Update (A Rather Uninspired Title for an Eventful Time)

So much has come to pass in the last week since Michael and I returned from Valpo. In an effort to capture the range of life lived, I am compiling it all into this update.

Wes the Hero:

As a sad truth of having gone to the school that I did, and having served in the line of work that was the past six years of my life, I am witness to the passing of some true American heroes. One such man, Wes Van Dorn, a classmate and company mate of mine from the U.S. Naval Academy was killed on January 8th from injuries sustained during a helicopter crash. During the first summer I was at USNA, a six week mini boot camp called Plebe Summer, Wes was one of my ten squad mates. The days following his passing, I was gripped with flashbacks of my time at school, of the time Wes literally pushed my ass up and over the physical Endurance Course, his request for additional physical training during Plebe Summer when I could barely make it through the day. Skyping with my classmates, emails flying back and forth with people I haven't spoken to since graduating almost seven years ago, it brought tears and also laughter at remembering. I cannot reconcile Wes' grin, infectious laughter, noble and bright personality with the idea of his being still and unmoving. I don't think I will ever be able to. As a father and husband, son and friend, the loss is indescribable. Wes, fair winds and following seas.

Santiago:

The land of long, blisteringly hot summer days, wine and food. And, so, as the U.S. survived the polar vortex, I was indulging in the unrealized love of ginger ale and agua con gas (carbonated water) to keep myself reasonably cool. Our last week at Ecela, our Spanish immersion course, was full of Spanish Taboo, Spanish Scattegories, Spanish Pictionary, and enough Spanish grammar to expand my conversation skills a hundred fold. In the evenings, we walked the city, taking full advantage of the balmy and endless late afternoons fading into night. Our favorite spot to end up at, Lastarria, was a bohemian mixture of art, international cuisine, trendy clothes, and hip salons. It is there, that I took the plunge, entrusting a fabulous hairdresser by the name of Sebastian to cut my hair into a highlighted pixie. And unfortunately (a little), I have lost my fit trekking physique under a layer of fat due to the make-up-for-lost-time-dates that Michael and I indulged in most nights. But the food! And the wine! When in Chile...

Wine tasting at Bocanariz

View from the top of San Cristobal Hill, which also boasts this 22 meter statue of the Virgin Mary:

Top Three Travel Fear Realized:

I won't elaborate much, other than to say, bedbugs SUCK! Literally, they crawl on you and suck your blood...at night! If that isn't a recipe for insomnia, I'm not sure what is. In any case, I was destroyed by bedbugs in Valpo, with dozens of bites all over my arms and legs. DISGUSTING! Miraculously, Michael emerged with zero, count 'em, zero bites. Thankfully, my suffering has been limited to just bites, and not inadvertently carrying the bugs with me in my clothes or luggage. I will not subject you to any pictures, as just seeing the healing wounds on me now, as I type this, is traumatizing enough.

Continent Number 4, Here I Come!:

Forces and emotions aligned, and here I am in Guatemala. Originally, I had envisioned continuing my South American tour after spending a month with Michael in Chile and Argentina, but when the time came to figure out the next landing point, I found my heart had other plans. Weighing my options, factoring in my longing for adventure and new experiences, feeling like my relationship with Michael was evolving and growing out of the peaks and valleys we had put it through with long distance, it became apparent that I would be happiest spending the next month with him. Additionally, I have begun the animating, but daunting process of looking forward to my life after traveling. I have so many more wonderful and extreme adventures ahead of me before I come home in late Summer, and this pause in January and February is a logical, stable time for a deep breath.

Since landing in Guatemala a little more than 24 hours ago, I have, for the first time since September, baked cookies, typed on a real keyboard (so much easier), and played the piano.

Home for the next few weeks...

It has been a whirlwind, emotionally draining week. It seems, sometimes, like it takes a time of tragedy or a time of jubiliance to reset priorities. Since traveling, I feel like I take my relationships with my friends and family less for granted. Being separated by a considerable distance from the familiar causes the most tender of reflections on the people back home. I have loved nearly every moment traveling, and beautifully, my joy in my home grows exponentially along with my love of discovery. So to everyone, go ahead and smile out loud for all the goodness in life, and I'll do the same over here.

Valpo!

Valpo has a subtle way of fooling you when initially meeting her. The dogs wandering the streets, looking up at you with melancholy eyes and gently wagging tails. Intensely pungent pockets of smell lying in wait at nearly every corner, side street, and patch of grass. Blemished and pockmarked facades of once-grand building, next to gray or tan blockhouses of the most uncreative variety. A place where rich and poor live down the street from one other, of overtly dangerous neighborhoods blocks from a $200 lunch. It takes a moment to look beyond the chaos of the train station, and dodgy stairs of various loafers, to hear the piano playing from the upper window of an apartment building. From the death defying 130 years old funicular, to the pride and might of the Naval Museum, Valpo revealed herself to us, enthralling Michael and I in her rich beautiful soul. 

"Dancing Magician and Curious Dog"

Immediately upon arriving back in Valpo Friday evening, we were late. After hailing a taxi, climbing the Cerro Bellavista to our Hotel Natura, and quickly dumping our bags, we were back out the door headed to Vina del Mar. A 20 minute car ride, but worlds away. Palm trees and canals lined the wide boulevards, while gleaming white casinos and hotels lined the water. Brightly lit, humming, golden restaurants and bars grew like weeds. Our taxi dropped us in front of our destination, Glasgow Pub and we met with a work acquantaince of Michael’s. After three hours of “sea stories” and surprisingly good food, we were in a micro on our way back to Valpo. The system of public transportation in Chile, while highly developed in Santiago, is still a bit insane in Valpo. Micros, a mixture of a bus and van, careen around corners, nearly sideswiping each other to get to established route stops first in order to collect the fare of more passengers. As a result, beware when crossing any street, prepare to be crushed like sardines into the micro, and hold on for dear life as you go from 100 km per hour to 0 as the driver crushes the brake at a red light. Cruising along, we didn’t realize we had missed our stop until we were passing the port on our way up into the Cerros. Since it was 1 in the morning, and we were in no position to be getting off in one of the most dangerous parts of town, we stayed put. Fifteen minutes later we were on top of the hill at the end of the line, and our driver was trying to figure out what to do with two lost gringos. In a gesture of good will, he drove us back to a semi well lit area of the hill, and let us out. Honking his horn, we managed to flag down a colectivo (a 50% cab, 50% bus) and were informed that we were in one of the most irreuptable areas of town. Finally at 2 in the morning, we passed out in our nautically themed room, an almost exact replica of a lush U.S. Navy stateroom. 

The Saturday that followed was one of the most spectacular touring days I have ever experienced. Our hotel kicked off the morning with massive English style breakfast complete with avocado for the eggs, and honey for the toast. A block and a half from our hotel is the simply astounding La Sebastiana, the house that Pablo Nerudo lived in and was the inspiration for many works that led to the Nobel Prize. In his words:

"I built the house. First, I made it of air. Then, I raised the flag in the air and left it hanging from the sky, from the light and darkness." 

Like a multiered wedding cake, this house climbs from the hill, with panoramic vistas of the entire bay available from new and unique vantage points in every nook, cranny and sitting chair. His collection of toys and peculiarities fill the rooms with a distinctive flow of color, wonders both absurd and profound. The genius and mirth of this great man is apparent in the poetry of his home, and it felt a great honor to have been, even in a small way, in his presence.

Unfortunately, no pictures were allowed inside.

Trading one art form for another, Michael and I embarked on a walking tour of the Open Sky Museum, a series of 20 murals painted throughout Cerro Bellavista. First established in the early 90s and solidifying Valpo's life of street art, the murals have now spawned into every neighborhood in Valpo. Walking through every neighborhood and hidden staircase, some with every available wall face covered in colorful imagery, the reality of the ever changing face of the city is evident. It's an evolution of sorts, as entertaining as it is a curious. 

The 130 years old Cerro Concepcion funicular was our next stop. Sadly, most of the beautiful, historic funiculars of Valparaiso are in a state of total neglect:

But the few that are still in use contribute to Valparaiso's status as a UNESCO World Heritage site. The creaky, and surprisingly swift ascent up the most visited area of Valparaiso was like stepping into the past. The iron turnstile and wooden pew to collect money, the system of wheels and pulleys. All are largely unchanged since the 1880s.

This is actually a defunct funicular by the Naval Museum...

Emerging onto Cerro Concepcion, we were met with countless art galleries, hip restaurants, vagabond hostels and high end hotels. How very different from the plazas of random personalities below by the port! We made our way to Cafe Turri, and experienced the most languidly, delicious lunch of our lives. Sipping wine, overlooking the bay and feasting on local food, we celebrated this time we are able to spend together. 

Walking off our lunch, we strolled until evening in and out of the web of galleries. Cerro Concepcion gave way to Cerro Alegre as we climbed higher and higher. One painting I discovered was actually physically painful to walk away from, but, alas, art is expensive! I will enjoy the street art for now.

The next morning we walked to the Naval Museum, where Michael was able to give in fully to his secret love of beautiful wooden, model sailing vessels. Fully educated on Chile's major naval battles, we returned to Cerro Concepcion for a late lunch before catching our bus to Santiago. 

The rush of the weekend and heat of the day sapped our energy, but we were rewarded with my favorite food in all the world upon our return to the city:

Acai bowl!

Another memory filled, awe inspiring weekend. Sadly, Michael must leave for Guatemala this weekend, and I will be continuing to Buenos Aires. But in this moment, I am so happy, and living for everyone that I love. 

Valparaiso: All of the Lights!

For the first time in my 28 years, I had someone to kiss at the stroke of midnight on New Years. Long distance, singlehood, and quiet midnights watching the ball drop at home have all led to this grand moment. And what an unbelievable setting. 

Unbeknownst to me, but the bayside city of Valparaiso boasts one of the most spectacular New Years firework shows on the planet. Obviously, at only 90 minutes from Santiago, it would have been criminal to miss it. Arriving back in Santiago last Sunday before New Years, Michael and I snagged some of the last bus tickets bound for Valpo on December 31st. We considered ourselves extremely lucky after hearing our classmates lament the lack of tickets by Monday at noon, and then again as we zoomed past dozens of hitchhikers along the highway on Tuesday. We lucked out again when our Spanish school managed to find us lodging in a beautiful homestay. The only hotel rooms remaining from our Internet search were in the vicinity of $1000 so we were prepared to spend the night wandering the streets.

The sea breezed streets of Valpo were hopping with activity, street markets, last minute firework sales, oversized 2014 neon green glasses and more when we arrived. The normal population of 300,000 more than triples on New Years, and we wandered the streets, one of many bright eyes tourists. Our homestay, situated on one of the steep hills half a mile in from the ocean, is the home of a brilliant, charismatic Chilean family who welcomed us with open arms. When we inquired as to a place to eat a celebratory New Years dinner that night, they just shook the heads and invited us to their family gathering (albeit for a small extra cost). As the afternoon sun stretching long above our heads, we walked the streets, getting a preview of the world famous Valpo street art, wondering at the unexpected grittiness of the city, and joining revelry that gripped everyone around us. 

Our typical glacially slow meal began around nine with neverending drinks and petite appetizers in the courtyard of our home. Gradually our new extended Chilean family, who Michael was making fast friends with his brilliant Spanish skills, moved us all inside for a huge meal. Finishing up with minutes to spare before the fireworks show, we charged from the home, dashed half a block down the hill, managed to find space along a magnificent vista point and waited for the lights. Sadly, in our hurried exit, I forgot my camera at the house, and so wasn't able to capture any of the lit night sky.

With an inexplicable sense of timing, the crowd around us began the countdown chorus, "Diez! Nueve! Ocho..." and as we shouted out "UNO!" five huge, green, exploding, expanding, golden tinted fireworks splashed across the sky, synchronized and spaced apart across the 20 km bay. As with every fireworks show I have ever seen, a collective "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh" went up from the thousands gathered, our necks craned backwards in a delight universal and pure. Timed with a waved precision, the choreographed shows boomed and reverberated our bodies at our feet, into our hearts, to the very tips of our hair. Every imaginable color, shape, combination of bold and delicate firework flew into the air, all at different angles and heights, so that it seemed the whole bay was a bowl of electricity. The President of Chile observes this show right in Valparaiso, so the show closest to our view point was just a tad bit more dramatic and robust. Without interruption, the eruption of gas and fire lasted twenty pounding minutes. Oh and the finale! A crescendo, becoming bolder, more intense, more vibrant, so that we all seemed lifted off our feets as whistles, claps and cheers rose from the jubilant crowd. 

Truly spectacular. And best of all? The New Years beso. 

Chiloe and an Introduction to South American Buses!

After only 30 hours in Santiago, we embarked on another long haul on Tuesday evening to the island of Chiloe. Eating grande salads and stocking up on some paltry snacks, we boarded our Cruz de Sur Salon Cama bus at 2030 for a twelve hour overnight ride. The Salon Cama bus was worth every extra peso, as we sank into deep cushioned seats and were able to recline to a nearly horizontal position. My internal clock was so confused from the measly six or so hours of sleep I had gotten during my 48 hour journey to Chile, that I promptly passed out hard until six the next morning. 

Making our way to the bus station in Santiago.

I awoke to a sweet sunrise.

Originally we were going to stop in Puerto Montt, the town on the mainland coast of Chile before catching a ferry to Chiloe. Instead we figured on just staying on our uber comfortable bus for an additional four hours, riding the ferry on our bus, until we reached Castro, the largest town on Chiloe.

Riding the ferry.

Chiloe is a place of wild beauty, fish towns, UNSECO World Heritage wooden churches, and is steeped deeply in a mystical and mythological past. After sixteen hours on the bus, we were grateful to be on our own two feet in an intense search for food. Landing upon a delicious sushi restaurant, we over ordered to the point that we didn't even eat dinner that night.

Iglesia de Castro.

Castro habor.

After an afternoon of strolling through markets, the bustling downtown, and along the waterfront, we called it a day and made plans to go on a tour of the surrounding area of Castro and the National Park of Chiloe the next day. 

Thursday, Jorge, our sweet and helpful driver from our hostel, took Michael and I and two French girls on a day long drive on the Castro side of the island. From the sprawling marketplace, unbelievably beautiful wooden churches, to vistas and finally to the National Park.

The smell overload market place. 

The dark swirled paint on the wooden columns is designed to look like European marble columns. 

As we were filling out the visitor log at the Chiloe National Park, there was suddenly a great commotion. The park ranger quickly grabbed his walkie talkie to call for reinforcements, motioned for another ranger to make his way over, and suddenly Michael was surrounded by three uniformed gentlemen. Fortunately, Michael has a reasonable command of the Spanish language, because I was about ready to pretend like nothing weird was happening, grab his hand and walk in the opposite direction. It turns out that Michael was the 30,000th visitor to the park this year (their goal for 2013), and it was cause for celebration! Taking us to the park's museum, Michael was officially interviewed and presented with a Spanish book on the myths and legends of Chiloe and a DVD of the park. They asked for my info too, so we both felt strangely important.

Upon our return to our hostel, we dolled up to go to dinner at the highly recommended Mercadito restaurant in celebration of Michael being accepted to Business School. He had just received the email on Wednesday, so it is a wonderful holiday and life gift!

Ceviche!

Our last day on Chiloe, was a truly epic misadventure. Renting a brand new (plastic shrink wrap still intact) Kia Morning, we headed out towards the remote north western part of the island to try to find the elusive (for this time of year) Humboldt and Magellanic penguins native to Chiloe. After a benign 60 km on paved road, we maneuvered an abrupt turnoff onto a rocky dirt road. Bumping along for almost 20 km, cresting hills to peek at the ocean, negotiating cows wandering back and forth across the road, we arrived at a steep extremely primative road. We should have wisely left the car at the top and walked down towards the beach, but instead we ricocheted down, nearly bottoming out the car numerous times, only to be stopped at the bottom by a massive puddle. Abandoning the car, we continued on foot, crawling under a bar wired fence, and emerging on a tundra like landscape with sand dunes breaking the horizon. 

  

The pivotal decision to off road.

Instead of following the tire tracks in the sand that followed a fenced pasture, we decided to cut through the dunes and greenery to the sound of the ocean. Not the brightest decision. Scrambling up windy dunes, bushwacking along rarely used cow paths, gently walking through a herd of unattended grazing cows (including a massive bull), and finally crossing a quicksand consistency marsh, we emerged on the beach. All in all we spent over an hour struggling through, albeit, a gorgeous landscape, when the return trip along the sandy tracks took a fraction of the time.

Jurassic park leaves.

Trying to figure out how to get from here to there.

One of my new Converse was sucked off my foot and had to be rescued by Michael.

Michael jumped...

I waded...

Walking along Punihuil Beach was seriously nothing short of breathtaking. We did not see a single other person in our whole mini trek and miles long walk along the beach in search of penguins. I felt like we were walking in, how I imagine it, New Zealand, or some other exotic coast. The ocean threw up glittering and smooth rocks onto the shore, and a massive free standing cave loomed at one end of the beach. 

Walking towards the cave. Penguins?

Alas, no penguins were to be found, and we had to hightail it (which is very difficult when walking in sand) to our car in order to make it back to Castro for our 1730 bus back to Santiago. We alternated between gritting our teeth and holding our breath as Michael deftly off roaded the bicycle tire Kia up the hill, this time bottoming out numerous times. Skidding into Castro with an hour to spare, we wolfed down some delicious sandwiches, and prepared ourselves for the 16 hour ride back.

Arriving 30 minutes early in Santiago on Saturday morning, we made the impulse decision to catch the outgoing bus to Mendoza departing in fifteen minutes. Whew. With barely enough time to stock up on a couple granola bars and more water, we were back on a bus (sadly, not a Salon Cama) for the eight hour drive through the Andes and a belabored border crossing.

30 some odd curves up to the pass in Santiago.

After exactly 24 hours of bus travel we arrived in wine rich Mendoza, treated ourselves to a bottle, ate a fashionably late Argentinian meal and tried to sleep in our sweltering, bar/hostel. What a whirlwind of South American travel so far. I am loving living in the moment.