Welcome to Chile: we don't want your cranberries.

¡Hola de Santiago de Chile! And welcome to my very first blog, eeks! I'll be chronicling my year here in Chile as I work for VEGlobal (Voluntarious de la Esperanza, or Volunteers of Hope), a non-profit organization that empowers volunteers to guide children at social risk toward productive and meaningful adulthoods. VE works with fourteen different institutions around Santiago including schools, orphanages, and community centers. My personal assignment is at a home for girls who have been abused and/or can no longer live with their own families. I'm thrilled about this opportunity to work at Residencia Entre Todas, as well as on the Corporate Relations Committee, where hopefully I'll learn something about the money/business-y side of non-profits. Overall, I'm feeling very positive about the potential of this experience.

I arrived in Santiago early this afternoon and am grateful for a bit of down time before my orientation starts on Monday morning. My trip was smooth for the most part, complete with an unexpected round of applause. I flew LAN, Chile's principle airline, and felt immediately submersed in a culture not my own. The flight attendants spoke only Spanish and sometimes announcements weren't translated into English. We stopped in Lima and upon touching down safely, the entire plane broke out in ferocious applause. No hooting or hollering, just vigorous, purposeful appreciation. I thought this was great fun and couldn't wait to land in Santiago for another round. I mean, why don't we applaud every time a plane lands? Much to my disappointment, however, no clapping in Santiago. My hands were raised and ready, but no go.

After collecting my bags and thinking everything was going perfectly, I slid the luggage through one final scan in Customs. They stopped my large suitcase and asked if I had chocolate in it. Likely story, I know, but I had none. They looked closely at the screen then said, "Cereal?" Then I remembered, my gallon ziplock back of homemade gluten-free granola with cranberries was in the suitcase. We went back and forth as I tried to explain the concept of granola in Spanish, then finally they removed the item in question. Marcos, a slightly cocky employee of the Servicio Agricola y Ganadero (Agriculture and Livestock) pointed to the cranberries and asked what they were.
"Cranberries...?" I said, not knowing the Spanish word for them.
"Granola con cranberries?" Marcos asked.
"Sí."
"Granola con cranberries?" He asked again. I nodded.
Marcos pulled out a form and began filling it out. I peeked at the title: "ACTA DE DENUNCIA Y CITACION." Denunciation? Citation? After a lengthy lecture about how I didn't declare my granola con cranberries and an explanation of the scary form, Marcos sent me to sit outside a little office. I sat there for about fifteen minutes before another man called me in. I sat down across from him as he typed furiously. He asked if I spoke Spanish and announced he would be asking me a series of questions, such as what my occupation was and where I was traveling from. Finally, he got to his most important question: Why didn't I declare my granola con cranberries? If I hadn't been so close to crying I might have laughed at him, but I managed to answer that I had simply forgotten about the granola con cranberries. He then gave me an even lengthier lecture about the importance of declaring animal and vegetable products and how I could be charged a $4,500 fine. He explained that I wouldn't be charged the fine this time, but that if I ever tried bringing cranberries into Chile again, there would be no escaping the charge. He photocopied the four very official-looking, government-stamped forms detailing my infraction and handed them to me, muchas gracias y adios.
In the time these shenanigans took, my ride from VE had left the airport thinking I had missed my flight. No big deal, I took a taxi, but let me tell you: Marcos missed the small bag of granola con cranberries in my carry-on and I'm munching on it right now.