Avianca 097 from Bogota, Colombia brought me to Santiago Intl. at about 4:00 a.m. on the 27th. After fumbling Dick Van Dyke style through immigracion, dropping my papers then my glasses while bending over to retrieve them, I sailed through customs without so much as a peep. My doe-eyed expression of wonderment served as a magnet to aggressive cabdrivers, one of whom asked as he followed me past the crowds how I expected to get wherever I was going without a cab. Apparently, I didn't have enough conviction when I told him I was meeting a group.
"There's no group, nobody's coming for you," he said without malice or sincerity. I assured him there was, and tried to explain that I was very early, but was bogged down in nervousness. Finally, in a desperate attempt to satisfy his curiosity, I told him I was going to the chapel, which was the first sign I saw. He replied in Spanish, asking, I think, if I was Catholic (he crossed himself as he spoke, looking at me with eyebrows raised. The communication deteriorated from there. Finally, repeating "no, gracias" seven times assuaged him.
I relocated to a cabdriver free hallway, sat on my suitcase and killed the remaining time with my book. When the P.A. announced the arrival of American Airlines fight 957, I moved back to the congress of cabbies, where I was to expect the USAC staff, "holding some sort of sign."
Instead, I found Gina, pictured here with a flower of some kind. Like a hatchling is imprinted with the image of its mother, I equated my first Santiago friend with security and assistance. Her Spanish expertise came in handy, too.
Gina and I got in touch with the USAC staff, who were waiting in a cafe nearby. They deposited us on a bus to wait for the rest of the kids that came on the group flight.
After everyone was accounted for, we set off for the hotel.
Far too classy for the misfits abroad, the Hotel Acacias de Vitacura, 45 minutes north- east of Santiago "Centro," supplied me and three roommates with the largest suite of any of the students. Jon and Guy Erikson, brothers from Reno, shared the master bedroom. Murphy, also from Reno, took the other twin in ours.
The Reno three represented only a fraction of the lively Reno bunch, most of whom knew each other. Among them was Brit (last initial B, which led, naturally, to a great affinity to me, a fellow B.B.). Easily the most vibrant and bawdy girl in the history of tomboys, Brit was often reciting elaborate and raucous stories of gnarly skiing accidents and wicked climbing injuries, laced with expletives that would make a sailor blush.
(Jon, Guy, and Murphy's skateboards,
arranged in order of "rad-ness")
The majority of the USAC students filled our suite after dinner that night, all as pleasant as you please and eager to forge friendships.
I, having been awake for some 40 hours (23 of them in in planes and airports), slept.
The next day offered me many opportunities to make up for lost fraternizing time. I went on several walks around Vitacura with different groups of students in between short bouts of registration and paperwork, most of which I was exempt from (they don't make you take the placement test if you're going for Spanish I)
That afternoon, I met my madre-pro-tem, Gabriela. We hauled my bags to her house on Avenida de Republica de Israel.
And Here I am.
Stay tuned.
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