Ode to Colectivos

As a dedication to Chile's most beloved Pablo Neruda, I have stolen his go-to title for anything that's made him think nostalgically about his life in his patria, his home country. I have decided to dedicate a blog to an experience that has given me my own, unique memories of this country, despite the fact that it has emptied my wallet and required collective hours of waiting alone on a sidewalk as the only blonde amongst dozens of morenos these past three months. My time in Chile would never have been the same without...

colectivos (shared taxis).

I must first preface this entry with the fact that my unique living situation requires me to take colectivos more often than the others in my program. I somehow ended up in the steep, hilly, and isolated neighborhood of Recreo, with winding roads and random back alleys appearing out of nowhere. Initially on this trip, I thought I'd never be able to find my way around, much less leave the place and visit my friends who live on an easy-to-understand, numbered grid of streets. My host family began teaching me how to get myself from place to place my driving me around in their car or going on colectivos with me. On the other side of town, my friends were learning how to take the micros, or buses, which at times seem much easier to catch and can be a great deal cheaper. Unfortunately for me, the buses didn't run through my neighborhood and even if I did want to take one, it required walking 20 minutes just to get down to the normal streets and taking a bus no one showed me how to use yet. I had no idea where the blue, green, and red buses went with millions of signs covering every window, and my friends seemed to be pros in no time. This made for an interesting first month, as the rest of the group waited for me to frantically flag down a colectivo so they could file onto the next bus coming every 30 seconds. I also started to notice that my allotted spending money every month was going towards nothing but transportation, spending $650 Chilean pesos (around $1.30 US) each way between my neighborhood and where I take classes (whereas my friends would only pay around $250). That doesn't sound too bad, does it? Try going to school and back home for lunch, back to school, back home, doing something at night, buying drinks, and getting a radiotaxi (actual taxi) home. I could easily be spending $20 in one day just trying to get around.

With this as what seemed to be my only option, I started becoming more accustomed to the ways of the colectivo. I knew the signals of how to flag one down, the signs on top of each car and what areas of town they signified, and how much each trip would cost me. I learned which seat of the car to sit in depending on the hour, the location, and other passengers, and the etiquette of how to interact with the driver. It almost felt as if I were relearning how to socially interact with human beings, making forced gestures and movements and uncomfortably asking questions I may not understand the answers to.

Interacting within the colectivo has been the most memorable part. Some drivers choose to not say a word to the people they're carting around, except to ask where they need to go and how much each person owes. Other drivers spot my blonde hair and 40-year-old woman J. Crew cardigans and choose to speak to everyone but me, assuming I don't speak Spanish or won't be able to hold a conversation, although I already made it into the car by asking "Are you going to Recreo? Please drop me off at Calle ___. How much will that cost? Here you go, thank you. You can drop me off at this intersection if that's better." Others choose to take advantage of my gringa status and ask me all about myself, wondering about my time here, my opinion of Chile, what I'm studying, what I think of the student strikes, or what I'm doing that night. One man ended up picking me up repeatedly and always needing to take me to the same place, and after a couple times assumed where I needed to go and offered to drop me off right in front of my friend's house instead of on the busy street (I don't know if I should be creeped out that he remembers exactly where I need to go or that he knows my friend Kristin's address!). Another chofer, or driver, offered to have me shadow his daughter who just finished school to become an oral surgeon, after telling him I was studying dentistry. One driver was telling me about the years he lived in the United States working with "clonas" and animals, such as tigers and bears. It was really hard to understand this mumbly old guy and I kept assuming he worked in a lab cloning animals. After 20 minutes of driving around and repeating the word "clooonaaaas" in between the two of us, I figured out the guy worked for the Ringling Brothers Circus! He also didn't train any cool animals, but sold concessions... his misleading job description had me laughing so hard I could barely get out of the colectivo.

Other drivers get a liiiittle too creepy for my liking, telling me I look like a Barbie, asking where they can buy one, or calling me their future Lolita. Sorry Vladimir Nabokov, but you and the rest of the creepy 40 year old taxi drivers in your generation need to back off! What is with this country? Of course, no man in Chile understands the word "no," so men will purposefully veer from their normal route to pick me up (knowing I'll be waiting for 30 minutes for the right colectivo), even managing to U-turn on a congested street just to pick me up. Others ask for my phone number, Facebook information, and ask to go out for dinner, and have even managed to find me online and send me messages. One driver always knows I'm waiting for a ride near where I take classes, always makes sure to drive by at the same time, only to ask for a kiss when he drops me off or screams "I LOVE YOU!" when I get out of the car. Despite going over my piropo (compliments/cat calls) quota for the day when taking these cars home, they've given me an insight into how polite, curious, or machista some Chileans can be.

My dear relationship with the colectivo came to a sudden halt when I realized the efficiency of taking the newer, cleaner, less crowded, and cheaper metro. My neighborhood has its own stop along the metro route, letting me easily go to the neighboring town of Valparaíso or to the stop right in front of where I take classes, deep into Viña. I also manage to save almost $600 Chilean pesos each way to school, paying $85 (around $0.17 US). Instead of dealing with people or worrying about carrying the correct amount of change, I load a pre-paid card and swipe it every time I enter the metro, reaping the amazing benefits of a student discount that comes along with my enrollment here. I managed to save so much more money this way until I LOST my metro card over the weekend...forcing me to start taking colectivo rides again from the creepy Lolita man. While I have probably had more creepy moments than not in these shared taxis, I will never forget my morning rides to class with the same few men who have made me laugh and made me consider lying about what intersection I live on.

So, here's to you, Chilean colectivos, and here's a big thank you for helping me understand more about the culture with every ride.