Berkley Center

Going through the process of acclimating to a foreign country was, as you may expect, a mind-boggling sensory overload. Everything about life is different: food, transportation, social customs, worldview, family relations, and of course, language. Arriving in Chile with a strong foundation in Spanish, I assumed I would naturally absorb the language and gradually abandon English. However, without even realizing it, I used English among my friends, who were all American, as a crutch to soften the blow of so many abrupt changes to the way I lived my life.

But then I realized my pursuit of comfort wasn’t the only reason for hanging on to English. I’ve come to realize that there is a certain perception of foreigners in Chile when it comes to learning Spanish. An eight-page term paper is due in one of my classes, but the professor hurriedly assured me that I could do mine in English if I wanted. I’ve had friends in other classes who, when they struggle with explaining something in Spanish, are suggested to just switch to English. I’m sure these Chileans were well meaning, but it disappointed me that they didn’t challenge us to grapple with Spanish, to challenge ourselves to improve. How else do you learn the language in an authentic way?

The more I venture out of my English mindset and immerse myself in all things Chilean and Spanish-speaking, the more I am amazed at the complex ways Spanish functions in Chile. This country is famous for its Chilenismos, or Chilean idioms. Practically every other word that people use in day-to-day life is a word you can’t find in a dictionary. I’ve been told that if you understand a Chilean, any other Spanish will seem easy by comparison; such is the difficulty of the Chilean approach to the language.

One word that really interests me is weon, because it has two drastically different meanings, the juxtaposition of which is actually quite comical. The first (and slightly less common) is a form of insult to someone you don’t know. For example, if someone cuts you off as you’re driving in the crowded streets of Valparaíso where I live, you may shout weon in a rude and angry fashion. But using the exact same word between male friends means "buddy" or "dude."

Another word I find interesting is cachar, often used conjugated into a question, like cachai? This means, "Do you understand?" To my surprise, cachar actually comes from the English verb "to catch" as in, if someone catches what you’re saying. This is the beauty of language to me. It has the power and malleability to create polar opposite meanings, and it also draws from foreign influence.

The question of using the informal or formal conjugation also fascinates me, because like in any country, language shapes behavior. My friends and I were in a bakery that we often frequent and we addressed one of the employees in the formal usted manner. She looked at us bewilderedly and demanded we use the informal address with her, because the formal is too "stuffy" and anyways, we were friends now, she declared. In an instant, just changing one thing about language can alter the way one views and relates to people. It’s a beautifully subtle thing.

But I’ve also learned about how even among Chileans, language can be used to alienate. One of my professors is darker-skinned, morena, as they say in Chile. Once when she was in the cuica (snobby, upper class) town of Reñaca, a lighter-skinned Chilean woman addressed her in English and asked her what she was doing. Apparently, English is used by higher-class Chileans to belittle people they see as below them. It baffled me how archaic this custom was, and again, showed me the power that is given when one manipulates language.

Language has so many uses, and in Chile there is definitely no lack of them. I look forward to abandoning my English-speaking bubble even more and challenging myself to look deeper into how language affects Chilean society.