With Kai, the hatching wielding hitchhiking saving a woman's life, hitchhikers have finally gotten some good press. I used to hitchhike a good deal, mostly going from rock climbing area to rock climbing area in the United States, but I've also done it a great deal throughout Latin America. Only one thing is guaranteed about hitchhiking, eventually something interesting is bound to happen. I'm going to take this opportunity to share some stories with you guys.
So I was in Southern Chile, having rock climbed in Patagonia for the winter (the summer down there.) The season was quickly coming to a close, which meant torrential never ending rain and snow. It was time for me to return to the United States. To save money I had decided to fly out of Lima, Peru rather than Santiago, the ticket home would be almost 700 dollars less. To get up to Lima I decided to hitchhike.
Now this wasn't a big deal, with my friend Dan we had already hitched the reverse of that trip. Being by myself made things different though. For one Dan grew up in Venezuela, and was fluent in Spanish. I was borderline conversational, although nothing improves your Spanish quicker than hitchhiking. That's if what the Chileans speak can be called Spanish. Chileans use their own slang very heavily, and have many of their own words. They also tend to run their words together and even other native speaks have a hard time understanding them.
So I wandered out of the mountains. My first ride actually come from an elderly Belgium couple in an RV. They were retired and on a two year odyssey from here in Alaska. They spoke English and served tea, traded stories about their travels through Africa. I felt a little bad being in their shiny clean RV because having spent the last month in a half in the mountains, I probably smelled something awful.
That brings me to a Universal rule of hitchhiking. The only time you get picked up by pretty women is when you smell really bad. My next several rides come from attractive women. One of whom was a local anchor woman for the nearest city. I noticed how much faster and easier it was to hitch by myself. Dan and I never got picked up by women. Two men must be an intimidated sight. Either that or I am just very pretty. I guess I'll go for the latter.
The main concern in going north was making my way through Santiago. Santiago is a huge metropolis, and once I was there I'd have to figure out how to take a bus to somewhere north from wherever I got dropped off. As I neared the city I got picked up by a man in his work truck going straight in. He was affable and working class. After a little polite banter, some of which I just pretended to understand he asked me if I smoked weed.
"Sí" I replied
"Es weed de Canada" He said.
Most of the weed in Chile sucks. They have strict drug enforcement, and it shows with their shitty homegrown weed. I wondered how in the world Canadian pot found it's way to South America. My driver explained that he cousin smuggled 2 lbs of it on an airplane, and that he could of gone to prison for 5 years for that. Moments later I was too high to worry about it, and my driver dropped me off.
Stoned out of my gourd I surveyed where I was, in the bleakest most industrial part of Santiago. The Pan American highway, which I had been following had no place to pull over here. No way for people to stop. I also had a major case of the munchies and little food in my backpack. I finished that off and considered my options. As I was eating a bus came by going to some city I hadn't heard of, I saw it pull over at a stop and let some people out. Sitting and trying to collect my fuzzy thoughts, more busses came and went. I formulated a plan.
My stoner thinking decided that if I got on one of those busses going north, I could hopefully end up on the Pan America, and be on my way. If not I'd find an internet kiosk and just figure it out. I picked out a bus going to the city of lampa and hoped for good luck.
Luck was not with me, as Lampa was neither on the Pan America, nor could I even find an open internet kiosk. Fuck I didn't want to go back to Santiago. I dreaded the city, and being stoned made me dread it more. The weed had made me lose confidence in understand Spanish, but I decided to approach an elderly man and ask him if there was a place to use the internet. Upon talking to him he grew excited.
"I know a woman who speaks English." He said to me. (In Spanish)
"I just need to use the internet."
He repeated that he knew a woman who spoke English and showed me to a small cafe. A pretty middle aged woman looked at me, and the old man said something to her. Smiling she asked me in her (not so good) english what I wanted. I started to explain and she quickly became lost. I switched to Spanish and explained I was hitchhiking to Peru and was lost.
"Wow, you really are pretty far out here, maybe you should go back to Santiago." She said.
"No! I just came from Santiago, isn't there another way?" I exclaimed.
"Well, you can come to Til Til, that's where I live. I think there is a road you can take north. I'm going there after I close up the cafe. I can give you a ride. By the way do you want to order something."
I was still pretty high, and as a result, really hungry. I ordered two completos. (A completo is the national dish of chile, it's a hot dog covered in a grotesque amount of mayo with fake guacamole and onions on it. It's not very good when you are sober, but when you are high it is the best thing ever.) After I finished she closed shop and drove me to Til Til.
"Where are you staying for the night?" She asked.
"I'm just going to camp or something."
"No, you can just stay with me. My kids are studying English, they'd love to meet you."
I ended up staying with that family for two full days. I had planned on gorging myself on food when I got to Peru. (Peruvian food is both better, and vastly cheaper than food in Chile.) Instead this family fed me empanadas until I was truly content. Their father was away on business (he was some sort of wealthy importer/exporter) but their children, who were 12 and 16 had never ended questions.
One interesting topic was when they asked me what religion I was. Assuming they were Catholic, I hedged and said "I'm not religious." All three of them beamed.
"Neither are we." Said the 12 year old daughter. "We are all Atheists. Our father is Catholic, but he doesn't know what he's talking about."
The mom laughed and nodded. It was difficult to escape from them almost, I even got an offer to work at the woman's cafe and tutor her children in English. Chile though is just not the country for me, and I left them to go back to the US. Oh, I finally got a shower too.
So I was in Southern Chile, having rock climbed in Patagonia for the winter (the summer down there.) The season was quickly coming to a close, which meant torrential never ending rain and snow. It was time for me to return to the United States. To save money I had decided to fly out of Lima, Peru rather than Santiago, the ticket home would be almost 700 dollars less. To get up to Lima I decided to hitchhike.
Now this wasn't a big deal, with my friend Dan we had already hitched the reverse of that trip. Being by myself made things different though. For one Dan grew up in Venezuela, and was fluent in Spanish. I was borderline conversational, although nothing improves your Spanish quicker than hitchhiking. That's if what the Chileans speak can be called Spanish. Chileans use their own slang very heavily, and have many of their own words. They also tend to run their words together and even other native speaks have a hard time understanding them.
So I wandered out of the mountains. My first ride actually come from an elderly Belgium couple in an RV. They were retired and on a two year odyssey from here in Alaska. They spoke English and served tea, traded stories about their travels through Africa. I felt a little bad being in their shiny clean RV because having spent the last month in a half in the mountains, I probably smelled something awful.
That brings me to a Universal rule of hitchhiking. The only time you get picked up by pretty women is when you smell really bad. My next several rides come from attractive women. One of whom was a local anchor woman for the nearest city. I noticed how much faster and easier it was to hitch by myself. Dan and I never got picked up by women. Two men must be an intimidated sight. Either that or I am just very pretty. I guess I'll go for the latter.
The main concern in going north was making my way through Santiago. Santiago is a huge metropolis, and once I was there I'd have to figure out how to take a bus to somewhere north from wherever I got dropped off. As I neared the city I got picked up by a man in his work truck going straight in. He was affable and working class. After a little polite banter, some of which I just pretended to understand he asked me if I smoked weed.
"Sí" I replied
"Es weed de Canada" He said.
Most of the weed in Chile sucks. They have strict drug enforcement, and it shows with their shitty homegrown weed. I wondered how in the world Canadian pot found it's way to South America. My driver explained that he cousin smuggled 2 lbs of it on an airplane, and that he could of gone to prison for 5 years for that. Moments later I was too high to worry about it, and my driver dropped me off.
Stoned out of my gourd I surveyed where I was, in the bleakest most industrial part of Santiago. The Pan American highway, which I had been following had no place to pull over here. No way for people to stop. I also had a major case of the munchies and little food in my backpack. I finished that off and considered my options. As I was eating a bus came by going to some city I hadn't heard of, I saw it pull over at a stop and let some people out. Sitting and trying to collect my fuzzy thoughts, more busses came and went. I formulated a plan.
My stoner thinking decided that if I got on one of those busses going north, I could hopefully end up on the Pan America, and be on my way. If not I'd find an internet kiosk and just figure it out. I picked out a bus going to the city of lampa and hoped for good luck.
Luck was not with me, as Lampa was neither on the Pan America, nor could I even find an open internet kiosk. Fuck I didn't want to go back to Santiago. I dreaded the city, and being stoned made me dread it more. The weed had made me lose confidence in understand Spanish, but I decided to approach an elderly man and ask him if there was a place to use the internet. Upon talking to him he grew excited.
"I know a woman who speaks English." He said to me. (In Spanish)
"I just need to use the internet."
He repeated that he knew a woman who spoke English and showed me to a small cafe. A pretty middle aged woman looked at me, and the old man said something to her. Smiling she asked me in her (not so good) english what I wanted. I started to explain and she quickly became lost. I switched to Spanish and explained I was hitchhiking to Peru and was lost.
"Wow, you really are pretty far out here, maybe you should go back to Santiago." She said.
"No! I just came from Santiago, isn't there another way?" I exclaimed.
"Well, you can come to Til Til, that's where I live. I think there is a road you can take north. I'm going there after I close up the cafe. I can give you a ride. By the way do you want to order something."
I was still pretty high, and as a result, really hungry. I ordered two completos. (A completo is the national dish of chile, it's a hot dog covered in a grotesque amount of mayo with fake guacamole and onions on it. It's not very good when you are sober, but when you are high it is the best thing ever.) After I finished she closed shop and drove me to Til Til.
"Where are you staying for the night?" She asked.
"I'm just going to camp or something."
"No, you can just stay with me. My kids are studying English, they'd love to meet you."
I ended up staying with that family for two full days. I had planned on gorging myself on food when I got to Peru. (Peruvian food is both better, and vastly cheaper than food in Chile.) Instead this family fed me empanadas until I was truly content. Their father was away on business (he was some sort of wealthy importer/exporter) but their children, who were 12 and 16 had never ended questions.
One interesting topic was when they asked me what religion I was. Assuming they were Catholic, I hedged and said "I'm not religious." All three of them beamed.
"Neither are we." Said the 12 year old daughter. "We are all Atheists. Our father is Catholic, but he doesn't know what he's talking about."
The mom laughed and nodded. It was difficult to escape from them almost, I even got an offer to work at the woman's cafe and tutor her children in English. Chile though is just not the country for me, and I left them to go back to the US. Oh, I finally got a shower too.
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