Workin'

Headed back in the city from Long Island, I just passed an Applebee's. It's been a while. My hands are so swolen, my great grandmother's ring won't fit on either of my ring fingers. It's still hot. I like it! Last night we went to Cafeteria in the city and then out to an 80s prom night party on "the island." I met a Colombian last night from Cali. I visited his home town for about 4 days. We were chatting, but I wouldn't dance with him exclusively, so he found a girl who would. I'm easing back into New York life, but still refusing certain things. Like my mobile. The plan ends in December, I think. Maybe I'll just get an answering service and a prepaid from then on. Less for which I'm responsible, less stuff. And stop all paper documentation. I had a ton of junk mail when I got back. It just gathers space and it's so wasteful!! No, I don't want a subscription to [insert girly mag name here], thanks.

So I have to work tonight. First time in 5 months and a week. In all that time, though, it felt like working. Working to keep a fresh perspective, working to share that perspective. A different kind of work. Free work. But no one can work for free. How do I turn these words into income??

People keep asking me what my favorite experience or country was. It's hard. I keep remembering experiences that are unbelievable. Like the Uros people who live on Lake Titicaca (shout out to my cousin Heather!) on floating islands. They sleep, eat, walk, live on reeds that grow in the lake. So fine, living a floating life, no, not on a yacht or sailboat, on reeds. If that weren't fascinating enough, throw in that you can just up and float away. Pull out the anchor of your island, your small chunk of reeds and float off. Ciao! Can you imagine separating out your apartment from the building, from the island and just floating off to a new one? Granted, there you'd float to a group that knows you, I'm sure. It's a close-knit community but being so mobile. And simple. You need some time? Cool, just detach from the island and we'll see you in a couple of days. And the people live off of handmade goods. In the tour I was on, no one really bought much stuff. We sure shelled out cash to the kid who sang in 7 languages. On the boat to the second island, the boat shaped like a snake, we all piled in and got comfortable. They rowed us to another community in the floating islands. And one of the kids sang. French, English, Quechua, Spanish, Aymara, and I can't remember the last two. Interesting that I didn't buy any of the handmade goods, but I did pay for the music. And interesting that an eleven year-old living on one of these islands can sing in more languages than most of the people on this boat. Let's see. I could do, Latin, English, Spanish, French and German. Maybe some Italian, too. Yep, he's got me beat, too.

And I keep remembering people I met, too, while traveling and want to mention them, that they live on! Abel in Valparaiso and I watched formal exchange between the Chilean and Japanese navies. It was one of the friendliest encounters I had. And an international experience for a South American, too. He had traveled the world also as a kid. Not military, not work, just traveled. Matter of fact, I need to get updates from everyone: Meg, Mark, Kike (in Spanish, pronounced kee-kay) Rinat, Pepe, Geraldine & France, Alejandro, Edward, Fiona, Ben...regionally or nationally, that covers, Oregon, Sydney, Buenos Aires, Tel Aviv, Arequipa, Switzerland, Ecuador, Brisbane, Spain! Excellent! Stay tuned for the the South American out-takes album! Coming soon!

Office space

I spent the day driving Julie's car. It's a Volkswagen! I dropped her off at her job (where I used to work too) and spent the morning finding the notebook I want somewhere in this city. I'm determined, people. Found it in Queens, right near the office. Convenient. It sure takes a while to get around here in a car. Even walking. Taxis are usually the speediest. Or by bike. I gotta get my bike out of the basement!

I paid a visit to the people at the office where I used to work. Shout out to BVN! Apparently, people there have been reading this some, too. Hope I haven't offended anybody. Probably not. I've actually been catching some flack. Friends have said, "Ok. So I've read the PG-13 version, Anne. Now I want the no-holds-barred NC-17 version!" Oh, dear. That's just it. I like to tell stories forever. I love the look on Tony's face when, after having known him 10 years, I get to hear him say, "WHAT! You never told me about that!?!" And it's not so much that I even know what I've told to whom, I just like to tell stories about my silly experiences. And sometimes, it's just better in person. And I love surprises, and I love giving them, telling them. So, hopefully, I'll have enough crazy stories from my travels to tell for a while. When they run out, I'll just have to travel again!

So many people told me to be careful when I left. If not, I'd be coming back to the States pregnant and married, usually in that order. Not sure what that's about?!? I'm actually kinda old-fashioned. So, walking through the office, looks like I went away, came back, and everyone else is pregnant! I bet it's nice. Uncomfortable, I imagine, but what a notion! A human all wrapped up in your body. Just not sure I'm mature enough for that. Maybe one day...pero, "Buena suerte, chicas!"

FOUND MY MACBOOK PRO! And get this. The opening line in the book says, "Congratulations, you and your MacBook Pro were made for each other." Ok, not sure how I feel about that. This isn't a Volkswagen...is it? Guess it'll be my traveling office, creative space for a while. Kind of like a car for some people.

Moustaches

Seersucker dresses on the subway at 34th St., Herald Square. It's a scorcher in New York. Last night it poured, I think I mentioned that. Anyway, you'd think it'd be cooler, breezy even, at least less humid. No such luck. Pavement, man. That's what makes is so hot. The heat off the pavement. A kid on the street asked me yesterday, "Hey, ma'am. hey ma'am! Where'd you get that tan?" I didn't realize he was talking to me, til he mentioned the tan. My skin is caramel. It's no joke. I responded, "South America." Boca, maybe. Caribbean, sure. But South America? Probably not the most common answer.

The reason I love this city is because there's everything and eveyone. Two Indian dudes in pressed, button-up shirts, laughing, just passed me. Both had moustaches. The dude helping me with notebooks in the Apple store is from New York, but his family Hong Kong. He can do the splits and touch his toes. Airborne. Must be a dancer. He has a slight mohawk. Languages are so varied here, too. Eastern Europeans, Argentines, Moroccans. The world can live in New York in relative harmony. Aside from some occasional issues, it's pretty safe. The Brasilian waiting for the bus the other day offered that the tragedy of 9/11 brought those who survived it closer. I think it's because there are a lot more angels watching over the city now. I love New York. The pace, the people, the light. And I love it when the train pulls into the station right as you hit the platform. Nothing beter. Speaking of language, I just spoke Spanish with Danny, the Apple guy. He said I sound Colombian. Makes me giggle. In Buenos Aires, I sounded Chilean. In Chile, I sounded Chilean. In Colombia, I sounded Mexican or Ecuadorian. Guess Chileans thought I fit most. They claimed me. So neither Apple store has the computer I want. What is that about?!? They sell ideas. There's always demand. But where's the supply? Smart.

Bar Veloce. I'm having Lambrusco. Probably the most refreshing glass of wine that exists, it's a sparking Italian red. Not like the janky red wine spritzers I've been known to make with bad red wine and 7Up or Ginger Ale, Lambrusco is the real deal. It's robust, an eggplant opaqueness, with bubbles. Lovely. And Thomas, the barman, wears a suit to work every day. Today his shirt is striped yellow, pink, blue with a slate and dark blue diagonal tie. The suit is very fine black and brown stripes. His moustache curls up at the end. He's bald but the moustache is red. An elegant man. He knows my friend Tony. And remembers me. Cool. Sometimes keeping in touch with the world is easier than keeping in touch in the same city. I'm headed out to Long Island tonight. My accent has reverted back to my natural southern city girl accent, so I'm out to entrench myself in mutants. It's only a joke, people, but I've called Long Islanders mutants for a couple of years. That's what happens when you live downstream from a city like New York. It's gotta be something in the water. All kidding aside, I love it out there. Guess I also have mutant blood. So Penn Station is packed. The seats are all filled on a four-seater section of the car. Hopefully, they'll hop off sooner than me. And everyone's so business. Suits, khakis, a model here and there. The man across from me has to go to mosque tonight. Thursday night, let's meet for drinks, but first...mosque. Not sure I ever heard that one in South America.

Vanity vs. Practicality

I'm on the Long Island Railroad to Long Beach with Lynn and Mystic. They met hiking the AT a couple of years back. Rows of white houses line the tracks, ducking in and out of trees, the roofs awash in ambers, grays, then a touch of forest. Mimosa trees! Looks like we have them here in New York, too. And pools are scattered all over the lawns, above ground, in the ground, with slides, diving boards. There are kiddie pools and bird baths. In the heat, water is crucial. I don't know how people live in the desert without it. In San Pedro (de Atacama, Chile), you left the house and were covered in dust. Your boots, jacket, jeans brown from the suffocating earth, as though it were coughing itself onto you. Hence, you wash your clothes in water. Exactly what the earth was longing for the whole time.

So let's talk about reverse culture shock. Did I mention this yet? A woman with a baby on the plane from Atlanta to New York works at Emory University's Study Abroad Center. Apparently, students who go abroad witness culture shock only upon return. There are no problems abroad, adapting to the new culture, speaking a different language, changing habits and routines. The issues arise once back in the States. And, people, I think she's got something. The announcements on the subway are in different voices, "The doors are closing...please step away from the doors." Somehow I thought they'd be the same. And familiar. They're not. The smells of vendors are so weird. When I walked off the plane in Atlanta, I smelled breakfast sausage cooking and fresh coffee brewing, only it almost made me sick. It just smelled like excess. I guess I'd gotten used to fruit juice stands and churrascos.

And speaking in English is even troublesome. First off, your vocabulary disappears. Or you know the word in Spanish but can't remember the word in English anymore. And you start conversations, thank people, ask for things, say, in restaurants, in Spanish. And people can just tell that I'm a little off. They look at me differently now. Might be the hip pack I'm still wearing. It's the top of my backpack, a removable bag that attaches around my waist, and it holds the past 5 months' essentials: journal, camera, wallet, book, sunglasses, pen, odds & ends. My friends have laughed at me. I just can't seem to get used to carrying a purse again. It stresses me out and I can't fit all that stuff in any of them. In the battle between vanity and practicality, I'm still rooting for practicality. Oh, give me another week. The LIRR has the same recorded voice. Guess the person responsible for voice recordings on the MTA changed in the last 5 months. Thank heavens for the little things.

Oh, and my accent! Having been out of the habit of speaking English, once you start speaking it again, you revert back to the default value of how you learned the language. So, I'm speaking Southern again. Lynn, a fellow Georgia peach, and I were waiting for the bus, chatting. A Brasilian chimed in and asked us where we were from. She responded, "We've both lived here for about 5 years, but we're from Georgia." I've said it before, you can take the girl out of the country...

So tonight, we planned to hit the Staten Island ferry but got caught in a raging thunderstorm. A wonderful June shower, we got drenched. The day was so hot, it was hazy. The temperature 98 degrees, humidity 98%, the actual feel 104 degrees. That's just hot! And I just got back from winter. Another shock. The city and I both needed a good downpour. The waves at the beach today were strong, the water wild and rough. And it was cloudy, not like the clear, green Pacific on the South American coastlines. So the rain canceled out the ferry idea, and we went to Little Italy for dessert. I got a piece of Peanut Butter Explosion pie and an espresso. That's one thing I did miss. Desserts! Flan, tres leches, chocolate mousse? No, thanks. But anything with peanut butter and you can count me in!

Hope

I had alfajores for breakfast today. With an espresso just like in Buenos Aires!

I passed a woman walking through Tompkins today with her boyfriend. He was maybe just over 3 feet tall. And walked with crutches. An unusual pairing, perhaps, but a nice one to see at that. She caressed him, put her arms around his shoulder. It made me feel good. You could just tell there was love. I sat down to read in the park and was too close to the street people. Street people are loud, sometimes beligerant. I don't mean homeless people; they're usually harmless. And sometimes fun. But street people. Bands of kids who care for their people more than themselves. They have dogs. And sometimes kids. And live like gypsies, or maybe misfits, in the street. For life. I wonder how one becomes a street person. Probably all runaways as teenagers and never looked back. They're in their teens to 30s, even older, a rowdy bunch. But this book I was reading was too good to stop reading and move away from their mayhem. It was only water gun fights and cursing today. The book is called Kill Me by Stephen White. The main character sets up an insurance policy that wil end his life given certain catastrphic situations. For instance, terminal illness, serious brain damage or paralysis. Kind of morbid to think, I guess. Anyway, an insurance policy of a sort. It's more of a page-turner for its pace and action than, say, a love story of political commentary. But it was a good, fast read. Another book with which I'm sad to be finished.

I walked past the Quaker Church on 5th Ave & 29th tonight on my way to the Apple store. As much as the US is at war, there are still people out there with hope. The Quakers have lined the gates of their church with "Prayers for Peace." Ribbons in yellow, green and blue, circle the church and brighten the streets, blowing in the wind, in the whoosh of a passing bus. While other governments and media see the US as imperialist, as conquerers of the world, a capitalist machine, looks like there are a few left with hope of good things to come.

Money

I made it back to the States. Oh, my! What a crazy world we live in. And, AHHH, New York is so expensive! Internet is $47 an hour...more soon!

Coney Island

So it's gay pride weekend in the city. Awesome! And we're headed to the Mermaid Parade at Coney Island. Rumor has it they're shutting down Coney Island, so I'm glad to be going. The day started out with Prosecco, Tony, Lynn and Anne. Uh, oh. Champagne is celebratory and I'm happy to be back in the city. Salud! Wait...cheers!

New York is so beautiful. Looking out a train onto a parking lot, the numbers of the spaces neon yellow, a full children's park, community housing, an American flag, traffic, another train passing on the next track. And there's an aquarium out here, too! Who knew? It's so systematic too compared to what I've seen in the past months. On the L now, there are digital clocks reporting when the next train arrives. Efficiency. Move it or lose it, kid. And thank God for the Mexican musicians who hop on and off the subway all over the city. They always lighten the mood. Today they are just two, one with a guitar, another with an accordian. I asked. They're from Guerrero...I've been there! It's nice!

But it's weird to be on the subway again, too. In Santiago, the Metro, in Lima, those caravan bus things or taxis or mototaxis, Buenos Aires, walking or the Subte, Bogota, the TransMilenio, Quito, the Escovia, La Paz, walking with a gimp leg. I'll never forget it. The woman on the beach in Huanchaco with an I love NY t-shirt on. Leo on the bus from Cuenca to Quito who convinced the drunk conductor that I had already paid my fare. No abusing the gringa, buddy. Angel, a pot dealer in Buenos Aires and his wife, 38 years-old, 3 kids, plastic surgery and gorgeous. And him a head of curls. Their dogs and kids. Everyone wants the same things. Decent futures for their kids, happiness, success, love. But for me, sometimes I think I'm different.
I enjoy. I just enjoy. Difficulty, challenges, sunshine, whatever it may be, I enjoy it. A friend called me happy yesterday. Just happy. Is it possible to just have that naturally?

On my, it's lightning bug season in New York! My favorite! And, ok. The word is Florida, as in floor-ida, not flahrida.

New York City

Ok, so off the plane and onto the train. Yes, I'm home. A backpack chock full, 2 bags (of shoes, of course) and I'm humping it all on New York City Transit. The Q33 to the 7 train. I stopped off at Tony's to pick up keys to the one room studio apartment. There's a kid riding a low-rider, a low-rider, pimped out bicycle, that is, and he's even got it fully equipped with a horn. Sounds like our '89 GMC Safari van cruising up in traffic. And kids are playing handball in Tomkins Square. Me, I'm headed for Pastel. No, it's not a bar...it's a spa. Five months of traveling South America and I am in desperate need of WAXING! Sad to say, I' not going to the Met, or headed to Nathan's for a dog. First things first. Two hours back and I'm already a girl with an agenda! Kind of gross, too, but the waxing ripped off most of my tan. DAG!

So I'm back on a cell phone and I'm not so thrilled. It serves a purpose, yes, I just don't know if I want that purpose again. It was nice being disconnected.

I hung out with the girls from my former office job tonight. Apparently, there was an office pool about whether I'd come back. Not sure who won, but I am back! And I just realized that the last image I have of my trip is the sunrise. On the plane this morning, I took several. How's that for optomistic?

Have I mentioned lately that I love this life?!?

I just met Cameron from Australia on the terrace. Here's how it went.

I was sunbathing. Yes. In winter. Today is actually the first day of winter here. But it-s just gorgeous out and I wanted to get all the South American sun I could. So it grew a touch cold. I dressed and walked over to chat with Cameron. He was playing the guitar. Drinking water con gas, which I didn't intend to buy...I like my water flat...he also had wter with gas, which he hates too and also didn-t mean to buy...funny. So drinking it, I spilled it down my front. Twice. Nice. Dribble. Then I belched. Also twice. Damn gassy water. Then a bird shit on me. And talk about aim. It went down my shirt somehow and hit me in the boob.

Can someone buy a lottery ticket for me today?!?

Almost there...

Touchdown in Santiago. One down, one to go. And the place I'm staying is kickin'! Thanks to all of you who crossed fingers!

Oh, and by the way, if you're ever flying around South America, don't fly into Santiago. It's fine, no worries, you just have to pay $100 to get into the city. Traveling by land don't cost a thing. So if going to Chilé and strapped for cash, take the bus!

DGMW, people!

That stands for "don't get me wrong." SORRY! It's just that I haven't written a text message in months! Oh, how I've missed it! And New York pizza...!

Buenos Aires is amazing. I was a little nervous at first, new country, huge city, the people have such a different accent. And I had just gotten used to Chiléno! And there simply was no easing into all things Argentine. The first night, I arrived and went out with a bunch of people. Just thrown right into the thick of it. And I didn't sink, was just a little apprehensive. I still can't figure out the streets and the maze of Buenos Aires. But, it's all good. I got my sass back and am cruising the streets like I own them. Well, almost.

Today I cruised the Botanical Gardens and local zoo. And the wildlife on the streets as well. And I put a nice dent in my bank account shoe shopping. Why can't I just be fine with hiking boots? Again, genes. You should see my dad's closet. Hee, hee! You know it's true, Dad! So tonight I'm hoping to hit the tango quarters...and tomorrow I bid Argentina ciao! Six countries in five months. One flight and countless buses. I'm never going to forget this.

Free your mind

The funny thing about Buenos Aires is that is seems so international, chic, cosmopolitan, but it's still a South American city. It's less organized than Bolivia, a country that seems to be mocked here for being poor or uncivilized or something. And yet Buenos Aires is more frequently subject to gas strikes, train and subway strikes, closed borders, things ceasing to function. On Friday, you couldn't get a cab because there was no gas for the city. The hostel was also freezing...again, no gas for heat. So while it may seem like Western Europe, the reality is that it's South America. And please, world, cosmos, God, let my Aerolineas Argentinas flight make it out on Tuesday.

While there may be great shopping, wonderful steak, great wine and vibes, it seems like the people aren't taken care of. Last night I was talking to two guys, one from Spain, one Argentine. The Argentine is an engineer who would love to live in the US. An engineer here can't buy an apartment, from what he said, or upgrade to a better automobile. There is no system of credit for professionals here. If you're really wealthy, you're set. But if living check to check, more or less, there are no options. So Carlos (the Argentine) wants to go to the US because he'll be able to buy a house, a car, take care of his family. Then the Spaniard chimed in, "Come to Spain. We'll lend you the money." The Argentine responded, "Sure, I'd like to visit Spain, but I want to live in the US." The Spaniard, apparently agitated by this comment, yelled, "Viva, Fidel!" and walked away. He came back, of course, and spouted, "I hate America!" Great. Here we go again. It's especially ironic, given that the individual who "discovered" the Americas was Spanish (or Italian, apparently there's some dispute) but was paid by the Spanish crown to seek out new colonies. The Spaniard continued to talk about how he would never go to the US because he'd be locked up for looking like a terrorist. That capitalism is the devil. But Spanish colonization was so innocent, right? He talked about the 6 million Vietnamese killed in the Vietnam war, versus a US 50,000. Not sure the point there. My point: any life lost is tragic. Then he called the States Yankee-landia. Eww. Not a fan of this man. So the longer I'm traveling, the more it seems that anti-Americanism exists among the richer, well-educated populations. The educated elite of the world seem to dislike the US more than the less wealthy people I've met. I guess those struggling to live and be happy don't get their kicks hating another country and its people. And more so, Carlos is an educated elite in Argentina and still struggles. I just don't know anymore. What's the solution?

I just hope that one day the whole world can afford to have a free mind.

As I write this, the man next to me is online shopping for assault rifles.

Thanks, Mom.

Ok, and to all of you who know how anal I am about spelling & grammar & pretty much all things with language, well, I get it from my mom. I just read her email correcting my spelling of lepresy. It's apparently leprosy. Genes, people. No matter where you are in the world, you can't escape your genes. But with the ones I inherited, who would ever want to?!? Thanks, moms! Thanks, dads! And happy father's day in Signapore!!!

Collagen, leprosy and high fashion

So I think Buenos Aires, direction translation good air, is called that because of the wind. Makes sense. it's been pretty windy. I think it also translates to the feeling of good vibes.

Everyone's tall here and thin. And from all over the world. They call it BA. It's big. And they all walk faster than me. It's magnetic. And I'm amazed because, said it before and will say it again, I'm a spaz! And they're flying past me. This will be the perfect preparation for getting back into the New York state of mind.

I hear that plastic surgery is really cheap here. And I've sure seen a bunch of people who've had work done. Nose jobs, that collagen fish lips stuff, among others. People are generally attractive here, so it's probably harder to keep up with the Peróns.

I also saw two people with leprosy today. And there are people living on the streets here. Like New York. Not dogs, like Quito. And the economic divide seems much easier to discern than it was in Chilé. Fashion is a big deal, and showing it off, even bigger.

Falso?

So this morning, I went to pay for my internet usage. Only the bill I gave to the girl who worked there was apparently false. Turns out that my cab driver yesterday gave me change in fake bills. Changing money six times in 4 some-odd months, I'm a swim in pesos, soles, dollars. And I had only been using Argentine pesos for 2 days. Drat! Foiled! Almost 5 months of traveling without getting scammed. Knock wood. Gotta stay on my toes in Buenos Aires!

And I think I'm ready to stop being on vacation. I want to work again! Maybe not 7 days a week...or maybe...and, sure, parties are great, people are interesting, the sights are gorgeous, but I just want to use my brain again. For real. Anyone know of a job I might be good for? Rock star? Wait, do you use your brain for that one? Researcher? Revolutionary? And hostels. Pretty much over those, too, and the people in them, and the things that happen in them. They're nice enough, I guess. I just want a little bit of peace and quiet. Does that make me old? And I would also love to see my family. And the friends who have become family. So I can hug all of them!

Oh and about the kitties, as sad as it is to see any creature you love go, it's romantic that they went at just about the same time. Those two'd been together their whole lives. Big brother and little sister. As much as it's sad, I'm glad they're still together.

Nine lives

Apparently, both my cats just died. First the guy, Ringo. Blod clot. Not sure on the date exactly. And cremated. Today, I get an email that Sasha joined him.

Wow. Weird, right? Looking back on it now, they were both 11. It makes me sad.

And a happy birthday shout out to Roni-with-the-short-leg!!

What is a hostel?

A hostel is a place to:

1. eat
2. shit
3. sleep
4. buy drugs
5. have sex
6. drink
7. and last, but certainly not least, shower.

Not all people staying in hostels do all 7. Some do too many of some, others do too little of others. Me? I have done 3 of them today (eat, sleep and shower, thank you). Sometimes spelled with an A, sometimes with an E, I'm ok in hostels. Only now, I require a private room. All of those things are better private. A room with a view.

Relearning to fly

I'm on page September 26 of my journal and fear I'm going to need a new one. The next one will be a composition pad. Skinny. Doesn't weigh much. And a lot of lines for writing, drawing, photos, whatever. I will probably never again know what day it is after this journal is full. Sad thought. I'm already nostalgic about being here and I'm still here!

The alpaca toe socks I picked up in Bolivia are a hit with me. Happy feet.

Chilé is rich. I'm eating at Gatsby in the airport but you can't sit at the bar and order food. Who ever heard of that bull honkey? There are ten seats and two bartenders. Another strike for Santiago. At immigration, the stamper asked me where was my final destination. I was like, well, I come back to Santiago in a week and then fly to New York 2 days later. He started laughing, and replied, ¨No. I mean today.¨ ¨Oh. Right! Yeah. Today I'm going to Buenos Aires...¨ Can you tell who hasn't been through an airport in months? Still laughing, he turned to the other stamper in his box and said ,¨Wow. She just told me her ëntire itinerary.¨ Blushing, I rushed on to security.

Just lost my Swiss army knife to Chiléan Immigration. Santiago 0 for 2 in the 8th.

The norm

I went through my passport this morning--I'm scheduled to fly to Buenos Aires, Argentina today at 4pm--and thought someone had snatched $60 from inside my passport. Freaked me out! It took a while to figure out but I realized that I had used it back in Ecuador. Wow. That was some months ago...

So, people, I think I'm high-strung. Don't all object at once...honestly, I'm not so good at relaxing. I gotta take up yoga or find some sort of meditation because, let's face it. I am a busy-body. For example, last night we all went out dancing and I couldn't stay downstairs and just dance with the French girls. I kept moving from floor to floor, unable to stay in one spot. It's all good. I just wanted to hear music, so when the song changed to something I didn't like, I changed too. The top floor of the club was gay and pop music. The middle floor was mixed, the bottom floor too, but more straight than gay. So I was happiest on the middle floor dancing like a queen among Chilean queens. YES! But I gotta work on chillin out. I don't sleep a lot. Some travelers consistently get up at noon. Or later. Not this hussy. I've had 2 days since traveling, maybe 3, where I've gotten up past noon. I think I'm abnormal.

AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY, REBECCA! I love you, sista!

Valparaiso

This morning I walked up the hill to the Valpo cemetery. And it occured to me that I have even taken walls for granted. There are gorgeous houses here, like Seaside, that planned community in Florida where The Truman Show was filmed. And then, in total contrast, people also live in shacks upon shacks, without walls, windows. I thought of my apartment in NYC. I've been embarrassed to take people there. It's just a bed in a room. But no more. I have 4 walls. Two windows. And heat in the winter. That's more than a lot of people in the world.

I also rode up Ascencion Concepcion into Cerro Concepcion today. Valpo has outdoor elevators that take you up into the hills & their neighborhoods. The ascenciones are wooden boxes, pulled up a diagonal on a levee. Kind of scary, climbing up a hill in a rickety, old box. It's a short trip but saves quite a bit of time and huffing and puffing. I felt kind of bad. Like they're only for the elderly or infirm. Or lazy. Think I'll stick to pounding the pavement. But a fun experience. Yep, I'm a tourist.

The city is also full of culture. Art and paintings cover buildings, doors, city streets. I'm just getting started but am happy to be here. Pablo Neruda, a famous chiléan poet and Nobel Peace Prize winner, also has a house here I hope to visit.

Che LagarNO

Last night I had Thai for dinner. A wonderful curry, the kind that's like soup but not. Shrimp, broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, bamboo shoots. And wine. Simple and nourishing, a nice, relaxing meal. Except for one catch...the table of Americans next to mine. Damn, we're loud. I could have craned my neck to try to listen to the Asian couple's conversation two tables away and still wouldn't have been able to catch a word. But those Americans...makes me think of a story Tony told Lynn over brunch one day at an outdoor cafe in the city. If you know Tony, ask him next time you see him. It's a real lulu.

This morning, I found the hot shower. First tip, the enormous water heater. Second tip, like the glorious inferno of hell, or so I imagine, the entire bathroom is painted fire engine red. I think I've finally managed to defrost my hands. So, I'm learning that my first impressions aren't always spot on. I'm disappointed with the people in the hostal. Few to no guests, first off. And those that are staying there...well...kinda boring. I guess not everyone can be Meg & Mok. Or Ellen the Australian. Or Rupert, the English Wonder. Or Eduardo, the Dance Machine of Iquique. Oh, it's nice to reminisce. And leaving the hostal was a bit rocky. The sign posted reads, ¨Check in and check out starts at NOON.¨ So just after 3 pm, I went to check out and, apparently, it ends at noon. I wouldn't have cared except for the attitude Claudia, the oh so lovely Colombian, threw at me. So, let's sum up my last impressions of Che Lagarto Hostal in Santiago:

1. The listing of rules for check in & out is inaccurate.
2. Apparently, you have to ask for whatever you want: the hot shower, a map of the city, check-out time. Fine, I should have asked but would have stayed longer if it weren't so see No. 7.
3. The ¨system¨ apparently won't allow any checkouts after noon.
4. The sign posted is WRONG.
5. Every room has at least 2 walls of windows, floor-to-ceiling. Cozy.
6. It's freezing--slept in all my clothes again last night.
7. BORING.
8. Crap location.
9. 32º, Farenheit, that is, outside, luke warm showers and two gas space
heaters for 15 rooms (or more!!) that you can't even take into your room??
10. The people who work in the hostal argue with you over a night's stay.

Ruffled feathers. Really, she could have just proposed the solution--pay for a half day--before all of that and arrived at one without the headache for either of us. But here again, at Che Lagarto, it's the guest's responsibility to ask. If you're going to bind guests with rules, shouldn't they be posted as they'll be applied? If you're going to be hard-nosed about rules, shouldn't they be CORRECT?? And I know that it's winter, people, and that you don't want to leave the hostal because of that, but, get, this, it's actually warmer outside of the hostal! And you have winter every year, so it's seems like you'd have seen it coming...and isn't Santiago the capital of this country and supposed to have some night life? Not for the Che Lagarto folks. AAAHHH!!! And it's just kind of gross sometimes. Heaven forbid, someone in the hostal actually work. Except for the maids. They cook, wash dishes, clean floors, make beds. All the while, reception watches t.v., eats the food prepared for all 6 of them, sleeps, plays pool, DRINKS and checks email. I know we may be an arrogant lot, we may be loud, but generally speaking, we work, sure some harder than others, but work nonetheless. I've stayed in some serious dumps, whether in Colombia, Ecuador, Perú, Bolivia or Chilé, where the people have been friendly. Not the cleanest place maybe, cheap sometimes sure enough, but the people lend it much more value than you've paid. Che Lagarto is the reverse. You pay for much more than you get. So I'll never stay at Che Lagarto again. Not in Brasil, Chilé, Uruguay, or Gambia, Australia, not anywhere in the world that they may create one. It's just the principle. Ok. Done with the rant. All-in-all, it's nice to have a bit of down time. And, it's good to be a little bored. It's keeps me motivated and moving. Next.

Speaking of work, most of the people I've met work and then rest on Sundays. Colombia, Ecuador, Perú. But in Chilé, there seem to be a lot of jobs where you work for a stretch and then have a break. An engineer I met who works in a mine outside Iquique works 7 days, and then she rests for 7. The conductor of the bus today has posted in the window behind him a signed certification that he rests for 3 days, works for 9 and is in his second day of work of those 9. I'm on my way to Valparaiso, a main Chiléan port and it's second largest city. It's an hour and a half from Santiago.

In the city

First impressions of Santiago. Clean, pedestrian-friendly. Friendly, in general. For a big city it feels small, like everything is within walking distance. I went to the supermarket last night just before closing hour (11 pm) and Claudia, a Colombian girl who works at the hostal, asked me if I needed company. The store's a block and a half away. Now that's just plain nice, right? And God bless Chile, there's a subway! Now, we're talkin'!

Santiago is beautiful this morning. I don't know what happened. Everyone talks about the pollution, the smog & I've got a magnificent blue sky with sun. A gift.

This morning a guy saw me smile and followed me into a market. Just for clarity's sake, I was smiling in general, beautiful day, happy to be alive, not smiling at him, people. I'm not sure he'd slept the night before. Know the feeling and it's a good thing to see...how scary a person looks without any sleep. He spoke to me with the informal tu at first and then made a quick switch to usted. Guess it took a minute to realize he was talking to a lady. Well, I declare! And poor guy, the market I chose to cruise was the fish market. Here he is trying to pick me up, a bit wrecked already, and he has to follow me into a dark, dank fish market. Atta girl, Anne. Make 'em work for it. But this was no simple fish market. There were porcupine-looking specimens and, once cracked open, the inside looked like a starfish! The fella had to keep up with me, jumping from kiosk to kiosk like a kid on Christmas. He even told me not to be rude and to wait for him. I ain't got time. I bid him adieu 2 blocks later. Shame on me, right? I should have at least bought him a coffee.

Crossing the Santiago streets feels good. I visited the Plaza de Armas which always has something fun going on. Painters, jugglers, cops taking photos of tourists. I crossed over the river as well into what looks like it may be a more questionable neighborhood. The fruit market, flower market, Bolivia bus terminal. People looked at me kinda funny. I stopped at a sidestreet cafe for a coffee. It's a neighborhood joing. A couple with a baby and a dog. Two gentlemen eating sandwiches. Wooden tables and chairs with colorful umbrellas. In the sunshine.

Oh, and get this! The hostal has a hairdryer. Oh my heavens. Given that the water is luke warm and it's damn cold at night (quick note: I slept in all of my clothes last night, including my jacket...and sneakers), the hairdryer made my morning. Sad, but true enough.

I also found a park with a lookout tower. I've gotten some serious walking in today but this park ranks as the best of what I've seen so far. The backdrop of ice-capped mountains and the city full of traffic and life. And some smog. It's visible now. But it's nothing like Quito, in my opinion. Sonja, a German girl who left for Rio this morning, mentioned last night that she had to have a few days to acclimatize but I feel ok. Really pretty good, actually. Maybe my body's gotten used to the changes in altitude. Once I end up back in New York, in the same place for a while, I'll probably get lack of altitude sickness! Is there a pill for that?!?

The road to Santiago

I take it all back. All the bad attitude and the b.s. I've written. I treasure even the moments that have seemed less than pleasurable. I am on the way to Santiago watching the sun sparkle on the water, the waves crash on the beach, and I know I'm lucky.

The road passes through towns, coves, and sometimes there is just a house stuck out on a cliff. The road passing in between mountains and the coast, it's so cool. We snuck through a few tunels and I almost got all three passengers killed. Forgot to turn off my flash...hopefully, I'm not the only dorky tourist the crew's met. Surely not.

A day of folly

The morning started with Rocky III, the one with Mr. T. And then I got a bike from the owner of the hostal. Only a few minutes into my ride, I realized that the seat didn't work. Fine. It was there, which is certainly preferable to the alternative. But it moved at its own will. So climbing a hill, it rotates all the way back and all of a sudden I'm big pimpin'. Don't get me wrong, I like looking cool when riding a bike but today, really, I just wanted to ride. And it was simply unmanageable. So I hit the beach thinking that sea level might serve me better and got hassled by a beach mutt the majority of the ride. I know we all just need a friend from time to time but his ear was bloody and he stank. Bad. Then a kid crossing the street grabbed me unexpectedly while on the bike. What is that about?!? He yelled, ¨Cuidado en una bici!¨ aka be careful on a bike. Punk. Apparently, it's still alive and kickin in Chile. The New York in me wanted to circle back and punch him, but I didn't. Maybe if the seat frickin' worked! AH!

Then, I went for a haircut. The last one I had was in Bogotá, in March maybe? Or April? I just love beauty salons. It's so fun to watch all of us ladies get all dolled up. We walk in zombies and leave princesses. And thanks to the good Lord, there was no folly there. Matter of fact, God bless beauty salons. And women who know how to wash hair. My Perúvian hairstylist hooked me up. Sweet. Have I mentioned that I love Perú?

Infernet

I gotta say, I did sing that night with Johnny, Peter and Chris. Up on the balcony of the hostal, we sang songs that meant something to each of us. Johnny sang Irish folk songs. And Peter sang in Dutch and explained the point after each song. Chris can't sing, so he just provided comic relief. Me, I sang a variety. Pink Floyd, stuff from when I was a kid, some Elton John. Point being, fine, politics exist. Governments do stupid things and sometimes brilliant things, but we're all just people. And we can sit on a balcony somewhere and share something real that's far more indicative of our cultures than any 30-second soundbyte about any of our governments.

The afternoon was a little chilly today so I forewent the beach. I didn't even know how to get to it, but then saw Tsunami Evacuation signs, and figured if I headed in the opposite direction I'd eventually hit the beach. Just got familiarized with the city center more or less. And went to Infernet. It's the internet meets hell. You walk in and the first things posted are signs reminding you that pedofilia is illegal and punishable by law. Guess Infernet caters to a certain population. Then you see why. The rooms are labeled, Armageddon, Hell, Purgatory, among others. And I guess which room you get depends on how the person behind the counter views you. Me, I was in Purgatory. Nice. Middle of the road, capable of going either way. Seems about right.

Anew, thanks, Frank.

Off the bus in La Serena, walking to the Plaza de Armas, first thing I hear is Frank. I've Got You Under My Skin. Not a cloud in the sky, gorgeous, cool morning, cruising the plaza with Frank Sinatra. Can't really make a better first impression. And there's a festival of some sort today and tomorrow. I just love when you know you made the right decision to leave one place and kick it to another.

The allure of a new place, a new town, I can't seem to tire of it. Some towns rank higher than others, sure, but there's at least one adventure around a corner in every new place. La Serena is a medium-sized town but older than most I've seen. Well, they're only been 3 in Chilé so far, but it reminds me of Popayán, Colombia, or maybe Cuenca in Ecuador. But that's just as first glances.

Chileans have sweet teeth. I just ordered a cappuccino & it's served with whipped cream instead of froth. Maybe they're just too lazy to steam milk. Hey, no complaints. I love whipped cream. And it's served with cookies too and a glass of soda water to freshen your breath afterward. But wait. Breakfast here is a ham & cheese sandwich and a slice of pie. Maybe it's just this place but can't a girl get an egg & cheese on rye? Joke. By the way, you know you've been speaking a different language long enough once you start blending languages. For example, I haven't spelled ham correctly in my journal for weeks. I spell it jam, which would be pronounced ham more or less in Spanish. The Spanish word is technically jamon, but anyway...just cool to see how your mind changes.

My time is coming to a close again. Just 2 weeks left, at least as the plans is now. But it feels better this time.

Oh, and happy birthday, Emily McMahan! It's been a while but still remember that today's your day, girl!! Happy 31!

Southbound

So I left Iquique today. We have had 4 days with maybe 2 hours of sun so it feels like my beach time has come to a close. I left without seeing the man and feel like it was probably a good thing. I'm not fond of goodbyes and might have cried or something silly. I'm glad to be moving on. I stayed in Iquique for 2 weeks, the longest stretch in one place, plus the 4 days in the prior visit. And I loved it but started to feel like the furniture. Comfortable furniture, maybe call it a LazyGirl.

I'm on an 18 hour bus ride to La Serena. Still on the coast. Chilé's so long as skinny that it seems like you're always on the coast. Then I'll make my way to Santiago and hope to jump over to Buenos Aires for maybe a week. I've heard wonderful things about it so, while I'm here, I figure, why not?

Talking heads

I went out for drinks with 3 guys last night. Johnny--Northern Ireland, Peter--Holland and Chris--Australia. It's a sausage fest in the hostal now. I'm the only girl. So at the bar, Chris tells me that he doesn't completely hate me. What a wonderful lead-in line, right? One night Meg, Mok & I were drinking with Chris and he got offended by something I said, then by something Mok said and left in a huff. Minor meltdown, we asked him to chill out and hang but his pride or something was affected. So apparently, he's held it against me for the past 5 days, and over drinks decides to tell me that I need to just chill. That it's cool if I'm a spaz with tons of energy but that I shouldn't take it out on other people. Eww. I responded that we were all having a blast, enjoying life, that I was enjoying my vacation and that if he had a problem, he should have brought it up before then so we could resolve it and leave it behind. And the more I think about it, the more it makes me want to tell him to piss off. It makes me really not want to care one bit what people think. And then he tells me that, on first impression, I fit the usual American stereo-type, which is only one word in his opinion--arrogant. Great.

The night prior I had to stand up for the US, explain that the politics and people of a country are separate things and, really, it's just getting old repeating these types of thoughts. Don't people see in their own countries how different politicians are from the public? And still, we all want the same things across the world, love, acceptance, a good future, things that really matter. So those who come with an agenda can just skip talking to me. I'm over it. Peter too said he had absolutely no interest in traveling to the United States. So I asked him which of the 50 it was that had turned him off so much or if it was all 50. Was it the Blue Ridge mountains, skiing Jackson Hole, the Hawaiian islands, the Grand Canyon, or Seattle's music scene that turned him off to the whole country? He didn't know how to respond. Apparently, it's quite popular to say, ¨I have no interest in traveling to the US¨ among some Europeans. I guess I just found it ignorant. Or even more so absurd. So I told him, ¨Cool, man. We're just different. There's nowhere in the world I wouldn't like to visit.¨ Granted, I'd probably avoid the Middle East at present, just out of fear for my life. But generally speaking, I think travel is about keeping an open mind. Hell, life is about keeping an open mind. And it's getting harder and harder to do so. I'm struggling and it's making me frustrated and angry. I got to get a move on. The cool thing is that all I had to do was take these stairs up one floor and it'd be done. But don't people get it? Aren't there people out there who do? Please, someone say yes!

And I had another dream about my head. I was on some circus apparatus, spinning in crazy circles and it was so fun. Until I cracked my skull on a curb. Yep, I really got to get a move on.

Pass the ham

Ok, so we've got to talk about Mok. He's the Australian Mark, but it's pronounced Mok in Australian English. Yes, like wok. He, Meg & I have been having the time of our lives laughing, cooking, drinking. So Mok's first night, Meg reheated our pasta without me being a part of it and threw avocado, tomato and ham into the mix. Not sure why. Side note: I've become quite the chef over the past few days. Sweet sausage & black olive pasta, chicken & broccoli stir-fry with roasted potatoes, nuff said? It's been a good synergy. I can't take all the credit. It's the MAM: Mok Anne Meg combo. So that night Mok walks out of the kitchen, a look of disgust on his face. He has bread, lettuce and cheese on a plate and, just as Meg walks out of the kitchen to sit down with our pasta, Mok says, ¨I hate hostals. Someone stole my ham, avocado and tomato.¨ Quick moment of consoling and Meg chimes in, ¨Do you want some pasta?¨ knowing full well she'd just stolen his food. So she serves him up a plate and as he's eating he mentions the avocado and tomato. Hmm. So, Meg kept the secret for 2 days. Mind you a secret in real life can last forever, but a secret while traveling is bound to come out. What do you have with other travelers if not a really brief time to share your souls?

So after showing Meg the bounty from yesterday's shopping spree, she had to get her freak on. We went for empanadas, of which I ate four--mistake, and then we went shopping. And I'm not sure if you know Anne and shopping but it's like hot wings and beer. Both great on their own, but together, explosive! All those years working at the GAP just come right back. Oh, how scary. Anyway, Meg found some good stuff too, still the 2 for 1. SCORE.

So tonight is Mok's last night so it's kind of sad. And I think Meg's shoving off tomorrow. I haven't met 2 others with whom I've had such camaraderie since traveling. It's been really fun. Hate to see it come to an end. Oh yeah! Mok also pulled one over on Meg and me both. He told me this story the night we stayed up til dawn about being a hand model. And I bought it, hook, line and sinker. Gullible. So the next day he told Meg too, and she also bought it. The cool thing, though, about Mok. His face betrays him. When lying, the dimple on the right side of his face shows itself, and then he's busted. Anyway, here's some evidence of his work.

La Polar

So we went dancing last night. Kamikaze. And I think Meg may be African. She can move like I could not believe. It was awesome! So impressive and still complimentary to my dance moves. Ying to the yang. Good stuff. And it's really fun dancing here because you just stand out. Granted her 5'10-ness helps but guys come up to you to dance, cool. Shake a tailfeather. And then ask your friends if you have a boyfriend back in the States. They're too shy to ask you but still want to know. It's cute and nowhere near as pushy or macho as one might think.

Oh, and I went shopping today, people! The clothes I've been wearing for the past 4 months. Well, let's break it down: 6 pairs of pants--2 pair of Levis, both holey, 1 yoga pants--dirty, 2 beach wear pants only--also dirty, and one weird tweed capri or something--guess what, dirty. The funny thing is that your clothes actually get dirty when traveling. Dust, sand, and god knows, smoke. Yep, you can smoke here. In restaurants, in clubs, in hostals. And South America is full of, well, South Americans. And Europeans. AKA smokers. AKA smokers who've never had to put a cigarette out because someone in a restaurant asked. Point being, there's a cloud of grossness around all clothes Anne right now. Gosh. What to do? Laundry? Nah. As luck would have it, it was 2 for 1 weekend at La Polar. Three new pairs of pants, 5 tops later and I was back at the hostal. Oh and a pair of new sneaks too. Like em?? Not sure how I'm going to fit it all in my backpack.

Cold season

I feel great today. A good night's sleep does wonders, even though I dreamed that I was having brain surgery. In the dream, I told one of my girlfriends that I had to have the surgery and she replied, ¨Oh, wow. I really need a pedicure.¨ Wonder what my subconscious is trying to tell me.

The waves have been really strong over the past few days. The Australians and New Zealanders finally happy to get some swells. I really hope that one day I'll be able to break my fear of the ocean and take surf lessons. Maybe in warm water.

A woman just walked by in leather pants. At the beach!?! It's funny. As much as the season is designated winter, still feels like spring to me. So you see women in boots and long coats and then here are a bunch of gringas on the beach tanning. It's warm to us. But since it's officially winter for them, out come the winter fashions. Oh yeah, and the people who own and work at the hostal all got sick from 2 days of clouds. The sun disapeared for maybe 3 days in total and now everyone has a cold. But none of the travelers does, just those who live here. Much like a quick cold front in NYC leaves people with summer colds, looks like it happens here just the same.