The Not So Glamorous Side of Life on the Road

Life on the road is not all glorious moments, full of breathtaking vistas and exotic foods in far off distant lands.  There’s housekeeping to be done.  Today is laundry day, which if I were home would be a simple and thoughtless affair.  Clothes dirty, wash clothes.  But on the road, one must first find out where the heck the “lavenderia” is and how much it costs and how to unlock its door.  First there is a treasure hunt for laundry detergent.  Which by the way, in Santiago, the little bottles have special locks on them so laundry detergent thieves do not make off with them and sell them in back alleyways.  “Psst, senior, detergente de lavandería?”

I’m not sure why all of this causes such stress, but it does.  For days I felt as though I was preparing to scale Kilimanjaro.  Gathering the necessary gear, preparing in my mind how I was going to approach the person at the desk and ask for directions and the key to the laundry in horrible Spanish.  It’s the bane of being an introvert in a foreign land I suppose.  Of course when I finally did make my way down things went relatively smooth, except after I put in my coins the machine did nothing.  Dam it! Am I going to have to take all these clothes out and wash them in my tub.  But I did what any highly trained IT professional would do, I just kept pushing buttons until the thing started spitting out water.  

And it’s not just the laundry, it’s things like finding food.  The market down the street does not sell eggs, and only vegetables in bulk, so my scrambled eggs will have to wait until I can find a market that sells, well eggs and tomatoes in something less than a 5 lb bag.  Contact lens solution was at least three trips to different stores before I figured out it’s behind the counter at most pharmacies.  After going home and studying how to say “solución para lentes de contacto”, to which the clerk just replied with a puzzled look; I was finally able to mime cleaning a contact in my hand and bam.  That’s how that’s done.

So I guess what I’m saying here is that while traveling can be and is full of the usual wonderful cliches, it is some work.  But I would gladly go through all of it (except maybe that fucking bus ride) for just one Bangkok train station, or sharing a Pisco Sour with my daughter in Lima, or one walk down Bui Vien in Saigon.  Now excuse me I have to go figure out how to turn on the friggin dryer downstairs.

Taking A Breath

On Sunday Santiago takes time to breathe.  My apartment sits on one of the busiest streets leading into El Centro.  During the week it’s non-stop cars, every one of which has a fully functioning horn.  Every one of them.  Today when I awoke and opened up the curtains and slid open the big glass door overlooking Santiago... nothing.  Not a car in the street.  They closed down Lira street and only a few cyclist were slowly cruising down a street that would normally kill them within minutes.  The word that keeps popping into my head while walking around Santiago is “civilized.”

After the last three weeks it felt like I was finally able to breathe as well.  Friday and Saturday were nerve racking as Melanie had gone off the grid in Lima and forgot to tell her father.  I called Liam Neeson for some advice on how to deal with the Peruvian drug lord that, in my mind, had stolen my daughter.  Lucky for him she had just gone camping.  Before that was the three day bus ride from hell, proving once again that I should not be making travel decisions for myself. Who in their right mind would ever think that was a good idea.  I seriously get nauseous looking at the pictures from inside that bus.

The previous two weeks were Lima, which was wonderful because I got to drink lots of Pisco Sours with my miha.  But it was still a big exhausting challenge figuring out the buses and cabs and dealing with the noise and heat and lack of sleep.

But now it’s Sunday in Santiago, and the city is relaxed and breathing and the streets are empty except for people walking and cyclist meandering about while not getting run over.  I walked over to a different Starbucks because my normal one is closed on Sunday. It was in this city's version of La Rambla called Paseo Ahumada.  It’s a pedestrian walkway full of people and shops and street performers.  Last night, Saturday, it was insane.  This is one of the truly great things about traveling to other cities; the concept of La Rambla.  Every city has at least one.  A place where people go just to be with other people.  I guess we do have mall’s,  but somehow that’s just not the same.  This feels more organic, more human, more breathable.

chau