As usual, I'm not one to complain about traveling. Everything went well and most importantly, no one got hurt. So fast-forward to Santiago. After a lengthy customs process, I grabbed all 140 pounds of luggage and proceeded to find my transportation. As I walked through the doors of the "arrivals", I was swiftly claimed by a middle-aged Chilean who then checked my reservation. In a feeble attempt to verify the accuracy of the escort, I uttered my first Spanish phrase longer than six letters ("_ _ a _ i_ s") and said "Soy Greg Davis." Since he didn't suddenly halt his two step and act surprised, I assumed he knew what he was doing. From there I traveled with some elderly Chileans to the city, and it was there that I had my first sight of poverty: shacks lined the outer limits of the city and I witnessed something I thought I would more likely see in Pa--a man riding a horse and buggy.
Eventually I was dropped off and greeted by a congenial red-haired woman who brought me to my dandelion colored, and minimally furnished room. My temporary residence is in a place called a residencial. It's just a very basic place to stay for about $13 USD a night. And so I dropped my bags and took a moment to adjust. I had finally arrived.
No comments:
Post a Comment