a woman. Maybe Santiago is a woman. Maybe the founders mistakenly gave it a male name in shallow hopes of strength and greatness. Yet Santiago is not that. The city that has adopted me for the next two months is sophisticated and svelte, much like the thin nation in which is resides. But within the sophistication lies an intangible tension. The city struggles to maintain its civilized image while shoving the vulgarity and roughness it has been restraining for the past four centuries in the garden shed. Luckily, for those of us fascinated with observing , the roughness still surfaces, be it in the graffiti on the streets calling for anarchy or the warzone that is the metro during the “horas peak.”

This perplexing dichotomy of the city is also present in my relationship with Santiago. Every corner is uncharted territory (every dark nook raising my hairs on end) and I still feel like I have known this city for ages. The days are long, simultaneously lethargic and exhausting. I am beginning to understand Tristam Shandy’s dilemma (and am immediately grateful that the program is only 63 days long.

I have now had time to move around the city a bit after my third day here. I have not explored yet. To be honest I have only moved from point A to point B to point C to point Z, and although public transportation is an adventure in itself, the best is yet to come. Stay tuned.