Day I - Arica

The bus was not particularly comfortable, because even though it has a fold-down rest for legs and a reclining seat, it is designed for Chileans--in other words, small people (these are called semi-cama, or "half bed" seats. There are cama, or full bed seats that recline all the way back but still lack sufficient leg room.) I have contended with buses since arriving and their distinctly non-gringo design, but it had been months since I'd taken a trip over five hours and I'd forgotten the inherent issues therein. I did manage to sleep though, awaking for a few minutes at every stop, which in my half sleep state seemed to be every ten minutes.

The final time I awoke it was because the bus attendant was moving through the cabin pulling back the curtains, which is the Chilean signal for "we're almost there." I peered out of the window a bit confused because it was pre-dawn dark without. I checked my clock and saw that it was not even seven thirty yet, where I had estimated our arrival at nine. I began to get an uneasy feeling because I had told the hostel I would be arriving between nine and ten, and I know seemingly had two hours to kill in a new city with all of my gear on my person. Side note, in preparation for my journey I made a rather off-hand comment about my back pack size and its inadequacy to my host mom. The next day she magically pulled the perfect sized pack out of the black hole that is the shed out back of the house. I travel now with this pack and my Israeli paratrooper satchel that I use as a day bag. Back to the matter at hand...

I considered a few possibilities, including just sitting in the bus station and waiting, but decided in the end that I would kill time by walking to the hostel from the station instead of taking a taxi, and just see what happened from there. The walk proved to be quite short, which saved me money and gave me a good idea of the layout of the city center. Still, it was only about quarter to eight as I caught sight of the hostel and made my way up, in complete uncertainty. Here is the first of many instances where the Lord chose to demonstrate his faithfulness. Just as I walked up on the hostel, an employee was finishing unlocking the gates that guard the front doors (this is South America after all.) I asked him in Spanish if the place was open and he returned with a question of his own: did I have a reservation? Why, yes, I did. Very good, follow me (I'm paraphrasing). To get to the point of it, the doors to the hostel were literally opened at the very moment I needed them to be.

The employee who had opened the doors fetched the girl who was in charge of the front desk. She had obviously just awakened and, in very excellent Spanish (not at all like the typical mumbly and generally incomprehensible Chilean I'm used too), checked me in and gave me a quick tour of everything before showing me my bed. At one point she asked,
"De donde eres, Chile?"
I chuckled and said, no, the United States. I didn't know whether to be flattered or concerned, for at that point being confused for Chilean was likely due to me being half adorned in hand-me-down clothes belonging to my host-brother and speaking mumbly, incomprehensible Spanish. Later that night, I was sitting in the common area when I heard an Australian accent. I turned around and saw it was the girl, named Andrea. Apparently she was not Chilean, but in fact a Colombian who had grown up in Brisbane, Australia. Further surprising me was the fact that she and her fiance would be starting in my program (Inglés Abre Puertas) later the next month.

It was still early that day, and the sun was not yet out. Thus I decided to shower the bus stink off of me and take a few hours nap. Upon waking, I strolled out into the city to take pictures, eat the always satisfying pollo y papas combo that I almost live off of in travel situations (well, along with some yogurt) and sit on the beach for a while reading. I also managed to buy a ticket for the little two car train that would carry me over the border into Tacna, Perú. That evening for the sunset, I climbed the giant cliff that sits on the edge of the city. El Morro, as it is known, is crowned with an enormous Chilean flag and a statue of Jesus that faces the ocean with outspread arms. The view, needless to say, was spectacular. I retired to bed that evening after chatting with Andrea about what teaching in Chile is like, being sure to make everything sound quite worse than it really is so that she ought to be pleasantly surprised when she does begin her tour down in snowy Patagonia.