Do not let Chile make you cry.

I have arrived to Santiago airport and tears fall hopelessly as I sit and wait for Alex.  She will arrive in a few hours, just on different flights today, traveling from Peru to Chile.  I have been dragged from window to window with nothing but the absence of communication and understanding.  No one speaks English, and I did not learn Spanish on the flight over.  It is late and I am tired.  There seems to be no empathy for this foreign blondie.  To enter Chile, people from the US must pay $131 crisp, non-ripped US bills.  This I knew, and was prepared for, but not with exact change...

I follow the rest of my plane to the "The Police" window to get a visa stamp on the passport.  After waiting until they make it to the end of the line,  I am told to go pay the tax first.  I walk over to where the finger pointed me.  The man tells me $131, so I hand him two hundreds.  He shrugs as he speaks.  I can tell he has no change but he pulls the empty drawer out to prove his side of the situation. I shrug, for I have no change either, nor an idea what to do next.  He shrugs, showing empty hands.  Neither of us can do anything to fix this current situation.  If anyone knows what to do next it would be him, so I continue to stand.

He points me across the large room, "The Police."  I walk through the empty maze to get up to a window.   The woman is shocked that I walked straight up to a window, and cockily spits Spanish at me to wait to be called.  I recede to the appropriate red line, waiting to be called by one of  the five free windows....
I watch two of them read newspapers, while others putz around with their pens or tap at their computers...
Oh- one is ready for me; he calls me over with a wave.  I show them my passport and the $200 and they point me to the Tax counter.  I try to use sign language to explain I have been there and they try to use Spanish (a little louder) to explain that I need to go there.  Finally, I get a police officer to go with me.  I follow her over there, they talk, and have come up with some sort of plan.  She brings me through the red line and down the hall to an Exchange counter.  He exchanges my hundred for 200,000 pesos, but I need US bills ETC ETC ETC! Back and forth, back and forth.  It really helped pass the time while waiting for Alex, but it was semi telling of how difficult the next few weeks will be.

I guess it was all foreshadowed a few hours back, when I shuffled down the narrow airplane aisle to find from my seat to the back of the plane taped off with some type of blue "caution" tape.  After watching the flight attendant calm down a few very upset clients, I asked what was happening.  She did not know much English, but I understood "not safe in emergency."

I finally get the money and stamp I need.  I follow the signs to baggage. 
From down the hall, I can see all the carousels have stopped.  Up and down the long room, I look for a clue.  The International Airport of Chile is a ghost town.  I find two men at a small desk at the end of the room who have my backpack and my heart rate returns to normalcy.  Next, I go through a routine livestock and vegetable check...

Everything is just a little more difficult for me today, and the tears I was choking back came loose. I sit by the exit, cold air is blowing through the doors, I pull the scarf up over my head a have a good cry :)
I wait, feeling defeated.  The tears are not of stress nor sadness nor anger.  The just fall easily for I am tired.  I take a few moments to wish I was somewhere else, somewhere easy- California, Florida, me bed.  I don't want an adventure anymore!  I want warmth and comfort! 
Back to the breath. and stop crying!


I take off the sandals and reach for the boots, I grab the down jacket out of the top of my bag.  I start to get comfortable, another hour for Alex and then four more until the bus station opens.  The man two seats down scoots over.  He monologues in Spanish for a few moments until I explain "lo seinto, no entiendo. no hable español."  Ah," mucho frio."
"si, mucho frio" (I mean, it really is chilly folks!)
His only English is the word beautiful.  
"Ahhhh, Peru. es bonita. Tu es bonita. Chile es bonita. La playa es bonita. Miaimi es bonita. Les mountain es bonita. Es Wyoming bonita? Tu es muy bonita."
I stumble through some spanish too, "me amiga arrive (sometimes I throw in a french verb hoping the romantic languages are transferable) en una ahora, no taxi necessito (hes a cab driver and I fear he is wasting his time on me!) le bus a Valparaiso..."
At first I feared he was in some ploy to steal my things, but he is genuine. And making my day :)
We have exhausted our knowledge of each others language with in about 30 seconds, but we keep trying for the next hour.
Alex arrives and we are both in good spirits as we find a spot to sit for the next four hours, a little spot to eat and drink tea. 
"It's 4:20 a.m. do you know where your head's at?" The Soul Coughing lyrics repeat in my head after noting the time.  One hour until we begin to inquire about the shuttle to the bus terminal.  Where is my head?!  It feels dry at this hour.
Alex takes a turn to the bathroom as the man sitting behind me asks me to watch his bag.  I say yes, not sure why. I feel nervous the whole time he is gone, but this is how we meet Maurice (or Morris?).  The man who gets us safely to the bus by 6, heading west for Valparaisa!