Two stories from Chile! (Day 0)

[dusts off blog]

 Hola de Chile and I have two stories for you! 

First, for those who want the Why and What: I am here to use all my vacation days, to explore the world’s longest narrowest country, to find sunlight, and to do a little bike tour with my long-time friend Jen (we were research farm interns in PA in 2010 together). We are in the middle bit of Chile, the “Lake District” which is glacial lakes and snow-dusted, looming volcanoes. (And yes, dear Matthew is at home, because his vacation trip happens in the fall.)

Story #1: Santiago 

If I had made it to the ticket counter of the next flight only two minutes earlier, it would have been fine. But after groggily making it through customs and immigration, lugging my 50 lbs of bike box, they told me I had missed the cutoff by two minutes. Other people’s travel tragedies and intricacies are not interesting, so I will spare you, but now I had an unplanned eight hour layover in Santiago airport. 

After being folded inside a tube in butt-rot conditions and barely sleeping for 10 hours, it is impressively confounding to make decisions and navigate logistics in a language you barely speak. But I used every last fiber of my being to find the luggage hold, stash my box, locate a bus going from the airport to the city, purchase a ticket, wait in line, board bus. Other people seemed to be doing this in a very normalized way but to me this was earth-shattering. 

But then it felt good to be looking out the bus window, to be outside of the airport, to see dusty roadside garbage, to be in A PLACE, and tall looming buildings. People in orange working by the road. A simple bus ride was exciting, I was in South America!

I had done zero research about Santiago and had no plans. I was supposed to be on a flight to a city in the Lake District right now. The bus came to a busy area, a sign read “Universidad” and with no premeditation I stepped off. Suddenly I was in BIG SOUTH AMERICA ENERGY. (I’ve been to Ecuador and Colombia, but wasn’t sure what to expect with Chile being such a different climate and farther south and allegedly more developed—you can drink the water here!) The smells! So nostalgic! Thrilling really. Pungent marajuana, urine so strong you want to blink, that heady aftershave that is endemic only to Latin and South America. The gluey smell of fried foods. People pushing through a crowded sidewalk. Vendors on every available corner, one was selling only large plastic egg cartons. 

According to some metrics, I did not make the most of my city visit. I spent an embarrassing amount of time walking up and down the street, trying to find from where the bus would leave to return to the airport. Taxis and many other bus companies drove by, cars belching diesel. I found a labyrinthine bus station packed with empanada vendors and dogs trotting around. Buses of all colors idled under numbered signs. Google maps was trying to show me where MY airport bus was, but I was about as dumb as a pancake from long travel and poor sleep. I finally found a small window for the airport bus and bought a ticket back.

Aside from searching for the bus, I bought Mango slices from someone and ate them with a long pokey stick trying to be out of the way of crowds. I passed many baggage stores, sunglasses for sale, leopard print hats. I dipped into a phone stuff store and purchased a portable battery block for less than half of what it cost in the airport (!). 

Boeing ending: I made my flight and was proud for navigating a slew of confusion in a foreign language. 

Story #2: Hugging Your Uber Driver 

Although I had planned to build my bike at the Temuco airport and ride the 40 miles to where I had booked a night in the Lakeside town of Villarrica, due to the flight complications, I got in at 7 PM. So I found an Uber instead. A small red stick shift car pulled up, and the driver, a good-natured, slightly round man in his late 20s, put the backseats down and slid my box in. 

I said what I usually say when I travel, to taper any expectations, “solomente tengo un poco de Español.” He grinned and said, “little English!”  “But I want to learn Spanish”, I said, in Spanish. “Learn English!”, he said. 

I noticed he had the Penn State cougar logo on his grey shorts. I pointed at my own thigh and said “su pantalones! Penn State!”  He looked confused and then I was immediately in over my head to explain… I cave-manned something akin to, “school. Nearby state. estados unidos.” He said, “ropa americana”, which are the secondhand shops in South America selling used clothes from America. I had just sent 70 KCl soil extracts to a lab at Penn State before I left, funny coincidence. 

Well that broke the ice. Next began one of the sweetest conversations, in a game of verbal Pictionary-in-the-air, as both of us floundered to speak in the other’s language with our vastly limited vocabularies. But we were willing to sound stupid and be bold to try words. 

 “What is…your color favorite?” he said in choppy English. “Verde!” I responded. That one was easy.  

We pulled out of the airport onto the main road. 

“Quantos años tiene?” he asked; here it is normal to ask someone’s age. “Come se dice?” he followed. “How old are you” I offered. “Ow hold are djou!” he said. 

We were now on a two-lane road, graceful foreign-looking trees ahead, the dimming light behind. The more he tried English the slower he drove. A line of cars built up behind us. 

Next: “what is your favorite Beet?”  Beat? “la musica?” I clarified. Nope.  “Animales” he said. Oh, pet! “Gato” I said. “Tengo una gata”.  “What is you name” he asked (I realized from butchering pronouns myself what was happening)  “Ella nombre es Gertrude” I said, and he laughed outright, “no! no!”— Gertrude, those were sounds he was not going to duplicate! 

“What is your favorite…TV?” he asked. Oh no. I have nothing there. Redirect? “Um, I like to I reading books” I said in bad Spanish. But this pushed us into impossible territory; we floundered with authors and titles the other had never heard of, with no ways to explain the intricacies of either.  

Cars passed us like we were pushing a stroller. He concentrated on finding a word and went even slower. “Come se dice, come se dice?” he said, laughing. “How do you say!” I answered. 

Then the Villarrica volcano came into view. “WOW” I said, which works in all languages. I think next he asked what am

I afraid of? But I can’t be sure. This lead to him talking, and acting out, an earthquake. “Terremoto” was a new word for me and I loved how clear it was: terre = earth, moto = move. 

My brain hurt. I so often could not gather up a Spanish noun I knew I knew, but I was oh so tired and this was oh so intense. But he was gracious, and evidently happy to be trying English. There was no judgement; just two strangers being brave about sounding stupid. 

We arrived at my Hostal. Finally, 5,000 miles from home, I could feel Destination and Relief. I gathered up the last of my Spanish capacities and rehearsed it in my head before speaking, “juntos apprendemos las languas!”, together we learn the languages. He gave me a high five and we were both grinning so much he then gave me a hug! Hugging your uber driver! How else can such bizarre wonderful human connection occur but through foreign travel. 

PS. Even though it’s been years now since we lost my Mom, and I have healed in many ways, it is much more difficult to start a blog post. She was my most devoted reader, and I knew if I spent the time writing, at least one very important person would read. So. If you are reading, I would love to know. Otherwise I’ll go back to plopping photos on instagram. 

Together we learn the languages!

My bike box outside the final destination airport, Temuco. 

Arid flowers at the Santiago airport.