Ryan's House (Santiago, Chile)

Thanks for all your moral support, everybody. I don't want anyone worrying. I may be wearing the world's least comfortable Argentinian underwear, but I'm safe and well.

In Rosario I made a couple of return visits to the bus station and the police station tucked cozily inside of it. Everyone was very confused by my whole switcheroo situation and not particularly interested in helping solve it. Apparently they've never seen anything quite like it and although bus companies down here are supposed to give insurance rewards for lost and stolen luggage, as far as they're concerned, I did receive a bag (who cares if it was not mine, but rather some boy's stolen bag containing nothing but a dirty blanket, some holey socks, some nastyass underwear, a ripped up shirt, and a Lonely Planet I already have?), which should be good enough. On a personal level, they've essentially been telling me I'm a liar which is quite a lovely bonus. Not to sound negative, but everyone involved is entirely incompetant. For all the bad things about the US one hears skipping about the world, customer service and general efficiency are not to be taken for granted, people. If for no other reason than on my behalf, please relish them.

From Rosario I went in what were now exceptionally dirty clothes to Mendoza which is a pretty, fancy town in wine country very close to the Chilean border. My hostel there gave me very clean sheets and a towel which were particularly enjoyable given my newfound lack of cozy bedbug-defying sleepsack and fantastic quick-drying towel. One can raft and trek and things from Mendoza, but I didn't feel prepared for these things at the time in terms of wardrobe or really mental health, so I shopped. I was mildly successful, but Mendoza's not a big place so eventually I gave up, ate an amazingly fantastic lunch at a gourmet vegetarian restaurant (where am I?!) and packed up my torn up plastic shopping bags for Chile.

The trip over the border was phenomenal. Seeing as how the border lies at the top of the Andes, the second highest mountain range in the world, the scenery was pretty damn impossible to beat. They happened to show movies starring The Rock as well (please tell me how can an actor's name start with 'The'?), but somehow, however suprisingly I found the action outside the window far more impressive. Coming down the hairpin switchbacks on the Chilean side was a little terrifying, but they promised no bus had ever toppled down so I figured mine wouldn't be the first. They made no mention of the millions of huge trucks we were passing and overtaking and squeezing past on these hairpin turns so maybe the buses just run the trucks off the cliffs all the time, but whatever, I was on a bus. Arriving in Santiago was an aesthetic letdown after my day of postcard views, but I forgot about that quickly arriving at the door of my friend Ryan's apartment. I mean, a friend, a privately occupied residence? I barely knew what to do with myself.

The first order of business was to attack my stack of patiently waiting mail. I can't thank you people enough! I mean, the ones that sent me mail. Letters and postcards and packages galore. It was incredible. You are fantastic. I absolutely loved lingering over familiar handwriting. You have no idea. And what's more, I received soap and t-shirts and underwear and chapstick and Asprin and all these things that would have just seemed like treats, but given the circumstances may as well be gigantic nuggets of gold. Thank you thank you thank you.

Ryan is currently in a master's economics program with exams and the like so yesterday morning I amused myself by scoping out the neighborhood and its resident department store while he was at school. Pants and two t-shirts - praise Jesus, I'm clean. Then in the afternoon we went to the mall and I scored a relatively cheap random Spanish backpack to cart my crap around in for the next several months. It's no beloved Gregory mind you, but it has a zipper and some straps and it will do. The recent hemmoraging of money should start to calm down now.

After the mall we went out to dinner at a cute little restaurant called Vincent with Starry Night murals on the walls. We drank delicious Chilean wine, ate good food, and went to pay with Ryan's debit card. Declined. Ok, weird, but fine, probably human error on the part of the not so bright waiter trying to run the card. He says it's probably because the limit has been exceeded, we say no that's just silly, but here's another card. Then we come back to Ryan's place and he checks his account online just to be positive and sure enough, it's empty. Yes his entire checking account, thousands of dollars, down the very last penny, gone. Spent at various grocery stores and gas stations all over southern Chile by someone who clearly isn't Ryan. That brings us to today, Ryan phoning his bank, Dara phoning Argentinian bus companies, and both of us wondering what exactly we may have done recently to bring such brutal karmic punishment. If you know the answer, please do share. Needless to say, it's quite comforting for both of us to have the company and support of someone who has also been the victim of grand theft this week. In between today's bouts of violent rage and much comedy, we took a self-guided walking tour past all the pretty buildings of the city and to the top of a hill to get a true appreciation for the phenomenal smog. The sky today was a light grey overcast and yet the layer of smog over the city itself was a dark dark grey that almost completely obscured the Andes which are very big and very close and shouldn't be easily obscured. It's really quite impressive. And that's the latest. I'm sticking around here for a couple more days to relax and enjoy all this clean personal apartmentness and soak up a little more time as Suzie Homemaker as Ryan has dubbed me. (Making coffee is a blast when you can't do it easily for 7 months.) Then North. Miss you all.