Update

I've never been an alcoholic or completely wasted, but I imagine the experience would be something like tele-bears (the way we sign up for classes at Cal). If I was an alcoholic, I would walk into the bar thinking, "No biggie, I can handle this" and walk out thinking "What the flying-monkeys just happened?!!" Ya, that's what just happened with my tele-bears. I signed on thinking that it was no biggie, I could sign up for a couple classes and then work on my blog, the whole process taking about 1 hour. False. Hour and 20 minutes later, after knocking 1.486 years off my life, I have no idea what just happened, what classes I'm taking next semester, or how I ended up with every class of mine being from a different department and all basically at the exact same time. And I'm just now starting my blog.

A large part of me wants to get out of this cave of a computer booth and go explore the city, but I have to get everything out of my head before I can fill it with new stuff. Besides, I have told you practically nothing about Easter Island. And also, my pictures are downloading.

So here we go.

Sometimes (often) I mentally narrarate my life as if it were a novel. Because my narrations stay there on repeat unless I get them out, I am now going to write 2 of them for you. Here is the kick off to my Easter Island excursion.

Each twist of the knob pained her. One. Two. Three. She knocked hour after hour from the time when her cheap, plastic clock would ring until it finally stopped at 5:30am. She looked at the small gap between the hour hand and the smaller white hand representing the alarm. I've set alarms for naps longer than this. She had two hours - two precious hours - to sleep. After setting three more alarms on her watch, just to be sure, she turned off the light and lay down in her freezing bed for the last time. And didn't fall asleep. What the heck? Every cell in her body longened for sleep, but her mind kept racing. She decided that this must be a small taste of what it feels like to be a parapalegic. She couldn't move her exhausted body if she wanted to, but her pinball thoughts kept banging around noisily in her head. Finally, like one of the pinballs had struck a rubber band that made the whole game light up, it dawned on her. The answer. The reason she couldn't sleep. Piscola. A short hour ago she had been singing "It's Raining Men" infront of a crowded bar and drinking a piscola. Cola being the key word. Caffeine. Should I even try falling asleep? she thought. But the decision was made for her. Before she could squeeze in another indecision, the alarm was alerting her that 1) she had in fact fallen asleep, and 2) sleep was no longer an option.

She paced back and forth in the 3 feet allotted to her by the seat-belt like barriers, trying not to fall asleep on her feet. As she paced, she assessed the people with whom she would be sharing a flight to the Island. Lonley Planet lied, she thought, remembering that her trusty travel book and suggested she might have the island to herself. Rather, though, she was sharing it with a plane full of people in addition to those already on the Island. From the looks of it, she was one of the few not already collecting a social security check (or who would be if the lived in the States). That's okay. It is what it is.

Okay, those were the narrations stuck in my head. Thank you for letting me get them out. Now let me tell you a little bit about my future home.

I FREAKIN' LOVE EASTER ISLAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't even know where to start. It's beautiful. Bananas, papays, and coconuts grow everywhere. People say hello to you when you pass them on the street. And you can play with the kids.

Now let me compare that briefly to where I've been living for the past month. Santiago is grey, has no plants, people look at you like you're crazy if you make eye contact, much less smile, and nobody talks to anybody, much less permit a stranger to play with their kids.

As I was flying over to the island, I read a bit through my Lonely Planet book. The first thing that jumped out at me was this:

Population: 4,400

And my first thought was this:

I can win over 4,400 people in 3 days.

Mission accomplished.

The first day I just wandered around the (only) town until I found a park with swings. I'm a sucker for swings, so I sat down and swang (swinged? swung?) for awhile. I could see the kids looking at me with curiosity, so I went over and asked them if I could play with them. We played chase or tag or something like that, but I was always it. Let me tell you, chasing kids around for a long time is very exhausting. Then I started talking with the grandma. She told me that she and the kids were all headed down to the harbor and asked if I wanted to join. I said yes. So we walked down to the harbor and fed the giant turtles and fish that just swim around in the crystal clear water. Then I went and ate an empanada. Then I wandered around some more, saw some amazing statues, and watched a beautiful sunset.

And that was just day one.

Without going through all the details day by day, let me tell you a bit of the high lights.
-Scuba diving. The water is so clear, I could see forever.
-Being invited to the workshop of one of the artists on the island, and then having dinner with his family after.
-Being called "tía" (aunt) by a large portion of the kids on the island.
-Trying to catch a ride into town, finding out that my ride into town is actually going to the exact spot on the opposite side of the island that I was hoping to go, and getting a ride to the way far opposite side of the island. And this ride was in a car that reminded me of the Millennium Falcon in so far as it was probably also held together by gum, spit, and hope. Were it not for the mat on the bottom of the floor, by feet could have touched the ground. And the door was held shut with a huge rubber band.
-Having the whole 15 moai to myself.
-Catching a ride back into town with the service crew.
-Free food.
-Playing chase with kids for hours everyday.
-Painting.
-Selling paintings.
-Exploring.

Seriously, I couldn't have asked for a better experience. I wouldn't mind it being longer, though. But I guess that will get taken care of when I live there.

Yay! So you're all up to date now. I'm now in La Serena, wich is north of Santiago. I really enjoyed my time in Santiago, but I wouldn't say I loved the city. Actually, I was really excited to leave it. I enjoy fresh air and not freezing. So, like I said, I'm in La Serena now, and I'll stay here unitl I get bored and then catch a 23 hour bus ride up to Arica. I need to find some books before then.

Also, my hair is braided.

MUCH LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My Favorite Belly Button

I wish that I could write through osmosis, because then I could get everything I want out onto the computer without having to worry about order or making sense or leaving anything out. I'll start with a couple of announcements.

1) This internet session is quickly becoming my most expensiveb purchase (except scuba diving) since I started traveling on my own.
2) So I'm not checking my e-mail. Because then I'll want to respond, and I can't afford that.
3) I figured this was a better way to communicate with the people that care and let them know that I am alive and well (oh so well!!!)
4) I'm just going to write until just before the price of this internet session makes me want to throw up instead of just gag.

So here we go.

Mom, can you do me a favor. Pull out the 2013 calendar (you have that already, right?) and turn to December. On December 25 write "Christmas on Easter Island."

Why? You might be asking. 'Cause I'm moving here.

Seriously.

I mean, you're lucky I'm not just staying.

I've already inquired about jobs and the possiblity of a foreigner living on the island. I can't own land, but that's okay. So for the year after I graduate, I'm moving here. And I'm really freakin' excited.

I'm going to live on the belly button of the world. Called that because it is a tiny dot surrounded by a whole lot of nothing.

Gosh, I don't even know where to start. I absolutely love it here. But the price of this is starting to upset my stomach like a Chilean Tea Cup Ride. So I think you might have to wait until tomorrow.

All my love.

Porque Estoy Triste

Estoy triste. Muy triste. Hoy yo terminé mi clase, y ahora no tengo más escuela. ¿Por qué no yo estoy triste cuando yo termino un capítulo de un libro, pero cuando yo termino un capítulo en mi vida, todavía estoy triste? Yo quiero leer el capítulo otro vez. Cuando leo un libro, tengo muchas ganas leer el capítulo proximo y ver que pasa. Posiblimente es que no me gusta decir despedidia. Pero yo sé que esta es bein. Yo sé que yo voy a tener otras aventuras. Pero me gusta esta avevntura. . . Yo quiero esta por un poco más tiempo. ¿Por favor?

(I'm sad. Very sad. I finished my class today, and now I don't have any more school. Why am I never sad when I finish a chapter in a book but everytime I finish a chapeter in my life I get sad. I want to read the chapted another time. When I read books, I'm excited to get to the next chapter and see what happens. Maybe it's because I don't like to say goodbye. But it's okay. I know that I'll have other adventures. But I like this adventure. . .I want a little more time. Please?)

So, like I said, shool is finished and I'm moving on. Next stop: ISLA PASCUA!! Which I'm definitely not complaining about. Plus I met a guy from Brazil who will be there at the same time and he seems pretty book. (That wasn't a typo.) So that will be fun.

But before I depart, there are a couple more things that I want to talk about that have no unifying theme besides the fact that I want to talk about them.

The first is something I'm gravely concerned about. I was looking through some photo albums with my family here, and all the photos had the natural progression of time and style, I could see the 70s, the 80s, the 90s, and the . . . uhh. . . past ten years (what do you call those?), which means. . . THEY CHOSE TO RETURN TO THE 80s! It's not that they're just 20 years behind and 20 years from now they will be where the rest of the world (overgeneralizing, I know) is today. No, that's not it all all. They chose the 80s. I don't understand. Maybe it's the contamination. It must be affecting their decision making ability.

I mean, I've improved a bit. I've become desensitized to the mullets and rat tails, but I still can't shake the dissappointment I feel when I see a poptentially attractive guy, and it gives me hope for the country, and he turns his head. . . and I see it. Coming off the back of his head it a dreadded rat tail, the thickness of my thumb, trailing down his back. Why would you do that? Or when I see little boys with it, maybe 4 or 5 years old, but the rat tail is already pretty long, you have to know that the parents started that thing early. It's a shame.

Another thing: male nose piercinhgs. I'm not talking about the bull piercing, I'm talking about the girly, side of the nose piercing. I know this is infultrating the US as well, and eventually it will become normal, but for now I am still uneasy about it. "But Lila, that is sexist and hypocritical," you might be saying. This may be so, but until women and men get paid the same amount for the same job, I retain my right to dislike male nose piercings.

I guess this ties into my favorite thing that I've read in all of Santiago. It was at a museum in the description of a very old facemask, and it said (translated):

The red face, disfigured head shape, and cross eyes represented the ideal beauty of the time.

No, I'm not joking. Times change. Beauty ideals change. I guess you just have to go with it.

Something unrealted that I wanted to talk about: my walking. I've always been told I walk slow. I'll feel like I'm walking at a perfectly normal pace, but practically everyone will be flying by me on the street. Wind rushes by my face as little old ladies speed by. (Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but barely). Every morning I had to walk 67 miles from the metro to my school (believe me, it feels that long when it's cold), and during that time, I've discovered something. I don't walk slow, I walk small. (Which, admittedly, results in me walking slowly). While other peoples' steps were always 1.75-2 squares, mine were a consistent 1.5. I attribute it to my short legs. And for that I blame my mom's side of the family. So if you ever complain about me walking slowly, that's discrimination against short legged people. So think twice. (Sorry about all the parentesies in this paragraph. I went a little crazy.)

More unrelated news: I'm incredibly jealous of Matilda. Last night I sat for 10 minutes in my bed, my heater inches away from my face, staring at my verb book across the room trying to make it hover over my direction. Matilda wouldn't have had to get out of the warmish bed into the freezing cold to get the book. I mean, sure, she grew up in a verbally abusive home with a family that didn't love her, went to a school rulled by fear and a tyrant of a principal, and carried adoption papers around with her since she was tall enough to use the xereox. . . but she could move things with here eyes.

I went to a Christmas in July party. It was fun.

Also, I can tango now.

I'm going salsa dancing tonight. So excited!!!

I can't find duct tape anywhere here.

Books are really, really expensive. I feel like that's dumb.

All the cigarettes have pictures of premie babies or babies whose mothers´smoked and now they're hooked up to tubes and stuff. It doesn't stop anyone from smoking.

Can I bring coco leaves back to the US? Probably. . . if they don't know I have them.

What's that disease called when you just start bleeding randomly? Oh wait, I think I'm thinking of that thing when you can't stop bleeding because you're blood doesn't clott. Anyways, I keep bleeding. It's weird. Yesterday I looked down while I was on the metro and my finger was all red and gross. What the heck? Luckily I had a batman band aid.

Okay, I'm freezing and my fingers are purple. I need to put on my gloves, which means I need to stop typing.

Bye. Love you.

Cold

I've decided something: I don't like being cold. I don't mind cold weather, but I d0n't like being cold.

You would think the two go hand in hand - cold weather and being cold - but they don't.

For example, I like sitting by a window and watching it storm outside. I love the feeling of walking from the cold outdoors into a heated house. I like when I have to wear so many layers that it doesn't even matter what the bottom 3 layers are because nobody will ever see them. I love an excuse to wear fuzzy socks, warm scarfs, colorful gloves, and cute hats. I love drinking warm beverages and warming myself from the inside out. I enjoy being able to see my breath. I enjoy the comforting weight of having like 13 layers on my bed. I like the warm food that comes with cold weather - soup, squash, etc. I like cuddling up with other people to get warm.

However, Santiago is a bit different kind of cold. Not only is ''it cold,'' but ''I'm cold.'' Different. And no me gusta.

I don't like worrying that my fingers and toes might fall off. I miss sleeping starfished out on my bed instead of in a cramped ball. I don't enjoy standing in front of a shower running with lukewarm water, fighting myself to undress and get in. Or on the chance that it is a warm shower, the warmth overshadowed by the feeling of a million needles like when you jump into a hot tub after rolling in the snow. I don't enjoy practically sprinting from the bathroom back to my bed after a shower. I miss real heating - whether it be a fireplace (which is illegal here because of pollution) or real house heating (which is ridiculously expensive). Instead, I have a space heater that is the eqivalent of if Easy Bake Ovens made heaters. It's basically a lightbulb that is supposed to heat my room. To compensate, I forgo fire hazards (sorry Kerry) and bring it in bed with me. Setting it up 4 inches from my face so it simultaneously heats my face and my pillow. I don't enjoy being so excited to go to bed because it means blankets, but dreading going to sleep because it means turning off my heat light bulb. I miss not having a snuggle buddy. I don't enjoy the weird weather that is freezing in the morning but warm in the afternoon so I am stuck carrying 14 other layers around with me all day.

I had a dream (notice: not a nightmare) that I wet my pants because a) it would be warm, and b) I didn't want to have to pull them down to go to the bathroom.

So, in short, it's cold. And I'm cold.

I'm not miserable, and the weather is only a VERY small part of the experience, but I wanted to write this as an explanation as to why I'm opting out of traveling to the South. It's supposed to be one of the most beautiful parts of Chile, but for me right now heading anywhere except towards the equator seems like a bad idea. But the weather, combined the with fact that I don't want to carry all the clothes necessary to make it bearable much less enjoyable, combined with the fact that I would have to backtrack BACK from the South in order to continue North, makes it seem unappealing at the moment.

So I am going to save the south for when one or more of the following conditions are true:
a) I have a snuggle buddy
b) It's summer down here
c) I can do an awesome trip where I start in Santiago, go down to the tip of South America, pop over to Antartica, come back, and head back up through Argentina so I don't have to back track
d) I have enough money to afford lodging with sufficient heating
e) I have a cammel, donkey, or llama that can carry all my stuff
f) I magically have enough time and money that makes an expensive 12 hour bus ride that I'll have to repeat to go back worth it
g) I turn into a polar bear

Yep, so that's it. Again, not complaining. I'm still super happy here. Just a little freezing.

Okay, I'm going to stop typing now so I can put my llama gloves back on.

LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!

Stanford

Today I saw a guy wearing a Stanford sweatshirt.

I sent up a quick prayer: "Forgive him, God. He knows not what he does."

Halloween Loot de Chile

So you know how when you go trick-or-treating on Halloween, you end up with a pillow case full of loot? There`s the good stuff, the gross stuff, the mandtatory-Halloween-experience stuff, and the other stuff, all thrown together into one big pillow case (or for all you lesser. . . *cough*. . . i mean other trick-or-treaters, a bag or tiny little pumpkin thingy). Well, this is my pillow case full of my Halloween Loot De Chile. Or in other words, my disconcordant thoughts that I am somehow going to relate to Halloween in order to give them some sort of consistent thread.

ALMOND JOY (the "do I really want to tell anyone about you because you're so good and there are so few of you. I'm not sure if I want to share this part of my loot" candy)
Now don't go getting too excited. I'm not about to spill any mushy details from some recent love affair. Especially because the only action I've had down here are my daily kisses and cuddles from Minnie. The dog. But I've very content with Minnie. She's an excellent snuggle buddy.

No, what I wanted to write here is that I don't really know exactly what this blog has become for me, and I feel like that might be something I should figure out. I should figure out how much I want to share on the "world wide web" (as someone over 45 would put it), and how much I should save for e-mails I can control who reads. I think I forget that people actually read this thing. Even people I don't know personally (wierd, but true). But the other part of me is saying, "Lila, nobody wants to read a censored version of your adventures. Where's the fun in that?"

So I guess what I want to say is that I want to formall announce that I'm not writing for anyone. I'm writing for me. For my own personal enjoyment, because I love writing, and to document my travels. And I love that this is a forum that allows you all to travel with me. But, that being said, I'm not going to censor myself or leave out parts out of concern for "my readers." But you should remember that this is me that we're talking about. Now that I've said that I'm "uncensored", it's not like I'm going to start writing about stip clubs or start dropping F-bombs everywhere. This will still probably be a PG blog or at worst PG-13. I just wanted to give you a heads up.

THE TOOTHBRUSH (the "cleaning up the day after" candy. . . that obviuosly isn't really candy)
So back to the whole "Sex on the Beach" fiasco. There have been some friendly accusations that I was asking for the misinterpretation by the way that I formatted that blog. What I was hoping for with that format was that if you glanced at it, you would say, WHAT??, but then if you actually read it in context you would realize that I was obviously talking about the drink. My bad.

CANDY CORN (the "mandatory experience" candy)
So I thought I would take this candy space to talk about some mandatory Chilean experiences. The first is, since we're talking about candies, the Super8. Pronounced "Super Ocho," not "Super Eight." I don't really know what the big deal is about them. I don't think that they're amazing, but apparently they are. They are chocolate covered . . . flakey things. Similar to a kit kat. Do you know those cookies that come in vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry? Maybe not. Well, it's chocolate covered that. Anyways, this is already more time than I wanted to be spending on Super 8s. Moving on.

Another mandatory Chilean (or any foreign country) experience: screwing up your words. So far, I have said that I wanted to ride a gentleman (I meant to say horse), I was from the United Students (meant to say states), asked someone that was almost done with school if he was sexually stimulated (meant to say just normal excited), and somehow insulted the entire female gender (meant to say . . . I actually have no idea what I was trying to say). Live and learn, right?

Mandatory Chilean Experience #3: (side note, I had to press the "Alt" button and the 3 to get that # sign. These computers are so weird). Biting into a salad that you think consists of one vegetable visible vegetable - clerary or onions or lettuce or carrots any other singular vegetable - and finding that the vegetable is not alone. No, it is accompanied by enough lemon juice, vinegar, and salt to make. . . smomething do something. I can't really think of anything right now. Sorry.

APPLE (the "real food that isn't candy that you're a little bit unsure about because there could be blades in it or whatevwer - do people really do that? - but you know that it has the potential to be the best thing in your bag of loot, so you're very tempted to eat it anyways" candy)
Awhie ago in a random conversation about food, I mentioned that I thought the whole "just bread and water" thing in jail wouldn't really be so bad. After a lot of thought, and a lot of bread, I've come to the not-very-surprising conlusion that I was right. (Ha! Bet you weren't expecting that one). Here in Chile, they have two food grops: bread, and things you put on bread. I have bread for desayuno (breakfast) and once (dinner). And when I say that, I don't mean bread on the side with veggies and meat as the main course. Nope. Bread is the main course. You can varry it with different toppings - palta (avocado), queso, jamon (ham), jam, etc. But the bulk of your meal is bread. We're on our own for lunch, and I usually end up buying some sort of bread and something to put on it. It's generally the cheapest option. Also, sandwiches come with 3 layers of bread. Bread, lots of maynaise and maybe some other stuff, bread, more maynaise and again the potential for other stuff, and another piece of bread.

SNICKERS(the "good stuff" candy)
Last night I met up with a guy that I met through CS and his friend and we went dancing. It was SO MUCH FUN. We were a bit of a motley crew, you might say. One of us a gringa with short blonde hair and bad spanish, another a small blast of color (orange pants, purple shirt, turquoise sweatshirt, checkered colored jacket) in a black and white city, and the third a tall, bright t-shirt wearing, mullet-sporter. I stayed consisted with my theme song, and "the pary don't start 'till I come in." Or. . . didn't start, I should say. But since when does modern music care about grammar. Anyways, I had a blast. We got there maybe 1ish and danced to a little after 4. The boys were great. They were the type of people that if I hadn't have come with them, I would have wished that I had. You know how in high school (or junior high, or at clubs, or wherever there is music and dancing, for that matter) the whole large group of people dancing who are so preoccupied with looking cool or hot or sexy or not like and idiot that they forget to have fun? And then there are the people that are having a blast, way more fun than the rest of the room combined, and eveyone wishes they had the confidence to dance like (that last part may be an overstatement, but I'm keeping it). Guess which group we were. Needless to say, I had a really, really fun time. I freakin' love dancing.

NERDS (the "self explanitory" candy)
I'm realliny enjoying school! There are two other kids in my class, and my teacher is awesome. Yep. That's it.

POP ROCKS (The "I Love The'80s" Candy)
I tried to resist. I thought I was stronger than this. I don't know what's happening. But today I found myself thinking: You know what, maybe fanny packs aren't such a bad idea. They're actually a rather convenient, safe, and functional way to carry all your stuff. I was (. . .am) tempted to buy some leg warmers. What's happening to me??

RANDOM CANDY AT THE BOTTOM OF YOUR BAG THAT YOU'RE NOT REALLY SURE IF YOU SHOULD EAT OR NOT (the "what the heck is this?" candy)
-This computer lab smells like fish
-Santiago is really big. Rather LA like. Except with good public transportation.
-You can't turn right on red.
-Woke up at 11 this morning. It was excellent.
-I'm going to look for more places to go dancing before 2am. But they're few and far between.
-I had a shortage of pants so I bought some I found at a used clothing store. They fit in the dressing room, but are now about 32 sizes too large. Do all courdory pants stretch out that quickly? Or is this pair just special? And by special, I definitely mean short bus special. Not shooting star special.
-The only acceptable color here is purple.
-Miss you. Love you.

Nostalgic Sleeping

When I was younger, I had a canopy bed. My parents made it for me for my birthday in response to my life-long dream of having one and attempts to make one for myself by tacking sheets to the cieling. I loved that thing. Sometimes (okay, often) I would dress up in a nightie and pretend I was a princess getting into her princess bed. I would close the curtains and go to sleep, in my head, as a princess. The last thing I would see before falling into a pleasant, dreamy sleep would be the faint line of the moonlight between the two curtains that faced my window. Only the ribbons of moonlight were ever able to penetrate my princess walls. I slept as a princess.

Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night. I don't know why. Maybe because I was sick, maybe because I got tangled in my blankets (I have so many!!), maybe I was cold. . . I don't really know. But I was awake, and it was the middle of the night. My bed here is up against a wall with a window that reaches from just below the top of my bed almost to the cieling. It is covered by two curtains, one from each side. There is a small gap between them. Through this space passed the lights of the city, the harshness filtered out by the smog. This thin line of man-made glow was what I woke up to last night, and for the first time in a long time, I went to sleep as a princess.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Today I was sick. Today I was on a bus. Today I comendeered the whole back row of a bus. Today I slept on a bus.

I laid down before the bus even started; my eyes were already closed when the engine fired up. My seats (5 of them, to be exact) immediately started to vibrate when the driver turned the key. The fait humm of the engine purred in my ear, whispering of adventures to come. I was transported. What would the next port be like? How much time did I have to nap before Kellie came back and started talking? I wonder what kind of pasta and potatoes we'll have for dinner? Will there be apples? Is my computer on the floor? I don't want it to get knocked down when the waves come. . .

. . . oh wait.

Today I slept on a bus.

But for a moment - a long moment, acutally (I was rather out of it) - I was back on the boat.

IMPORTANT CLARIFICATION NEEDED!!!!

Hey, so due to some very confused (and worried and shocked) e-mails, I realized that I needed to add a clarification.

Sex on the Beach IS A DRINK. I wish I could make that bigger, but I don't know how.

So don't worry. My flower is still in tact. Or hasn't been picked. My ship hasn't sailed. I still have my V-Card. Or however you want to put it.

No need to freak out.

It tastes like orange juice.

Here's a picture.

¿Quieres ir al Argentina mañana?

For those of you who don't speak fluent spanglish like I do, the title says, "Do you weant to go to Argentina tomorrow?"

A question to which I said yes.

It was on Thursday that the question was asked, so on Friday right after class (class being a trip to a museum), I boarded a bus with 5 other kids and we took off for Argentina.

Oh. My. Gosh.

Just in case you aren't familiar with South American geography (which many aren't), Chile and Argentina are seperated by the Andes mountains, over which we drove. Beautiful. These were the first mountain-mountains that I've seen. America has mountains, but these were mountains. Breathtaking.

They looked just like mountains are supposed to look. Huge, grand, majestic, snowy. The trip was worth it just for the drive. As an extra bonus, though, I got to enjoy Argentina.

We went to Mendoza, which is a city in Western Argentina. The first night we just hung out and explored a bit, but we were all pretty tired from the trip and crashed in our 6 person room pretty early. I love sharing a room. I think that's something I'm missing right now, so sharing a room again (especially with 5 other people) was awesome.

The next morning we rose early to go track down Argentinian jerseys before the game. This was absolutely necessary because I (and another one of my travel companions) look German. Probably because I am German. But I had to get something to show my allegience. Screw heritage.

So after buying jerseys, we watched the game at a cool little bar/resturant thingy. We ordered a "missle," which is a HUGE thing of beer shaped like a missle with a tap at the bottom. It was pretty cool looking. I tried a bit, but I don't think beer is for me.

(sorry, I'm going to start rushing now. No more details. I have to leave soon for my DANCE CLASS. Life is good.)

Then we went to a supermarket, bought food, and made it in our hostel.

Then we went wine tasting and I discovered that a) I'm a whimp about alcohol and b) I'm not a wine person.

A was discovered because every time they gave us a taste of wine, they filled up our glass about 1/4 of the way. And out of 4 tries, I didn't finish a single taste. Wait, that's not true. I think I finished the last one.

B was discovered because I didn't really like it. Pretty simple.

Then we were all exhaousted, so we went back to the hostel and went to sleep.

Again, fun sleeping in the same room.

We woke up around 9:00pm and got ready for dinner (that's normal down here).

We went to an AMAZING all you can eat buffet. I had three plates full of food and 2 plates of dessert and didn't finish a single one of them. Wasteful, I know. But there was so much that I wanted to try! Really, they had EVERYTHING. From dead pigs hanging by their feet (sorry vegetarians) to vegetairian sushi. And octopus legs. Weird.

After that, we went out on the town. We ended up at a little bar where I had my first drink all to myself. Up until then, I've tried bits of other people's, but that day I ordered one for me.

Sex on the beach.

So good.

It took me a LOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG time to finish it. I nursed that one drink for a good 4-5 hours. It made me laugh. Made my friends laugh too. I have such great friends here. They totallyt accept me for my non-alcohol-y-ness. They're actually quite amused by it, as am I. It was fun to try something new.

When we left the bar, we went to a playground and played for a bit. Stupid america gets rid of all the fun playground equiptment, but luckily they are alive and well in Argentina.

We got home around 4am and went to sleep. Woke up early the next morning to get back on the bus.

Another beautiful bus ride. But I slept for most of it.

Cool things about Argentina (and Mendoza in particular):
-the "cute" country colors
-cheap
-beautiful parks
-really cool wineries (even though i may not be a fan of the wine)
-nice people
-death sidewalks (Some people might put this in a "cons" part, but I thought it was quite amusing. There were trenches on the steet side of sidewalks that were a good 3-4 feet deep. You could easily fall in, especially since the rest of the sidewalk is broken and uneven, just begging you to trip).
-fresh air


A couple more things before I go:
1) I am definitley the daughter of my parents. In my spanish class, we were learning about different rooms and furniture and all that good stuff in español, and in our text book there were a couple plans for house layouts. They were horrible. I was so distraced trying to remodel the houses in my head that I barely learned anything we were supposed to be learning.
2) You can't tell the difference between where the clouds end and the smog begines here. I tell myself that it's all clouds. That fog is what fills the basin that is Santiago. But my inability to take a deep, clean breath and the dryness of my eyes tell me differently. But I'm going to stay in denial for a bit more. Besides, it's raining now, so tomorrow (or whever it stops raining) will be "fog" free.

That's it for now. I've got to run to my dance class. It starts in 24 minutes, I have to take the train and then walk a bit, AND I'm starving.

Chiao!

P.S. Stuart, I have no idea what happened with skype. Lame. Let's keep trying though, okay?