I’ve been stopped by at least 10 people in the last month to ask a question or for directions. The second I try to help, I get the same response, “Oh, you’re not Chilean? Excuse me.”
I’m both flattered and insulted. I’m stoked that I don’t stick out like a sore thumb, but at the same time, it pains me that my Spanish distracts people from wanting my help. Just because I stumble over syllables, doesn’t mean I don’t know that the Starbucks in San Martin is closer to the Casino than it is to Libertad.