"Maravillosa!"

I met a very interesting boy this past weekend. He spoke some English and studies economics and we talked about the price index. I like him. He is also very interested in the United States, and spent the evening asking me all sorts of questions about the United States, the ubiquitous "What do you think of Bush?" The question that got me very animated, however, was when he asked me how I like all the Chilean men making comments and whistling at me in the streets.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, initially the attention bothered me a lot. Andrew told me to get over it, that I should never be annoyed by people being curious about me. I have grown accustomed to the stares and comments, but it is impossible for me to curb my initial repulsion when some man comments on my physical appearance.

This is how I explained it to the boy: Regardless of the fact that I am in Chile and that I understand that in Chile, whistles and comments are not meant to be degrading, I am still an American, and such actions in America are not appreciated. I have been raised to believe that my mind should be valued over my body, and any feedback I receive to the contrary initially irritates me.

However, the creativity of the men here astonishes me at times! It has become quite enjoyable to walk down the streets and discover new ways for men to regale me! The best is when it happens on a day I feel like a trainwreck. This afternoon, for instance; I was flying down the street on my way back to school for my afternoon debate meeting, my hair was some sort of nest from an afternoon siesta, and I was frowning into the sun when a man passed me on a bicycle and yelled, "Maravillosa!" As always, it crossed my mind that I was annoyed, but I can´t lie, my step had a little spring to it after the encounter. I generally try to avoid throngs of high school boys because their immaturity and unbridled sexual energy is a recipe for disaster, but one particular group was rewarded with the sight of me cracking up when one of it´s members called out, "You look GREAT....for me!" At least, if nothing else, English training in Chile has given young men a way to hit on Americans! My favorite encounter thus far, however, took place a week ago while I was coming home from the bank with my host mom. We were walking toward the house when I met the gaze of an astoundingly attractive older man pushing a cart loaded with who knows what. I was so startled that I smiled at him, and he tipped his hat to me and said "Good morning, my queen," in Spanish. I liked the hat tip. Pure class.

It never fails to cross my mind, though, what are they really appreciating? Am I really beautiful in their eyes, or is it just because I am a gringa? What is the relationship between beauty and North Americaness? Am I a gringa, am I beautiful, or am I a beautiful gringa? Can you separate the two in Chile?