After three tedious days of wandering around UACh looking for classes like zombies hungry for brains, we finally headed across the river today to the Conservatory of Music to find out about the university choirs. At UW, the fear of the audition and of the time commitment had previously confined me to my shower for singing (although I did have the lead in my high school musical.) Lynn had mentioned that her Dutch roommate made a number of friends last semester in the UACh choir, so Nicole and I were eager to dust off our vocal chords and join the Chilean songbirds.
One broken-Spanish conversation later and we met the director who promptly, and unexpectedly, tested our vocal ranges at his piano. I squeaked my way through the audition, wavering through notes sharp and flat, shattering glass and causing babies to cry and stray dogs to howl painfully. Luckily, this isn’t American Idol, and we were both invited to join the 100-member student/community choir as sopranos.
Later that afternoon, Marcelo told us that he would pick us up at 10pm for an evening of karaoke. Expecting a late evening, Nicole and I prepared with a long nap and a pasta dinner. While primping, I made a startling revelation that my hair straightener and blow dryer don’t actually require a voltage converter to work with Chilean outlets. Duh! After an entire month of bad towel-dried hairdos, blissful relief came in the form of hot air and hairspray.
(Travelers’ Tip: Know the country’s outlet voltage before you pack. Some American devices like digital camera and laptop chargers have built-in charge converters that read something like 120/240V, meaning they’ll accept any voltage within that range. If not, you’ll need to invest in a charge converter. In addition, you’ll need outlet adaptors with country-specific prongs. Chile and Argentina don’t even use the same outlets. Check with your local electronics store.)
It’s an unwritten law that karaoke is always supposed to be bad. In fact, it’s nearly a social crime to sing karaoke well. Serious karaoke contestants are usually the socially awkward that find acceptance by singing old 80’s hits in a dingy bar, and they always have a list of favorites ready. They’re the type of people that sing with their eyes closed in public.
Apparently, the notion that karaoke is a nonchalant, slightly-intoxicated contest of shameless showmanship hasn’t reached the desolate corners of Chilean bars. Marcelo said that karaoke has grown so in the past few years that average singers can’t compete with the pitch-perfect performances of the selected few mic hogs. Eager to prove him wrong, that accuracy meant very little in the realm of karaoke, Nicole and I signed up to perform a Spice Girls classic.
Like everything else in Chile, their idea of karaoke was foreign to me. The mic went from table to table, and the performers just sat, SAT!, at their tables while following the words on the big screen. Granted, there were some incredible notes hit, but lacked any stage presence.
Finally, our names were called, we grabbed the mics and stood up – away from the table. Singing and dancing from table to table, the crowd (excuse the cliché) went wild. We definitely missed a lot of notes and words but had the simple advantages of being native English speakers, bold and blonde.
I remember our Santiago hitchhikers commenting that Chileans are less sure of themselves than Argentineans. And although it’s a generalization, I’m curious if being reserved or timid is part of Chilean culture. It would explain why it was so easy to impress the karaoke crowd. I’ll have to do some more searching for Chilean guts. Not literally. And you can bet that I’ll be singing more karaoke in Valdivia. Not too much though as I don’t want to become a karaoke regular.
