"I speak some Spanish, I'm just a little bit pregnant"

Many people adiviced me against going to Chile. The Argentians thought it would be "a waste of time". Other travellers told me "there are many other nice places to see". Many people said it would be too cold, too expensive, too dangerous. So I decided to go. Because I like to have my own opinions and because I rarely agree with the rest of the world.
In order to prove  that everyone else was wrong, I embarked on a 12 hour bus journey, got stuck on the Andes for hours in a mother fucking blizzard, with no food and no hot drinks, and sat next to a passenger who owned a mobile phone with the most annoying ring tone ever. At least now I know that there is plenty of network coverage on the Andes. Her phone worked brilliantly.

Chile was not a waste of time. It wasn't cold nor expensive. Taxi drivers are really dangerous though : they talk to you for hours in a speed you never thought possible and I was often at danger of looking like a twat, nodding and smiling randomly, pretending I understood. I didn´t.
Conversations often go like this: "Hola!". "Hola!". "blablablabla?" "si". "oh. Blablablablabla?!". "no". "no?!". "Si!Si!". That, multiplied by 10. Exhausting. The best scenario is when the taxi driver knows some random Italian singer and I get to sing him a song. I make it last long enough so I don't have to speak.
During one of my taxi journeys I realised that the Italian word "imbarazzata" (shy) does NOT translate into the Spanish word "embarassada" (pregnant). So when the talkative taxi driver asked me if I speak Spanish, I replied:  "I speak some Spanish, I'm just a little bit pregnant". So I guess he thought in my home Country pregnant women become mute or retarded, depending on how advanced they are in their pregnancy. And because I was stattering, blushing, making words up and acting weird, he must have thought I was ready to pop there and then in his taxi. Which was a good thing as he stopped talking and flew to the bus station.
From now on,  I am pregnant.

I went to a gorgeous port town called Valparaiso. I loved it and I loved the company I was in. No need to say, I was in the company of an Irish couple. This always helps. They were wholesome.And refreshingly "normal".
Scott and Sinead (otherwise called Janet by the the gaucho who simply could not pronuncate her name) cooked a lovely chicken soup for my birthday dinner. A freshly cooked, healthy meal, is very precious at any given time, but when you travel and feed on crisps and wine for breakfast, lunch and dinner, it becomes the most valuable thing you can think of. And you protect it with your life! So I bought the most important object that money can buy: a tupperware.
On the day I left Valparaiso (and my beautiful friends) I was smiling. Not so much because I no longer have to wake up every morning at dawn to go work. Not so much because I can do what I want, wherever I want, whenever I want. And not even because I have millions of possibilities ahead of me. No. I was smiling because I had a little cute tupperware filled with chicken soup. And that made me the happiest little one abroad!

The journey from Valparaiso to Santiago was short and sweet (like me). As the bus approached the terminal, I froze. I could smell chicken soup. I mean, I could smell  the chicken soup TOO MUCH, considering it was stored in a tupperware. Fuck. Oh, fuck. The tupperware betrayed me.
 It is with great regret and sadness that I inform you that the chicken soup never made it into my tummy. The soup made its way all over my clothes, my passport, my rucksack.
As I got into the taxi I smelled like a farmer´s armipts after a long day spent cleaning chicken shit. Yum.

Santiago is cool. It's lively, clean, just a little too polluted. Pollution is great: after a day walking in the streets, your throat hurts so much that you don't feel like smoking. So pollution saves lives.
In Santiago I met some really weird people. Spending two days at the hostel drained all of my energy.
 For two entire days I was in the company of an 80 y.o. American man who had been trying for a year to be deported back to the States and an Australian man who, for those 2 days, didn't sleep and just drank beer. I was stuck in the middle. Like a delicious piece of cheese stuck in between two slices of rotten bread. After two days I felt like I was rotting too, so I had to leave.

I'm learning more and more about different nationalities. When I'm bored I like to play (in my head) the game  "guess the nationality".
British are the easiest to spot: they are the ones who like to show off their KC boxer shorts that creep up from denim jeans that are way to tight for their skinny chicken legs. They are also the ones who very rarely engage in conversations and seem quite closed up. Oh! They also don't seem to understand how penalties work, in the football games.
Americans, well, what can I say about Americans.....they are the ones who within seconds tell you that you're great, they love you, they will keep in touch.....but they never do. They are the friendliest and the fakest. I no longer trust Americans. They bomb people!
The Scandinavian are so hot that when I look at them I forget that I'm playing the "guess the nationality" game. I can't guess, I'm too busy dribbling.
French men sound gay. French women sound too sexy for the gay French men.
Germans never laugh at my jokes. But that's because they were born with no sense of humour.
Australians NEVER share their Vegemite. In fact, they're rather kill their partner than give you a little taste of the stuff.
Italians.....you don't meet Italians who travel as backpackers. Italians go to a foreign country and if they don't become drug dealers, they open a pizzeria and they invite the aunts, the uncles, the great grand mothers and newborn nieces to work for them in their pizzeria. We don't travel, we migrate. And we also know how penalties work.

Back in Argentina! Time for more horse riding, some cooking and some relaxing before heading further north. My next stop is Cordoba. But I would not be surprised if I end up in Colombia. I hear they sell great pizzas there!