As swiftly as it began, it ends. Life jammed into a lesportsac carry-on, passport in hand, leaving on a jetplane. I have not regretted a moment of my trip. Not the days I woke up at 3:00 a.m. or the ones I slept in until 1 p.m. Seven different beds in four countries, and seven flight naps later, I am coming home.
I met hundreds of fascinating people from all corners of the world. Montevideo, Florianopolis, Tehran, Tucson and Hamburg - every person enriched my experience and gave me a renewed enthusiasm for chasing the life I want all across this great big world. Midlife crisis, honeymoon trip, or in-between jobs escape - there's a reason to get on a plane and explore, or just say hi to someone in an elevator or talk to the taxi driver. For me, everybody has counted in my adventure.
I come back with so much ahead of me. A senior spring, two weddings, a graduation, a camp summer, and then that grown-up job thing. I'm excited to suit up for training in Herndon, Virginia on September 9. And I'm excited for every single day until then.
If you could ask for anything more, don't let me know what it is. I've never been so perpetually content, fearless and happy to be here, wherever that is. Here isn't a place - it's the friend across the table, the give in the mattress, and the music in your headphones, the laughing as you stumble home Saturday night. 'Here' is a present mental state, an engagement with your surroundings, the breathless excitement to memorize the details and cling to them. I've felt that high of 'here' for two months straight, and I'm not giving it up, Lo Barnechea, Chile or Nyack, New York.
I feel like this post should have a long Hollywood thank yous list.
-First, my mom and my aunt, who kicked things off with a splendidly spoiled birthday in Istanbul, bagels for breakfast and dinner overlooking a river and some mosques. Thanks to them for making sure that my boots got resoled to walk me around the world while I got resouled' wherever I went. Supporting roles include Syrian refugee Baare, grant-writer Mukthar, and that sad baker girl, and New Mexico Sally - all won't be forgotten, either.
-And flight attendants.
-Let's not forget the Schatz family for taking me and Syndey in for an incredible Vienna weekend, and the ASBudapest crew, and those Hungarian slam poets, and the smoking pregnant lady who made me laugh.
-More flight attendants.
-Sebastian, Ilana, and Lidia for helping me with Spanish. Adineh, Nicole, and Sophie for being my willing adventure buddies, and Mauricio and Rebeca, the kindest classmates. The Ergas grandparents for treating me like just another of their dozen grandchildren, and my Chilean family for never letting me miss a minute. Max for being my first Chilean friend, for reaching out blog-to-blog never knowing we'd get drinks 18 months later. The gringas from the states who helped me reminisce about study abroad on the dancefloor, and Kate for letting me plan a two-week vacation ad handling my idiosyncratic ways each of the 14 days from north to south.
-Our San Pedro family - Alan, the hostel girl, crazy Mohawk guy, Marta, Claudia, Paulo & Thiago, Edison & Marionela, Miami Luis, Zorro, that Australian chick, and the flamingos and the mountains.
I leave Chile in five hours. It's not a goodbye, tearful and aching and clinging. It's a hopeful 'hasta prontisimo' as I ascend toward 3G networks, the Northwestern campus Lakefill, searching for my first apartment, and celebrating love and success with friends and family. In the chaos of boarding and landing over and over, I'm staying 'here' with my mind at peace, knowing there is this great big world with amazing people on it and I have the chance to be one of them.
And while I won't be blogging about it, I get to keep writing this crazy unpredictable story every day.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Three glasses of wine later...
Stef couldn't get out of bed so Kate made her breakfast, knowing her coffee and toast specifications well by now.
Guy on th bus had a nice bouce for radio. kate took the bus fo free. A bus to two metros later, we were in Penalolel, a new comuna on our checklist. We came to visit Cousino y Macul, a beautiful vineyard with hourly tours in multiple languages.
While waiting at reception, we ran into our Brazilian friends we'd met in San Pedro. This was an excellent illustration of how small the world is.
Because everyone but us spoke Portuguese we got a PRIVATE TOUR, and for student prices. (This meant we could spend more money on wine!) The tour included an upclose look and history of the vineyard-to-storefront process of Cousino winemaking. Our guide Diego was very friendly and nice but not at all in a creepy way. He is studying to be a sommelier and going to Sonoma next week and was eager to practice English and share his wine knowledge with us. On the tour, we got to stand next to giant barrels and reminisce about our wine tour in Jerez, at 10 a.m. in late September 2011 with our study abroad friends. Next came the destemming room, where ten women sift through grapes by hand to pull out branches and stems before sending the tiny blueberry-like bulbs onto be pressed into wine. Diego made some comment about machismo, trying to explain how women's delicate hands are better fit for the process, and he asked if there was a word for machismo in English. We informed him the closest thing would be 'misogyny.'
We descended into an underground cellar where we tasted our first wine, a rose-like blend called Gris derived from three wines. A table wine not exported, we savored our first glass but it won't be our last - we each bought two bottles. The underground cellar was lined with red candles and ancient moldy bottles - many gone bad. Diego explained that the owners use the old bottles to do 'experiments' and he had tried wine as old as 1927, which was gross. In the cellar, the owners host dinner parties, much like the scary cave feast my Budapest group had, where we thought we'd be locked in and never escape.
When we emerged, Diego brought us our next two tasting glasses on a bunch outside. We enjoyed the fresh air of a perfect Chilean fall day, and watched the leaves fall as we sniffed and swished the white and red. Some tipsy photography ensued around the vines and old machinery, while we waited for a taxi to head home.
When Kate and I are rich and older, we will hire Diego as a private sommelier for our Chilean chateau. Then again, he had a pretty cute cousin - maybe we can marry into the family, and live happily ever after in a vineyard? After such a great morning, it doesn't sound like a bad plan...
Now, the question is, how do you securely bubble-wrap six bottles of wine to get them back to America... And how do you find room in your suitcase? I'm sure we will.
We descended into an underground cellar where we tasted our first wine, a rose-like blend called Gris derived from three wines. A table wine not exported, we savored our first glass but it won't be our last - we each bought two bottles. The underground cellar was lined with red candles and ancient moldy bottles - many gone bad. Diego explained that the owners use the old bottles to do 'experiments' and he had tried wine as old as 1927, which was gross. In the cellar, the owners host dinner parties, much like the scary cave feast my Budapest group had, where we thought we'd be locked in and never escape.
When we emerged, Diego brought us our next two tasting glasses on a bunch outside. We enjoyed the fresh air of a perfect Chilean fall day, and watched the leaves fall as we sniffed and swished the white and red. Some tipsy photography ensued around the vines and old machinery, while we waited for a taxi to head home.
When Kate and I are rich and older, we will hire Diego as a private sommelier for our Chilean chateau. Then again, he had a pretty cute cousin - maybe we can marry into the family, and live happily ever after in a vineyard? After such a great morning, it doesn't sound like a bad plan...
Now, the question is, how do you securely bubble-wrap six bottles of wine to get them back to America... And how do you find room in your suitcase? I'm sure we will.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Wild Horses
On Sunday, we rode wild horses in the desert. This may have been a bad idea because we had never ridden horses before, only camels. And camels chained up in a Moroccan parking lot is a little different.
Kate's horse went crazy, bucking wildly out of control at the first sign of confusion, and many flies around his nose. My horse was just lazy and too interested in eating. As soon as I would get him running, I'd freak out and make him stop.
All in all, a good experience that resulted in feeling fearless, yet clumsy, out of control, yet on top of the world. We survived, despite a nasty forearm sunburn (it looks like I'm wearing a red elbow-length glove, okay?), and we made it back to Santiago by 2 a.m.
Pictures to come... though, it can be hard to take a picture while on a horse.
Kate's horse went crazy, bucking wildly out of control at the first sign of confusion, and many flies around his nose. My horse was just lazy and too interested in eating. As soon as I would get him running, I'd freak out and make him stop.
All in all, a good experience that resulted in feeling fearless, yet clumsy, out of control, yet on top of the world. We survived, despite a nasty forearm sunburn (it looks like I'm wearing a red elbow-length glove, okay?), and we made it back to Santiago by 2 a.m.
Pictures to come... though, it can be hard to take a picture while on a horse.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
1001 Atacama Nights - Saturday Night on the Town
Kate was so grumpy on Saturday night. We made dinner in the hostel and sat exhausted debating if we should really leave and hit the town or just pass out. We had been invited out by our Brazilian couple friends and this Miami yappy guy Luis, who we had met sandboarding that afternoon.
We rolled into Club Export at 10:30 to find our couple friends had saved us a seat alongside some Sao Paolo newlyweds. Awkwardly, we could barely converse between language barrier and sound barrier - the DJ bounced around cluelessly as she blared bad house music over our corn salsa and pisco sours. Each couple on a bench, me, Thiago and the Brazilian woman were like the wives, chatting and facilitating some sort of English conversation, while our partners sat back and stared off, or nibbled.
Suddenly, a guy in a Zorro costume started dancing around the restaurant. After a while of our chatting, I was dared by my motley crew to go dance with him. He was probably 60 - I still went for it, maintaining a solid space between us but working the floor, eventually into conga line circles around the dining room.
Not sure if we were the real party starters, but within a few minutes, everyone left their tables, bills unpaid, and danced. The music got way better, but my awkward sandboarding injury hurt my already bad moves. I doubt anyone noticed and I didn't care - I was loving the crowd and the international hits and the singing locals. Kate's mood picked up too as we tried to keep up with the Brazilian wife's crazy dancefloor talent.
All of the sudden, a bottle broke and cut my pinky. This didn't hurt much and barely phased me because it was so random and unexpected and I was having a great time. Luis and his Argentinian friend celebrating her birthday came into the room and were thrilled to see more familiar places.
By 1:30 a.m., everyone started to wind things down, which was good since we'd been up for 22 hours at that point, and so had Thiago and Paulo. So, we were walked home by our gay Brazilian pololos, laughing the whole way about the silliest things, like the decked-out rims of Atacamanians' cars, the meaning of llama street signs, our new favorite local dessert shop, the amazing stars, and how to pretend you're just a confused tourist when approached by a scary local -solution: speak African click. The boys sent me and Kate reeling with giggles into our room, a perfect end to a wonderful weekend.
We rolled into Club Export at 10:30 to find our couple friends had saved us a seat alongside some Sao Paolo newlyweds. Awkwardly, we could barely converse between language barrier and sound barrier - the DJ bounced around cluelessly as she blared bad house music over our corn salsa and pisco sours. Each couple on a bench, me, Thiago and the Brazilian woman were like the wives, chatting and facilitating some sort of English conversation, while our partners sat back and stared off, or nibbled.
Suddenly, a guy in a Zorro costume started dancing around the restaurant. After a while of our chatting, I was dared by my motley crew to go dance with him. He was probably 60 - I still went for it, maintaining a solid space between us but working the floor, eventually into conga line circles around the dining room.
Not sure if we were the real party starters, but within a few minutes, everyone left their tables, bills unpaid, and danced. The music got way better, but my awkward sandboarding injury hurt my already bad moves. I doubt anyone noticed and I didn't care - I was loving the crowd and the international hits and the singing locals. Kate's mood picked up too as we tried to keep up with the Brazilian wife's crazy dancefloor talent.
All of the sudden, a bottle broke and cut my pinky. This didn't hurt much and barely phased me because it was so random and unexpected and I was having a great time. Luis and his Argentinian friend celebrating her birthday came into the room and were thrilled to see more familiar places.
By 1:30 a.m., everyone started to wind things down, which was good since we'd been up for 22 hours at that point, and so had Thiago and Paulo. So, we were walked home by our gay Brazilian pololos, laughing the whole way about the silliest things, like the decked-out rims of Atacamanians' cars, the meaning of llama street signs, our new favorite local dessert shop, the amazing stars, and how to pretend you're just a confused tourist when approached by a scary local -solution: speak African click. The boys sent me and Kate reeling with giggles into our room, a perfect end to a wonderful weekend.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Flamingos are not at all like men
Flamingos are not at all like men: they are monogamous and reproduce just once a year. Tour guide Alan shared this fun fact and many others (flamingos spend 18 hours eating daily) on our nine hour tour today.
Yes, nine. We were picked up from our hostel just after 8 a.m. and pleased to see many familiar faces. About a third of our tour was the same - a French girl and her parents, a Brazilian gay couple, and a Brazilian woman with a broken arm... We felt we'd all be best friends by the end of the day.
Some itinerary notes:
1) Toconao, town of 1000 with tall cacti. 2) Salt flats with brine shrimp and flamingos 3) Socaire, town of 120 with Inca terraced farms and a really old church. 4) Lagunas altiplanicos with vicuñas, which look like awkward llamas - as if llamas aren't awkward enough.
To continue expounding on the last stop, envision clear deep blue lagoons that come out of nowhere, framed by red volcanic mountains and hills covered in a bright yellow Shrubberies. Off the lagoon, spiraling columns of steam whirled about, giving some excitement to a freezing afternoon at 5,000 meters up. We took a lot of jumping pictures with our gay couple friends. They have a much nicer camera and are from a place called Florianopolis, which has a lot of flowers, but is actually named after a dictator. We also befriended a British lawyer traveling alone, giving us further hope that this is far from the last of our 'young and free' days.
After four stops, we settled back in Socaire for lunch. The menu include a delicious vegetable stew followed by - yes, you totally guessed it - llama meat. It just looked like chunky stew and I had no desire to eat something I pet this morning. I got a salty omelette with carrot shreds, and the purplest potato I'd ever seen. We washed the meal down with mango juice. Our bread basket buddies were a Puerto Rican couple who work for the U.S. embassy in Chile. That job comes with a luxury apartment and a company driver. Oh, to be bilingual.
On the way home, we paused on an optical illusion road. The driver cut the engine and we appeared to roll up a hill. minerals and tectonic plates can trick the eye. What appears to be up is really down. I guess you can't believe it until you see it, but you have to look twice. I read mixed reviews online about this tour company but cool surprises in our itinerary and Alan's ability to share extensive geological, ecological and anthropological histories everywhere is very impressive.
Kate made fishy faces on the way home for a good several minutes. She's my Highway DJ - there is no speed limit in several areas and otherwise, you're off-roading. Which is often. We listened to a lot of Taylor Swift and discussed the intense relatability of her latest hit. 'I don't know about you, but I'm feeling 22...' We also discussed our ideal Dillo Day lineup - some part of us can't wait to get back to Evanston...
But, for now, we're thinking of canceling tomorrow's salt lake swimming trip in favor of horseback riding in ruins and sandboarding off sandcliffs (it's safe, Mom, I promise!).
Like the little chunky kid in Up, "Adventure is out there!"
Yes, nine. We were picked up from our hostel just after 8 a.m. and pleased to see many familiar faces. About a third of our tour was the same - a French girl and her parents, a Brazilian gay couple, and a Brazilian woman with a broken arm... We felt we'd all be best friends by the end of the day.
Some itinerary notes:
1) Toconao, town of 1000 with tall cacti. 2) Salt flats with brine shrimp and flamingos 3) Socaire, town of 120 with Inca terraced farms and a really old church. 4) Lagunas altiplanicos with vicuñas, which look like awkward llamas - as if llamas aren't awkward enough.
To continue expounding on the last stop, envision clear deep blue lagoons that come out of nowhere, framed by red volcanic mountains and hills covered in a bright yellow Shrubberies. Off the lagoon, spiraling columns of steam whirled about, giving some excitement to a freezing afternoon at 5,000 meters up. We took a lot of jumping pictures with our gay couple friends. They have a much nicer camera and are from a place called Florianopolis, which has a lot of flowers, but is actually named after a dictator. We also befriended a British lawyer traveling alone, giving us further hope that this is far from the last of our 'young and free' days.
After four stops, we settled back in Socaire for lunch. The menu include a delicious vegetable stew followed by - yes, you totally guessed it - llama meat. It just looked like chunky stew and I had no desire to eat something I pet this morning. I got a salty omelette with carrot shreds, and the purplest potato I'd ever seen. We washed the meal down with mango juice. Our bread basket buddies were a Puerto Rican couple who work for the U.S. embassy in Chile. That job comes with a luxury apartment and a company driver. Oh, to be bilingual.
On the way home, we paused on an optical illusion road. The driver cut the engine and we appeared to roll up a hill. minerals and tectonic plates can trick the eye. What appears to be up is really down. I guess you can't believe it until you see it, but you have to look twice. I read mixed reviews online about this tour company but cool surprises in our itinerary and Alan's ability to share extensive geological, ecological and anthropological histories everywhere is very impressive.
Kate made fishy faces on the way home for a good several minutes. She's my Highway DJ - there is no speed limit in several areas and otherwise, you're off-roading. Which is often. We listened to a lot of Taylor Swift and discussed the intense relatability of her latest hit. 'I don't know about you, but I'm feeling 22...' We also discussed our ideal Dillo Day lineup - some part of us can't wait to get back to Evanston...
But, for now, we're thinking of canceling tomorrow's salt lake swimming trip in favor of horseback riding in ruins and sandboarding off sandcliffs (it's safe, Mom, I promise!).
Like the little chunky kid in Up, "Adventure is out there!"
Pictures Beyond WordWorth - First Day in San Pedro!
Welcome to a Virtual San Pedro de Atacama. What we've seen here you plain can't see anywhere else. NASA uses these valleys as Mars test grounds. We left home in Santiago at 3:30 a.m. and landed at 8:55 a.m. Calama airport, 100 km from SPA, greets you with mountains and vast nothingness.
We ended up spending five hours touring, hiking, and burning through 55 SPF before getting a little cool from the sunset over Valle de la Luna. We slept well back at Hostal Mamatierra - aptly named for the area. Nature is queen mother, and we are curious and tiny, like babies seeing the world for the first time.
We ended up spending five hours touring, hiking, and burning through 55 SPF before getting a little cool from the sunset over Valle de la Luna. We slept well back at Hostal Mamatierra - aptly named for the area. Nature is queen mother, and we are curious and tiny, like babies seeing the world for the first time.
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| Welcome to the very busy city of Calama. At 8 am. Already awake 5 hours. Napped with my head on the traytable in a middle seat. So, didn't nap at all. |
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| We went to the Grand Canyon. Kidding, it was actually the Moon. Well, the Valley of the Moon. |
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| While I wandered off... |
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| Kate made lots of friends. |
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| And then we went to Death Valley. |
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| Then we went for an unexpected hike. Which is totally what you want to do after waking up at 3 a.m. |
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| Sand slide, wheee! |
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| Kate rested in a cave. It wasn't comfortable for resting. |
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| Taken by my new friend Marionela, from Uruguay. Worth the random hike. |
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| But I'm pretty sure this was the Grand Canyon? |
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| A skyrainbow! |
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| The hostel from the hammock |
Friday, May 3, 2013
Sandy's Andes
After a lovely lunch at the grandparents, Kate and I were in need of a nap. However, when Sandy offered to take us up into the looming peaks of the Andes, we jumped at the chance.
From my phone, pardon the appearance.
From my phone, pardon the appearance.
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| Look, it's us! |
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| A bustling brook below |
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| My house. Just kidding, we live somewhere slightly more populated. |
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| Kate found true love. If she could stay with the mountains forever, she would. |
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| Life is a highway. |
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