Untitled 31 (April 2015)
I have this fantasy of being truly free.
Like a phoenix soaring through the bright blue sky into the heavens, I want to live powerfully and brightly, confident and strong and inspiring to all around me.
I can go anywhere and do anything.
The entire world is mine to explore.
That's how I'd like to live, anyway.
---
Someone I met told me that hitchhiking in Chile was really easy.
So I decided to hitchhike.
I start walking out of Pisco Elqui, a small village located in El Valle del Elqui, a beautiful valley known for its wineries. It's easy to know where to go, because there's just one road that runs through the valley-- it connects all the villages together and eventually leads to La Serena, a larger port city. My plan is to get to La Serena and then take an overnight bus back to Santiago, the capital.
I have a small green backpack on-- the size of a school bag. Inside contains my passport, wallet, a camera, a change of clothes, a Nalgene water bottle and some toiletries. I also have a light sleeping bag.
The road is dusty and I walk along it, keeping an eye out for cars. Fifteen, twenty minutes go and not a car is seen. Some miles up the road, I know I'll eventually hit another town. It's 10am now so I'm not too worried-- I've got all day. If I can't catch a car to La Serena, I'll get a hotel or camp in town.
It's hot out and the vineyards are only somewhat interesting.
Eventually I hear a car coming up behind me. I stop and wave a hand out towards it.
Success. It slows down and stops on the side of the road a few yards ahead of me.
Hitchhiking is easy in Chile.
I jog up to the driver's side of the car. It's a pleasant looking couple in their mid-30's.
With faltering high school Spanish, I tell them I'm trying to go to La Serena and I ask if I can go with them.
It turns out they speak English so we switch to English.
They tell me they're not headed all the way to La Serena, but they can drop me off as far as they can up the road. I say thanks and hop in the back seat.
We drive together for some fifteen or twenty minutes, during which time I tell them about my travels and they tell me about their selves. The woman is Chilean but the man is Spanish. They're extremely friendly and we smile and laugh easily.
We get to their destination. I hop off and say my thank-yous and goodbyes, and continue walking.
Half an hour passes before a car passes. I try to wave it down but this one does not stop for me. My success rate has decreased to 50%. I walk on for a while, waiting for my next chance.
The second car that comes by pulls over for me.
The car is more beat up than the last. Inside is an older man in his 40's. While the first couple were modern and middle-class, this man is of the working class and he definitely does not speak English.
So we speak in Spanish.
I tell him I'm going to La Serena. He tells me he's headed there too. I hesitate for a second, but shrug it off and hop in.
We spend the next 30 minutes chit-chatting. I tell him my spiel of travelling for a few weeks in Chile, he tells me his back story. He works in one of the villages deeper in the valley, past Pisco Elqui. Like many others, he commutes a long distance for work, so he spends most of the week living in the village where he works, and then on his off days, he'll drive back to La Serena where his family is and spend a night with them.
He is married and has children. His wife takes care of the family while he's gone. And today he is on his way to La Serena to see them.
As we exit the valley, I can see more and more houses appearing and the landscape changes from farmland and winery to sprawling residential blocks. I had asked him to drop me off at the trans-city bus terminal but now he asks if I want to drink wine and get dinner with him.
This is obviously a bad idea, so I say no.
Oh come on, he says in Spanish. Then how about just some wine by the beach.
I look at the time. It's barely 2pm.
Okay. Wine is fine.
Great. But is it okay if he stops by the mechanic for a minute?
This is also obviously a bad idea, but I say fine anyway.
As we drive, I imagine getting kidnapped and wonder if this is it.
He continues to talk about his family and life. He gets excited for me to meet his novia.
My Spanish is by no means fluent, but I'm pretty sure novia is the word for girlfriend. I'm also pretty sure he just told me about his wife and kids he was going to visit.
Great, I tell him. That sounds wonderful.
We get to the mechanic-- a huge lot in a run down looking neighborhood. The lot is dusty and is filled with broken cars. We get out. He talks rapidly with his mechanic. He introduces me and I say hello.
While they talk, I play with some of the yard dogs. I really hope this isn't where I die, but also I'm not trying that hard to stop it I guess. Maybe I should just run away at this point. But I probably wouldn't get very far, considering this is his stomping grounds and he's got a car.
Some minutes later, he calls me over and introduces me to a young girl next to him, his novia.
We introduce ourselves to each other. She asks how old I am. I tell her I'm 26, and I immediately shoot back, How old are you?
She hesitates for a moment before he interjects-- she's 20.
I smile and say okay.
I've spent 4 and a half years working with children at this point, and one look at her face tells me that she is without a doubt 16, 17 years old max. Her school uniform and backpack don't help her case either.
But who am I to judge? Anyway, the mechanic is done, so the three of us get into the car.
She talks excitedly about the beach we will go to. She has two bottles of wine and two large beers in her backpack for us to share. I say thank you. And then she and the man talk to each other and I gaze out the window.
I can understand when they speak to me slowly about more basic things, but when they talk to each other, it's so fast I can't pick up anything.
We get to the beach and it's now 4pm. There are a few other people on the beach, in pairs or alone. Even though my situation isn't perfect, the girl is so sweet, it puts me at ease. I can't imagine anything bad coming from her.
The girl and I share a bottle of wine and take turns taking swigs out of it. The man drinks his own. The wine lowers my guard and improves my Spanish, so we talk comfortably.
He complains that Americans are cold and uptight. Chileans, he proudly proclaims, are hot-- passionate and friendly. I can't say that he's wrong. Everyone I've met in Chile has been very kind. He asks me about religion. He asks if I believe in God, and I tell him that I don't believe in God and I also don't not believe in God. I mostly just believe in myself.
In between our slower conversations in Spanish, the man and the girl shoot off rapid fire sentences to each other as well.
The minutes pass and the sun sets. It's really beautiful.
As the sky darkens, we get back to the car. The girl and I have finished a bottle together. The man has finished a bottle himself and one of the beers. Isn't this a bad idea?
In the car, she plays songs from her favorite artist-- a female pop singer who is not Shakira. It's enjoyable. He tells me that he will drop her off first and then will bring me to the bus terminal. I am grateful. Maybe this will all work out just fine after all.
Maybe not.
What starts as normal-sounding conversation between the two of them suddenly gets heated, and I'm aware of the fact that they're arguing. I don't know what to say, so I say nothing. We drive into a residential area, and at some point, she tells him to pull over. They pull over, both step out, continue arguing for a few minutes, and then get back into the car.
After some minutes of angry silence, we get to a house that he stops in front of-- presumably her's. She gets out of the car and again tells him to step out. He refuses to move. She closes the door, walks to driver's side of the car and tries to open it, but he locks it on her.
She hits the car door with the palm of her hand and shouts something and then stands in front of the car, leaning back against the hood so he can't drive forward.
Or can he?
Is this the moment where things go tragically wrong for everyone?
He reverses.
She falls backwards, immediately stands back up, and throws her backpack at his car as he reverses away. It bounces off harmlessly.
Silence in the car as he finishes the first beer and works on the second.
I'm hungry, he says. Let's get something to eat.
Oh, no, we can't, I reply. I have to get to the bus terminal now, please. The bus will leave in less than an hour, so I should go there now.
A complete lie.
Oh, come on, he pleads. I'm so hungry, let's eat.
No, I really can't. I have to go.
Fine, okay, I'll take you home.
It's completely dark outside and I don't recognize where we are at all. As he drives, he continues to drink, and I notice we're swerving. His speed becomes irregular, alternating from fast to slow to fast and slow again.
Do I die in a car accident?
Is this for real? Of all the shitty, stupid ways to go, a car accident?
I think I'm done now.
I watch his speedometer as we drive, the thin needle bouncing up and down, up and down.
It drops to 10mph.
Okay, bye!
Bye, what? He sounds confused.
I open the car door and jump out.
I quickly stand up and look back at the car. It slows down for just a moment and then picks up speed and drives away.
There's a restaurant at the corner of the block. I walk in and ask the two women inside where the trans-city bus terminal is. They’re taken aback by my obviously foreign and late night appearance in this sleepy neighborhood, but answer anyway. It's about 6 kilometers down the road-- slightly over 3 miles away.
Ah, so I guess he really had been trying to drive me to the terminal and not trying to kidnap me.
Is there a bus I can take to get there?
They shake their heads. There are none.
I thank them and start walking down the road towards the bus terminal. At worst, it'll take me about an hour to get there by foot.
I walk for a few minutes before I see a passing truck and decide to try my luck one more time. It stops when I wave it down. Inside are 4 Chileans in their early twenties, two men and two women. They're friendly and non-threatening in the least. They drop me off at the bus terminal and I say thank you.
I buy an overnight ticket to Santiago, and when I'm finally able to board the bus, I'm incredibly grateful for the comfort and safety of the cramped, dirty bus seat.