No Yelling on the Bus

I finally bought a Spanish novel, Gabriel Garcia Marquez's 100 Years of Solitude, or rather, Cien Años de Soledad. It's gonna be intense, and possibly take me the rest of the year to read, but by golly, I'm going to do it.

I don't understand the funky mullet look that guys are sporting right now. It's a sort of faux hawk, minus mohawk, add longer wisps of hair in the back. In doing an image search to explain this phenomenon, all I can find are photos of good-looking soccer players who actually pull it off, which I believe gives me an explanation of what these guys are going for.

I went on a date on Wednesday night, like a proper date, in Spanish, with a guy from Santiago, who made me feel like I was the only woman on the planet, and that every word out of my mouth was the most interesting thing he had ever heard. It was really nice. Dad – though I got an informal marriage proposal on said date, still nothing to worry about at this point, but free meals from handsome Spanish-speaking men are hard to pass up.

Against my better judgement, I signed up for a tour bus of sorts to transport me further south in Chile. I was hesitant for fear of group think, and not having a choice in everything I do on a daily basis. I was unsure how to make the most of my time traveling south. Enter Pachamama. It's a bus company that does driving tours of either northern or southern Chile, offering the option to jump off and on the bus, giving you the flexibility you desire. In hindsight, it turns out they're also really good at overselling something for what it's not. But I made the decision to jump on, and though I wouldn't do it again, have decided to go with the flow, and try not to let my frustrations get the best of me.

We left early Thursday morning, bound for Pichilemu, a small surf town. We made two stops not worth mentioning as it seems their idea of exciting sights worth stopping for is different than mine. Once settled in a 5-bed, two-story summer camp-esque room, I hit the beach with my new friends Amy and Natasha. Just as we were settling into the volcanic black sand beach, a heavy wind picked up, blinding us with dark grains of sand, which stuck to every part of our bodies and lodged in our bags, towels, and clothing. Realizing this was not what we were looking for, we headed back to the hotel for a nap. At 7pm we all loaded back on the bus to head for Punto Lobos, an extreme surfing spot nearby, for sunset. The winding road, lined with surfing ads and empty cars abandoned by hundreds of wave-hungry surfers, ended at a rocky point high above the ocean. We sat there chatting, watching surfer dudes and dudettes catching waves, and admiring the sunset. Once the sun took its leave we headed back to the hotel for a delicious shark dinner. 

Friday we began what felt like the longest day of my life in transit to Pucon, stopping briefly in Santa Cruz, then every two hours at gas stations that all looked the same. Finally at 9pm we arrived in Pucon, and my aggravation level was through the roof. You see, there is one girl on the bus who NEVER STOPS TALKING in a very loud, look-at-me voice. Thankfully I had my iPod, and also have had several past experiences which have allowed me to perfect my tuning out skills. I opted out of the group dinner in favor of some Kelly time. I got a good night sleep, and decided I would wake up with an attitude adjustment on Saturday. 

After a yoga and coffee-filled solitary morning, I met up with Tash and Amy, in search of white water rafting adventure. We climbed into a white van and excitedly rode to the river where we stripped down to our swim suits, trading our street clothes for thick wet suits, booties, oversized jackets, shorts, and life jackets, transforming into fat raft-ready paddlers. We stood in a semi-circle, paddles in hand for our safety briefing before pushing the rafts into the water. Listening to the guide commands, paddling furiously, and giggling, we had a blast, tipping over only after he had us all stand through a rapid, balancing on the sides of the raft, then rocked it over. 

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the beach, jamming out to pop tunes pouring out of oversized club speakers. Last night we reached total relaxation at the natural hot springs outside of town, and upon return to the hostel my eyes were heavy with exhaustion. Today the bus went on, but I opted to stay in Pucon a few days longer, drawn in by the possibility of more extreme adventure and the outdoor action here. 

a surfer dude checking out the surf action

view from punto lobos

beginning of sunset 

our guide, Danny, Natasha, Amy, and I

sunset

delicious pachamama family shark dinner

our bus - unloading at the museum in Santa Cruz

geared up for some rafting

me - paying very close attention to the safety instructions

our not-so-slimming rafting outfits

cowabunga

we mastered the rapids

the beach in Pucon