it´s real now

After a 22 hour bus ride from Puerto Montt to Coyhaique, the fact that I´m traveling alone, really alone, has struck me with such frightening force that all I can seem to do today is sleep and roam around the maze of streets that is coyhaique.

I considered taking a local bus down to puerto montt from puerto varas a huge accomplishment, hailing it down, paying 700 pesos, buying my ticket to coyhaique from the terminal de buses, and making my way back safely...but the true accomplishment was not pissing my pants yesterday.

I got to the station at 1030 am, just to make sure I wouldn´t miss my 12 pm bus departure. At 12, I walked up to the Queilen bus terminal, and had to speak spanish with the teller for a few minutes to find that there was a sick person on the incoming bus and it would not leave until 2 pm. He would not tell me where I had to catch the bus, so I sat on my pack outside his window, until 2 pm.

Not a single soul with blue eyes got on that bus to coyhaique. They were all south american, and probably all chilean, and from the few people I managed to exchange 2 year old conversations with, I think many of them were from coyhaique, going home for a visit.

A 70 year old man, wearing courderoy pants and red leather shoes sat next to me. I think he immediately took pity on me, sitting there with my canvas bag and headphones on, looking bewildered and nervous. He decided then, perhaps, that I´d be his grandkid for the trip. And Thank God.

The bus rolled out a tad after 2 and the bus attendant ran down the aisle, speaking spanish so fast I could not understand. I´m sure he was giving us all very important information, like how many times we´d be stopping and for how long, what we´d need at the immigration stops (the bus had to enter argentina for a stretch) and when wed arrive. And I wrapped my american brain around absolutely none of it.

So when we stopped for gas and had to get off, I had no idea, but grandpa domingo grabbed my arm. Same for food. Same for bathroom. Same for immigration.

Because we entered Argentina to bypass the mountains to get to Coyhaique, we had to stop at immigration 4 times (leaving chile, entering argentina, leaving argentina, entering chile). We´d be shoved into a tiny office, form a haphazard line, show the policia a variety of paperwork (changed each time). At one point the bus driver collected our ids (or in my case passport) for 10 hours!

Upon entering argentina, the policeman took my chilean visa. I had no idea what was going on, and nobody during the entirety of the trip spoke english, so I let it be, and it worried me the whole time. Sure enough, upon reentering chile, the police officer asked where it was. A fight between him and my bus driver ensued, arms and tongues flailing, until my passport was stamped and handed back to me.

And so 22 hours later I arrive in Coyhaique, ask my grandpa if he knows the address of the hostal I´m going to, and he leads me to his friend, a taxi driver. I hop in and get dropped off at Hostal Bon, which is really just a lady´s house, and is locked.

10 minutes later she lets me in, takes me to a room and I collapse for a nap.