The past Saturday marked the completion of my first month in Chile. One would think that after a month, I might have learned to watch my mouth...as my words carry more weight around here than a Sherpa (and believe me, I know).
Last week, when I was having "once" with my host family, I was transferring a tomato slice from the serving dish to my plate and the mission went askew. I dropped a juicy, blood red tomato slice onto an otherwise spotless cream tablecloth. Knowing how anal my madre is, I felt incredibly guilty and apologized profusely. She said it was fine but I saw her repeatedly eye the stain for the duration of the meal.
I decided to try and lighten the mood by telling my family about a Swedish tradition that I've come to know quite well. When a Swede spills on a host's tablecloth, it is customary to cover the stain with a coin...a launderer's compensation of sorts. Upon hearing this, my host father stood up and reached around his pot belly to fish through his pockets. He produced a few pesos with a triumphant grunt and covered the tomato stain. If this had been the extent of it, my life would be hunky dory.
The next night, my padre had a few colleagues over for "once." The typical evening beverage of tea was swapped for a few cans of "Escudo" (the local beer). Needless to say, things got a little sloppy towards the end of the night. One of the men knocked over his jelly-covered spoon, leaving a generous smear of magenta on the tablecloth. Before my madre could wince, my padre had produced a handful of change from his pocket and concealed the stain.
Fast forward (several meals, a few more stains, and lots of pesos) to this morning. I had to go into school early to get some work done and was up and going before my family had woken up. I crept into the kitchen and managed to make myself some breakfast without so much as clink. I chuckled to myself as I made my way to the kitchen table as it was covered with about five dollars' worth of pesos (and believe me, that's a lot). Somehow, with my coffee and toast in hand, I managed to catch the edge of the table cloth with my thigh as I was taking a seat. My descending weight pulled the better half of the tablecloth underneath me and sent about 2000 pesos-worth of coins shattering to the floor.
Good news: I did not spill a drop of coffee (Nescafé, to be exact). Bad news: Most unfortunately, I can now tell you what my padre wears to bed. A raggedy pair of very off-white sagging briefs. Ew.
Lesson learned: Avoid implementation of Swedish customs while in Chile. That, or don't eat tomatoes.
The end result was actually quite productive. My padre relented and collected his pesos. My madre reverted back to Chilean tradition...and washed the stained tablecloth.
Last week, when I was having "once" with my host family, I was transferring a tomato slice from the serving dish to my plate and the mission went askew. I dropped a juicy, blood red tomato slice onto an otherwise spotless cream tablecloth. Knowing how anal my madre is, I felt incredibly guilty and apologized profusely. She said it was fine but I saw her repeatedly eye the stain for the duration of the meal.
I decided to try and lighten the mood by telling my family about a Swedish tradition that I've come to know quite well. When a Swede spills on a host's tablecloth, it is customary to cover the stain with a coin...a launderer's compensation of sorts. Upon hearing this, my host father stood up and reached around his pot belly to fish through his pockets. He produced a few pesos with a triumphant grunt and covered the tomato stain. If this had been the extent of it, my life would be hunky dory.
The next night, my padre had a few colleagues over for "once." The typical evening beverage of tea was swapped for a few cans of "Escudo" (the local beer). Needless to say, things got a little sloppy towards the end of the night. One of the men knocked over his jelly-covered spoon, leaving a generous smear of magenta on the tablecloth. Before my madre could wince, my padre had produced a handful of change from his pocket and concealed the stain.
Fast forward (several meals, a few more stains, and lots of pesos) to this morning. I had to go into school early to get some work done and was up and going before my family had woken up. I crept into the kitchen and managed to make myself some breakfast without so much as clink. I chuckled to myself as I made my way to the kitchen table as it was covered with about five dollars' worth of pesos (and believe me, that's a lot). Somehow, with my coffee and toast in hand, I managed to catch the edge of the table cloth with my thigh as I was taking a seat. My descending weight pulled the better half of the tablecloth underneath me and sent about 2000 pesos-worth of coins shattering to the floor.
Good news: I did not spill a drop of coffee (Nescafé, to be exact). Bad news: Most unfortunately, I can now tell you what my padre wears to bed. A raggedy pair of very off-white sagging briefs. Ew.
Lesson learned: Avoid implementation of Swedish customs while in Chile. That, or don't eat tomatoes.
The end result was actually quite productive. My padre relented and collected his pesos. My madre reverted back to Chilean tradition...and washed the stained tablecloth.
I like that Swedish tradition! I think I will implement it with the children immediately!
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