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.
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