Las Condes, Santiago de Chile. 17.28.
I’m getting better at sleeping on planes. I must have slept for at least half of the flight from Lima to Santiago, because I remember almost none of it – only the first half hour or so and then a period of ten minutes at some point around half past two in the morning when they served out the in-flight snacks. Even so, the Santiago side of things passed by in a zombie-like blur. I navigated customs and an Uber relatively easily, but after letting myself back into the flat around six in the morning and using the last of my reserves for a desperately needed shave, I tumbled into bed and didn’t wake up again until half past twelve.
I’d suggest that that’s the last time I try to tackle multiple flights across three countries, but that’s exactly what tomorrow’s journey home entails, and I know myself too well to accept that I’d eat my words sooner or later.
What a difference a year makes! South America has gone from being a location on a map that cropped up from time to time in texts we study in class to home in all but name for the last five weeks. By the time I leave tomorrow night, I’ll have totalled nearly six weeks here. That’s half a school term. In my book, four weeks is the cut-off point, beyond which a location stops feeling like a holiday and starts to take on the trappings of a place one can legitimately claim to have lived. While I haven’t spent all six weeks in the Central Valley, Santiago has definitely become as familiar a base as Amman and Tetouan once were, many years ago.
There are many aspects that are still alien. The distance. The exchange rate. The American-style grid system of South American towns. the national insistence on tacking cachai to the end of every single sentence, whether it needed confirmation or not. But I feel I’m getting the hang of the accent, the majority of the modismos (the extremely widespread Chilean slang) and what it might be like to live here for the locals. Lucky them!
It sure is chilly here, though. I haven’t missed the uncomfortable heat I left behind in England back in that first week of July (which, I believe, is still there, outstaying its welcome by well over two months) but I could do with being somewhere warmer for a while. Bouncing from 7°C in Santiago to 37°C in Athens on Friday will be a proper shock to the system, but I’ll have my hands full with this Greek wedding for the ages, so I suppose I’ll manage.
I want to remember this soundscape though. The pitter-patter of dog feet on the laminate flooring. The distant whine of one of Tomás’ sisters blowdrying their hair. The whirring radiator in my room, doing its best to heat up the place. The alarm call of an austral thrush. The faraway engine of one of the many micros plying Avenida Las Condes. Otherwise, the remarkable quiet of Chile’s capital city. Santiago is a very special place.
Popping back into school one last time tomorrow to say a few farewells I didn’t get the chance to make last Friday and to wrap things up with a neat little bow, insofar as I can. And then – home! I could do with a rest. BB x
The Book of Barnabas 