I’m not a good flyer. I used to freak out with any flight I was on. I’ve calmed down a lot these days as long as I have some travel calm ginger pills to stop my airsickness. Turbulence makes it worse but I’ve been told they can’t do much about that.
When I boarded my flight from Sydney to Santiago Chile I felt that tell-tale feeling in my stomach and prepared for the worst. I didn’t even want to know how long the flight was . At the check-in desk I asked for a different seat due to my airsickness. The woman believed me, fortunately, although she told me I’d be in a row with a baby. I wasn’t that worried. I took my pills, boarded and settled into my seat.

I got zero sleep during the 12 hour flight. I have to say though that my fellow row occupants were very annoying. The baby was perfect. One slight whinge and she slept or played quietly for the rest of the trip . Her parents were chilled and sweet. I had the seat at other end of the aisle, which initially concerned me as the person next to me would have to climb past me to go to the bathroom. The woman next to me was slim, quiet, unobtrusive even with her elbows, moved out to use the toilet when I was already up, and slept most of the time. I could not believe my luck. Could this be a good omen for the first part of my round the world trip?

Unfortunately, even with this perfect setup, I couldn’t sleep because every time I nodded off the plane would enter turbulence or someone would brush past my seat bumping me in the process. I spent about 2-3 hours with my head in the paper vomit bag trying to not retch and bring up the delicious food I thought I might try as I was feeling lucky. Obviously I pushed that too far.

It seemed that we flew through a day and a night in quick succession. We left at 1pm Sunday 7th of August. Soon I could smell breakfast and hear the clatter from the galley of food preparation. When we started our descent I chanced a glance out of the window to be greeted by a sunlit mountain range – the Andes. It looked as if a giant had tripped over one of the foothills to spill icing sugar just on each mountain’s South facing slope. We finally rumbled to a halt in Santiago. I’d arrived a bit worse for wear at exactly the same time I’d left – 1pm Sunday 7th of August.

My Chilean friend was originally planned to pick me up but couldn’t so she announced that her friend was instead. She sent me his picture. He looked serious and almost dangerous. It worried me that I’d be stepping into a stranger’s car in a place I’d never been with no local money and no way of contacting my friend. I waded through the crowd of taxi drivers and others relatives looking for a swarthy Chilean man with dark receding hair. Arrivals was full of them. I tried to work my jet lagged brain into some form of cohesive thought when a short smiling Chilean man with dark receding hair approached me with a picture of myself on his phone.

I said Hola. He said Hola back. I tried some Spanish but my befuddled brain let me down. He started wheeling my suitcase away. In broken Spanish I asked if we could call my friend first. Cierto. He paused and held the phone up to my ear. I could hear the ringing but there was no answer. As he paid for parking he tried once again. It made me feel a bit better that he was calling someone but was it my friend and not a drug cartel false number to put me off? Eventually, with still no answer, he shrugged and with a questioning look said, “Vámonos?” “Let’s go anyway “? What could I do? He had ticked a couple of boxes so I didn’t feel in danger but I really wanted to hear my friends voice telling me to not let my imagination take over.

I nodded and we headed to the car; the whole time I was waiting for her call. He loaded my bags and I went to the incorrect side to get in. I managed a laugh and he smiled. As we drove he asked me if I spoke Spanish. ‘Un poco’, I replied. A little. In Spanish I asked him if he spoke English. The answer was the same word in both languages – No. I slumped in the seat and rode the rest of the way looking out the window at the cold grey day with mountainous backdrop. My tired brain tried a few times to make small talk  we lapsed into silence.

We drove through the misty city for what seemed like at least half an hour, past suburbs and finally entering the cityscape of the business district. Finally his phone pinged. It was my friend, Marcia, telling him she was in mass, being Sunday. I knew that she had her grandmother’s birthday to attend afterwards (her grandmother would never forgive her if she missed some of it to pick me up) so I was relieved that she’d messaged. We entered a street where other Chilean friends of hers, that I’d met in Brisbane, were waiting. They let me into her cute flat and I showered and slept for 3 hours, each hour waking with a jolt thinking I had to be somewhere. When she came home I fumbled with the door to let her in and we had a lovely hug and happy jig together. It had been three years since we’d seen each other. I got dressed back into my nice clothes and we went straight out to another friends’ house for drinks  that night and for the next three nights. Welcome to Santiago, Chile!