36 hours of traveling

We popped a Tylenol Pm on the Tur Bus back to Santiago and 12 hours later feeling as rested as anyone could on a sleeper bus, we found ourselves a taxi, or rather a taxi man found us and we headed to the airport where we would have about a 14 hour wait for our flight to New York. We had literally given the taxi man the last of our money,

The second we dropped our bags and sat down I went to go "freshen up" but when I went to the bathroom I realized my dop bad was missing, I was upset. The thing about dop bags is not the makeup, toiletries and assortment of pills they carry but the sheer cost of it all. I almost never wear make-up, but I own it, and I had just purchased a barrage of pills which after all, add up. I estimated the cost to be no less than $200. Since Im skint, and a lot of the items would have to be replaced (like my contacts) it was a serious drag. After about an hour sitting there, with each of us taking turns as luggage watchdog and airport walker Sylvain went to see if we could get wifi somewhere, we could just upstairs and so we gathered our luggage, 7 pieces in all, and low and behold, my dop bag is lodged underneath the pile. Whew.

So we collect ourselves and find a couch set up at Gatsby's the restaurant where we spent the next 10 hours. Having withdrawn some money we were able to eat overpriced and underdelicious food. Within 20 minutes we needed to recharge batteries and so Sylvain moved to another table where there was an outlet. I'll remember those ten hours as some of the dullest in my life.

Whenever people see my passport they either say, washing machine, and I nod and smile, or they act like because its battered and old- I literally have two pages of open space left to stamp- it has somehow lost its potency and I will no longer be able to pass check points. These people irritate me, because usually they have the minimally skilled job of looking at your passport and recognizing its you and possibly that it matches the name on your airline ticket. They are in no position to deny me access to my own country or anyone elses and yet they all seem to need to show it to a colleague and speculate on my chances of passing borders.

Finally making it to the states I passed border control with a guy named Ashford who liked my outfit and stamped my passport without additional small talk, welcome back, thanks, Im glad to be here. And I meant it. I was euphoric to be home. Sylvains "visitor" line was shorter but taking longer so I headed down to baggage claim, we didnt have that much time to make our flight- enough, but not excessive. All 4 bags show up one by one, and I grab a cart, pile everything on and begin to wait. Its been a while, and now Im worried, so I ask the guard and he says he'll watch my bags if I want to go check, I head upstairs and another guard tells me I'll have to wait for a third guard to escort me to the far end of the room where the visitor's pass border. He asks me what Sylvain looks like, I say, my height, brown hair, skinny with a grey sweatshirt. He's not anywhere I can see, and then Ashford is there asking whats wrong, I describe the situation and they ask if he's Chilean I say, no French, so there should be no problem. They take me to the two holding cells, there are a lot of listless dark brown faces, but no white ones. I head back downstairs thinking maybe we missed each other in transit. But no, and then I look for my ipod to check the time and I realize Ive left it on the plane. I have already had to go back for my passport today which immediately after deboarding I realized I left in the seat pocket. I humbly accept that I am an idiot and stress because frankly I use that Ipod a lot and I really cant afford to have to replace it. So I ask the nice guard if there is anything I can do, he says yeah go tell that lady from Delta in the suit over there. I say, what color suit, and he says, well its not a suit, just a vest. Sure. She calls the plane and someones checking. Finally after an hour of waiting, I see Sylvain coming down the escalator. We grab our bags and get in the long snaking customs line and the lady says she'll send the Delta guy with my ipod to the recheck your baggage point, but then passing customs Sylvain is detained. He has to pay a fine to the US for buying one too many cartons of cigarettes at the Duty Free, and he gives Sylvain a severe chiding for smoking. We pay his fine, pass go, and at this point its more than unlikely we'll make it to our gate. I grab my Ipod from the guy who retrieved my passport and give him a hug and my appreciation. The line to pass the xrays is short, but its taking forever, and they're hassling a guy from Japan because they want to search his bag but he doesnt understand and keeps touching his bag, while they say over and over "sir, you cannot touch your bag". We head to A13 because we've already missed our flight and thats where the next flight to LGA leaves from. We get on the waitlist grab a starbucks which I spill all over my hand thus burning it, and we have just enough time to pick up two magazines before we board.

In New York, I dont even mind that I have only leggings on and its cold standing in the long taxi stand. For the first time in my life, I feel so excited about the weird way Americans overdo the whole Christmas thing and how literally everyone is saying hello, thank you, your welcome, oh excuse me, merry christmas, happy holidays and the like. Even Im saying it with extra zeal. I realize this excessive love will wear off with time, but for now, I enjoy it. It's great being home, I love the brisk seasonally appropriate air, I love being back home, all is good.