Omnibus Diaries V - Diarios de omnibus V

After a short stop in Tacna, Peru, I headed to Arequipa, or the "White City," a title that points as much to the city's European heritage as its white colonial buildings. It just so happened that I arrived on Arequipa Day, a yearly festival celebrating the city's foundation more than 450 years ago.

There was dancing in the streets.

And each embroidered skirt was more beautiful and ornate than the last.

I was asked to participate in the procession on more than one occasion.

The city of Arequipa is situated over 7,500 feet above sea level.

I stayed with Aroly while in Arequipa. She was an amazing tour guide and constant source of inspiration. And although she'll never admit it, she also makes the best roast chicken in town.

Omnibus Diaries IV - Diarios de omnibus IV

This installment actually includes a few plane and car rides as well. From Santiago, I headed North to Iquique, where I spent the night, and from there to Arica, Chile, where I finally crossed the border into Peru.

Dunkin Donuts at the airport in Santiago: nothing could make me feel more at home.

Sea urchins are a delicacy in Chile.

On the border between Chile and Peru. The "Campo Minado" sign is testament to the strained relationship between these two countries.

Special taxis take you across the border from Arica. I traveled with a family from Iquique who was spending a long weekend in Peru. We listened to Milli Vanilli and Celin Deon on the way.

This monument, located in Tacna, Peru, is a memorial to the Peruvian and Bolivian soldiers who died in the War of the Pacific against Chile.

Omnibus Diaries III / Diarios de Omnibus III

Chile is a country of constant change. The ground always moves here, shifting slightly throughout the day. Slowly and imperceptibly. At times, though, it shakes with such seismic fury that the country and its people come tumbling down.

Military dictators rise in violent coup d´etats and then gradually fade away… but never disappear entirely.

The most arid desert in the world gives way to a fertile central valley and flows south to the land of lakes, which eventually meanders around fjords and glaciers, at the bottom of the world.

And, in Santiago, a city I left behind five years ago, change is the only constant.

Tall buildings now stand where they did not before, defying the shaky ground beneath them. Business executives circulate among the city´s newest channels, chasing dreams and dollars. A few city plazas have disappeared; a few more shopping malls have been erected.

Even past the walls of the Larrain household—which had seemed so timeless, so cordoned off from change—things were different. My brothers are older now; in fact, I didn´t even recognize a few of them. No feelings were hurt. A new dog now keeps guard at the main gate, and an already numerous family has grown again, almost by the dozen.

Most importantly, though, coming back to Chile and the Larrain family I realize just how much I´ve changed since I was here last. I finally feel at home in this country, which, as Chileans will tell you, is no country for “debiles de caracter,” or the weak of character. I finally see that Chile and I even have a lot in common: We both have a strong, spiny backbone—which throws life out of joint from time to time—and a lovely interior. And amid all this change and transition—as Chile and I move in tandem—I realize that I have finally found a kind of peace at the precipice. From these staggering heights, I can finally see with clarity how far I´ve come and the road that lay ahead.

The Larrain household. In a changing world, the generosity and spirit of this family remains unchanged. Fittingly, the sign above the door reads: Pax, or peace.

These stairs lead to my room, affectionately known as la pieza de Becky, or "Becky´s room."

One of my adopted brothers, Jose Antonio (far left), some other friends, and I enjoy Santiago´s nightlife.

One of my favorite Aquarians, María Jose, and her daughter Martina. It took us meeting at Hiram five years ago to finally meet up inValparaiso.
Valparaiso,

de mis sueños, de mis versos, de mis suspiros.

Omnibus Diaries II - Diarios de omnibus II

I guess if I had to be stranded somewhere in the world, I wouldn't mind it being Mendoza, Argentina.

My original plan was to leave Mendoza early Monday morning, cross the Andean pass by noon, and arrive to Santiago de Chile by early afternoon. However (and I feel like this trip has been defined by "howevers"), when I purchased my ticket and boarded the bus, we were informed that the road leading to Chile had been closed because of inclimate weather conditions (ie snow and high winds). So, what is normally a hypothetical statement--"if I had to be stranded somewhere in the world..."--quickly became reality. Fortunately, I had just enough pesos to get me through the night (I found a few more for the rest of my trip, but not without a day-long battle with the ATMs of Mendoza), and by 9:30 the next morning I was on my way to Chile.

The trip between Mendoza and Santiago is approximately six hours long. That all depends, of course, on weather conditions and traffic. Yes, traffic. The mountain pass is often closed at a moment's notice, which means that tour buses and truck drivers alike must either return to their starting point or wait out the delay, which can last as long as two days. It's not surprising, then, that this quiet mountain pass can quickly become a bustling highway.

This is a small community cemetery I spotted along the way. Just one of the many advantages of traveling by bus.


One of the advantages of waiting an extra day was that I got to see the Andes with a fresh layer of snow. It looked like a white cotton blanket and reminded me just how far from home I really am.

The "W" doesn't have anything on these s-curves.

Omnibus Diaries I - Diarios de omnibus I

If I thought this trip were novel in any way, I would be terribly mistaken. The road that has led me to Mendoza, Argentina and which will lead me soon to Santiago, Chile is already well-traveled, and I’m hardly the first wide-eyed adventurer attempting to pave the ground beneath her feet with the written word. Truth be told, in many ways, Latin America has always been something of a literary creation, fashioned out of the vision of its explorers: conquistadors and chroniclers alike. Christopher Columbus faithfully documented his perception of the New World during his three trips to the continent, for example, exciting fantasies of earthly paradise and material wealth for centuries to come. More recently, Ernesto “Ché” Guevara’s “Motorcycle Diaries” map his wanderings around South America as well as his account of an ideal, unified America, a vision that continues to divide the continent.

I am by no means the first person to chronicle this kind of journey through the south, nor will I be the last.

Accordingly, I find myself adjusting to the footprints left behind in the path before me—some of them belonging to members of my own family—and pages already written.

Like any good traveler, though, I continue to search for ways to make this journey mine--to find my own way and write my own story. So, as I roam along this well-beaten path, which will take me far from home and then back again, I hope to learn from the people who have made this journey before me, relishing in all of the steps and inevitable missteps along the way.

Crossing the plain in Argentina. The bus ride was 24 hours long. I read an enitre book along the way, slept, and was silent.

I stayed with Valentina (to my left) while in Mendoza. Shortly after my arrival, we went to her friend's house for a girl's-only lunch, where we looked at lots of pictures and discussed politics. They were all GREAT!

On my last full (scheduled) day in Mendoza, I went with my hostess, her family (read: mom and dad, grandma, sister, sister's boyfriend), and best friend Natacha on a tour of the city. We even drove high into the Andes and took this picture from this less-than-steady bridge.

Nuevo Amanecer

I invite all of you to check out the website I have created for Nuevo Amanecer, a community center I´ve been working with in Montevideo.

Nuevo Amanecer forms part of a network of community centers in Piedras Blancas (a community on the outskirts of Montevideo) and provides approximately 200 underprivileged children an after-school snack during the week and a small lunch on Sundays.

As well as creating the site, I am also working with my sponsoring club (the Hamilton Place Rotary Club in Chattanooga) to construct an on-site playground.

Check it out, and please feel free to share your thoughts!

Just another uruguayo

So what does it mean to be Uruguayan? Most simply, it means to have been born in the country bearing the name “Uruguay.” However, being Uruguayan is also a way of life, one that includes, at least superficially, sharing mate (an herbal infusion sipped out of a leather gourd) with friends, devouring alfajores, and taking long walks along the rambla. And, as if anyone could forget, eating lots and lots of meat.

Over the past two weeks, Salman had the chance to share with me what it means to be Uruguayan. His first day in Montevideo began with a crash course on how to properly drink mate, a brief history of the alfajor (an Arab pastry dating back to 8th-century Spain), and an introduction to the Spanish of the Rio de la Plata. The days to follow included a trip to Colonia, long walks around Ciudad Vieja, playtime with Lucas, and a family barbecue, where Salman was officially inducted as another member of the Caja/Arocena clan.

Maybe Salman´s most important discovery during his stay in the Republica Oriental de Uruguay, as it is known officially, was that being Uruguayan also means being a good friend and an active member of the family. It means talking about football (the international kind)… lots and lots of football. It means saying hello to your neighbors and chatting with the shop owners from around the corner. It means enjoying the simple things and being equally unpretentious and hospitable.

I guess you could say that, by the end of his stay, Salman figured out that he had come all the way to the end of the world only to find people just like him, that he was just another Uruguayo.