So, in nearly four weeks, this is the first Saturday I've actually been in my apartment.
It's pouring out and quite miserable, and also most likely acid rain by the time the smog gets through it, so no better time to catch up on Facebook, e-mails, and blogging.
The first weekend I was here, but adjusting to surroundings.
The second weekend I was in Argentina.
The third weekend I was El Quisco, spending three days reading Robertson Davies novels on the Beach, and two nights drinking and eating with my classmates, Carlos, and his endless parade of friends and cousins. One of the better parties of my year took place on a walled in patio and beach house, with excellent speakers, a continuous BBQ, and plenty of alcohol. There was a rap off, a bongo drum and Peruvian sound box jam session, and shouted conversations made up of drunken Spanglish, emphatic gesturing, and that great universal language, profanity. It was glorious, and I'm sure there are bits I'm not even remembering.
Ok, so, that was last weekend. This week was mostly recovery. There was some slack lining in the park (I can ALMOST make it all the way across. AARRGGH), and I found the best sushi in the world right around the corner from my apartment. There are some definite benefits to being in the business district. Sushi abounds.
Yesterday, we visited Val Paraiso, which I've decided is the equivalent to Victoria in Canada. A beautiful, expensive, historic coastal town between waves and mountains, most uphill from the water. We visited the museum which was once the home of Pablo Neruda, and we had lunch at the yacht club.
Last night turned into yet another unexpected party, as most of the inhabitants of three apartments ended up in room 82 with Cerveza y vino. After a few hours, our Chilean friends arrived... With Sushi! One of Carlos' omni-present cousins had apparently been making sushi, and had sent over two trays, both loaded with sushi rolls and containers of soy sauce. Night made! Apparently, there will be more of that tonight!
So, that brings me back to this horrible, dark Saturday, that began with omelettes and turned into a catch-up on everything from e-mails to postcards. I have been lurking in pyjamas, eating oreos, and drinking vanilla nescafe.
AHAHA!
Stream of consiousness for the win!
So, Nestle seriously OWNS south America. Every building, every concert, every event- sponsored by Nestle. Our university library? Sponsored by Nestle. On every table in every restaurant and every coffee aisle in every grocery store? Bloody nescafe! It's insane! I awoke the other day actually craving it, which is only further proof of the insidious nature of Nestle products. I suspect crack.
I imagine tonight will be another late night. These Chileans don't get started until after 1:00am as far as parties and bars are concerned. The upcoming week is our last of School!
It's shocking how quickly the time has flown. I need to get my postcards out for sure.
Ok, that is all my lazy stream of consciousness is allowing now.
Cheers!
The Shan
Saturday, 26 May 2012
Wednesday, 16 May 2012
Malbec in Mendoza
So, recall my nausea inducing departure from Thunder Bay? Where I was afraid, anxious, and unable to wrap my brain around large scale international travel?
Less than 6 days after, I did it again.
Last Friday, I went to Argentina. Just for the hell of it.
Argentina. For the hell of it.
Mind Blown.
After an awe-inspiring 8 hour drive through the Andes (!), we arrived in Mendoza late afternoon, and the weekend became a happy, buzzed blur of excellent dinners, wonderful drinks, and dirt cheap cab rides.
The Hostel we stayed at (Hostel Suites Mendoza, certified by Hostels International) was noisy and garishly decorated with primary colours. However, our room had bunk beds! I have decided that bunk beds make up for everything, because the holiday atmosphere had a sleepover-ish quality that was both tiring and hilarious. Socks may have been thrown.
Part of the Hostels organization was that they had lists of daily events to do around the city. Obviously, there's nothing better to do in Southern, semi-rural Argentina... like a wine tour.
A full four hours on Saturday was dedicated to an Olive Oil factory followed by two local wineries, both of which specialized in the highly prized Argentinean Malbec. There was brilliant fall colours, full sunlight, and glass after glass of red and rose wine followed by bread and oil. I may have been in heaven.
It was also the perfect antidote to the Friday night, which was "a quick drink out to explore" that had turned into a full-on 3.5 hour bar-hopping jag until 2:00am down the main Mendoza club strip. I slept VERY well. I also LOVE hostels!
Due to the relative weakness of the Argentine dollar, the entire weekend (Bus tickets, Hostel, Food, and Fun) cost me less than $300.00 Canadian.
Although we'd only been in Santiago a week, it was good to be out of the city. As lovely as Santiago is, the smog is terrible, and the city noise was tiresome after only a few nights. Our apartments are located in the business district (Little Manhattan, they call it, seeing as Santiago is the financial capital of South America) so it's always noisy.
I'm pretty sure I haven't had a solid 8 hours in the nearly 2 weeks I've been here. My body's response to this is to punish me with a wicked head cold and an achy back.
I should be catching up on sleep this weekend...
But, since I can, I'll be spending the upcoming long weekend in Quisco! Our entire group was invited by a travel and tourism student who loves Canadians (having spent over a year in Canada) and who has a large family and 3 Beach Houses near Val Paraiso (There is a rumour that his parents own several bus companies...). There will be scuba diving, surfing, barbeques, and buckets of cerveza. I will bring my camera.
Hasta Luego, Amigos!
P.S Aced my first Spanish test, and have been comfortably (if simply) conversing with the maids and concierge!
Less than 6 days after, I did it again.
Last Friday, I went to Argentina. Just for the hell of it.
Argentina. For the hell of it.
Mind Blown.
After an awe-inspiring 8 hour drive through the Andes (!), we arrived in Mendoza late afternoon, and the weekend became a happy, buzzed blur of excellent dinners, wonderful drinks, and dirt cheap cab rides.
The Hostel we stayed at (Hostel Suites Mendoza, certified by Hostels International) was noisy and garishly decorated with primary colours. However, our room had bunk beds! I have decided that bunk beds make up for everything, because the holiday atmosphere had a sleepover-ish quality that was both tiring and hilarious. Socks may have been thrown.
Part of the Hostels organization was that they had lists of daily events to do around the city. Obviously, there's nothing better to do in Southern, semi-rural Argentina... like a wine tour.
A full four hours on Saturday was dedicated to an Olive Oil factory followed by two local wineries, both of which specialized in the highly prized Argentinean Malbec. There was brilliant fall colours, full sunlight, and glass after glass of red and rose wine followed by bread and oil. I may have been in heaven.
It was also the perfect antidote to the Friday night, which was "a quick drink out to explore" that had turned into a full-on 3.5 hour bar-hopping jag until 2:00am down the main Mendoza club strip. I slept VERY well. I also LOVE hostels!
Due to the relative weakness of the Argentine dollar, the entire weekend (Bus tickets, Hostel, Food, and Fun) cost me less than $300.00 Canadian.
Although we'd only been in Santiago a week, it was good to be out of the city. As lovely as Santiago is, the smog is terrible, and the city noise was tiresome after only a few nights. Our apartments are located in the business district (Little Manhattan, they call it, seeing as Santiago is the financial capital of South America) so it's always noisy.
I'm pretty sure I haven't had a solid 8 hours in the nearly 2 weeks I've been here. My body's response to this is to punish me with a wicked head cold and an achy back.
I should be catching up on sleep this weekend...
But, since I can, I'll be spending the upcoming long weekend in Quisco! Our entire group was invited by a travel and tourism student who loves Canadians (having spent over a year in Canada) and who has a large family and 3 Beach Houses near Val Paraiso (There is a rumour that his parents own several bus companies...). There will be scuba diving, surfing, barbeques, and buckets of cerveza. I will bring my camera.
Hasta Luego, Amigos!
P.S Aced my first Spanish test, and have been comfortably (if simply) conversing with the maids and concierge!
Thursday, 10 May 2012
Country Number 4!
This weekend, on a whim and a passport, I am going to Argentina!
Cassandra, Cory and I are heading on an overnight bus to Mendoza for a long weekend, coming back Sunday night! The whole trip, hostel included, is costing us about $80.00 canadian. I am buzzing right now!
Off to prep, pack, and have an adventure!
Back monday!
Cassandra, Cory and I are heading on an overnight bus to Mendoza for a long weekend, coming back Sunday night! The whole trip, hostel included, is costing us about $80.00 canadian. I am buzzing right now!
Off to prep, pack, and have an adventure!
Back monday!
Monday, 7 May 2012
Courage, groceries, and the Santiago Shuffle
Hola!
On day two in Chile, I accomplished every single personal goal I had in mind when I decided to do this trip.
Yesterday morning Cassandra and I left our apartment and headed for the subway with only a map, umbrella, and sheer nerve. Over the six hours that followed, we:
There were, of course, hiccups. I left my debit in the bank after being distracted by a conversion chart on my draw slip (Got it back seconds later from a friendly and very fast local). We also saw a homeless person sleeping near our hiking trail in the mountain. Coming home, we disembarked at a different stop, and had to navigate back to our hotel over about 20 minutes.
And guess what? We handled it! It was fine!
If I had done it with someone more traveled, or more used to the city, it wouldn't have been the same. I wouldn't have needed all the vigilance and processing that the experience demanded, knowing that neither she nor I knew anything more than the other. Making decisions, responding to situations, and being entirely free of guidance is a hugely different burden of responsibility and awareness. Having it turn out successfully (and the accompanying adrenaline) was the not so much a confidence boost as a confidence flood; sweeping out anxiety and the nagging feeling that it'd be easier with someone who was already prepared. I had literally never in my life felt so much real pride in myself, for such a very real, if intangible, reason.
On the bus home, we saw Sarah, Russell, Katherine, and Amanda walking out the window. It was another experience that jerked me back to the reality of literally living in a new city. I was recognizing my neighborhood, and seeing people I knew out and about their business. This is really happening.
So, that's the courage and groceries. The Santiago Shuffle is what happens when people drinking different sorts of interesting local alcohol periodically trade their drinks back and forth with everyone else on an 8th floor balcony they dragged the living room couch onto.
The gang arrived back while Cassandra, Corey, and I were drinking wine and playing a sedate game of crazy 8 countdown after tidying the dinner mess. They had arrived from a bar, local beers in tow, and immediately began whooping it up on the balcony.
The contact buzz was too strong to ignore, especially after my day of worldly confidence. Within a half hour, my iPod speakers were cranked, Russell and Amanda had dragged the couch onto the balcony, and we were all cheersing, dancing, drinking, and talking about we couldn't believe we were actually here, and did we actually have one full month? The girls from Fort Frances joined us, the guys from upstairs joined us, and a night of decompression before our first day of school turned into a multi-floor party fueled by adrenaline and Chilean alcohol.
This was, of course, at the ripe old hour of 8:15pm.
This was also, of course, the day before our first day of school.
That being said, today was a mixed blessing. Yes, school was fantastic. The campus is beautiful, our professor is hilarious, and the day dawned bright and sunny. All of us had a great morning, and all of us are fully committed to learning Spanish, feeling the culture, and generally sucking the marrow out of every single experience here. Also, all but four of us were ranging from mildly dehydrated to full on hungover to the eyeballs.
While I acknowledge that yes, it may be a foolish way to begin our trip as students and representatives of Confederation College... Life happens, and sometimes on a Sunday. While it may have impacted our immediate comfort the morning after, it did not remotely impact our enthusiasm for learning and seeing the campus. There are thousands of ways to experience Santiago, and sitting on a couch on a balcony on a mild night in May with good people, music, and a wine buzz was definitely a good one, and a good bonding experience. There was almost a sense of pride this morning, as we endured the repercussions of our evening. We had EARNED the hangovers. They were badges of a night during which we celebrated travel, school, Spanish, Santiago, music, friendship, and the support of hard working local breweries and wineries.
Hasta Luego, all!
On day two in Chile, I accomplished every single personal goal I had in mind when I decided to do this trip.
Yesterday morning Cassandra and I left our apartment and headed for the subway with only a map, umbrella, and sheer nerve. Over the six hours that followed, we:
- Successfully found and used a local bank
- Bought our tickets from an entirely Spanish speaking magazine kiosk
- Haggled at an open park market and talked down the price of a green alpaca sweater to 9000 pesos (about 15$) using entirely gestures
- Adventured around a massive mountain park/market/zoo/hiking conservation area
- Visited both the National Gallery and National Historic museums as well as winding our way through the packed Plaza de Arms square where yet another open market was taking place.
- Bought groceries at a nearby store (also entirely through gesturing and holding a visa), and carted them back to our apartment via bus and walking.
There were, of course, hiccups. I left my debit in the bank after being distracted by a conversion chart on my draw slip (Got it back seconds later from a friendly and very fast local). We also saw a homeless person sleeping near our hiking trail in the mountain. Coming home, we disembarked at a different stop, and had to navigate back to our hotel over about 20 minutes.
And guess what? We handled it! It was fine!
If I had done it with someone more traveled, or more used to the city, it wouldn't have been the same. I wouldn't have needed all the vigilance and processing that the experience demanded, knowing that neither she nor I knew anything more than the other. Making decisions, responding to situations, and being entirely free of guidance is a hugely different burden of responsibility and awareness. Having it turn out successfully (and the accompanying adrenaline) was the not so much a confidence boost as a confidence flood; sweeping out anxiety and the nagging feeling that it'd be easier with someone who was already prepared. I had literally never in my life felt so much real pride in myself, for such a very real, if intangible, reason.
On the bus home, we saw Sarah, Russell, Katherine, and Amanda walking out the window. It was another experience that jerked me back to the reality of literally living in a new city. I was recognizing my neighborhood, and seeing people I knew out and about their business. This is really happening.
So, that's the courage and groceries. The Santiago Shuffle is what happens when people drinking different sorts of interesting local alcohol periodically trade their drinks back and forth with everyone else on an 8th floor balcony they dragged the living room couch onto.
The gang arrived back while Cassandra, Corey, and I were drinking wine and playing a sedate game of crazy 8 countdown after tidying the dinner mess. They had arrived from a bar, local beers in tow, and immediately began whooping it up on the balcony.
The contact buzz was too strong to ignore, especially after my day of worldly confidence. Within a half hour, my iPod speakers were cranked, Russell and Amanda had dragged the couch onto the balcony, and we were all cheersing, dancing, drinking, and talking about we couldn't believe we were actually here, and did we actually have one full month? The girls from Fort Frances joined us, the guys from upstairs joined us, and a night of decompression before our first day of school turned into a multi-floor party fueled by adrenaline and Chilean alcohol.
This was, of course, at the ripe old hour of 8:15pm.
This was also, of course, the day before our first day of school.
That being said, today was a mixed blessing. Yes, school was fantastic. The campus is beautiful, our professor is hilarious, and the day dawned bright and sunny. All of us had a great morning, and all of us are fully committed to learning Spanish, feeling the culture, and generally sucking the marrow out of every single experience here. Also, all but four of us were ranging from mildly dehydrated to full on hungover to the eyeballs.
While I acknowledge that yes, it may be a foolish way to begin our trip as students and representatives of Confederation College... Life happens, and sometimes on a Sunday. While it may have impacted our immediate comfort the morning after, it did not remotely impact our enthusiasm for learning and seeing the campus. There are thousands of ways to experience Santiago, and sitting on a couch on a balcony on a mild night in May with good people, music, and a wine buzz was definitely a good one, and a good bonding experience. There was almost a sense of pride this morning, as we endured the repercussions of our evening. We had EARNED the hangovers. They were badges of a night during which we celebrated travel, school, Spanish, Santiago, music, friendship, and the support of hard working local breweries and wineries.
Hasta Luego, all!
Saturday, 5 May 2012
Sarah and the Centipede
We have a pet.
Sarah, Katherine, Cassandra and I arrived at our apartment to find it not only had two bathrooms, but a good sized living room, dining table, ample closet space.... And an inhabitant.
After our immediate party through the rooms, where we squealed and danced our way through every nook and cabinet, we picked our bedrooms.
"Uuuugh!" was heard from the master bedroom.
We came running.
"An huge bug just ran into my jeans!" (no worries, the jeans were off, lying on the bedspread)
Me: How huge? Like, 'ew, a bug' huge, or actually, like, Huge?
Sarah: Pretty damn huge.
Cassandra: It's not here now... (picking through pants) AUGH!
An enormous, two inch long bright canary yellow centipede erupts from the jeans and vanishes down the side of the mattress.
Me: Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Cassandra: Where did it go?!
My first instinct was to rush down the hall, but I stop. My summer plans were to become self sufficient, courageous, and able. to. handle. shit.
Me: Ok, guys. Wait here. (I run, and re-appear with a shoe and a roll of toilet paper) We are NOT getting a boy. Let's get this bug, bitches!
The next ten minutes involved everything from shifting the furniture to peeling the bed clothes, but no centipede was found.
A few minutes later when Russell and Corey arrived ("The cavalry is here!"-Corey) the bed was almost fully stripped, the mattress pulled over, the furniture re-assembled yet again, and STILL no centipede. They doubted it's existence, and, in the manner of irritating men everywhere, periodically pretended to jump and point to make us shriek. Bastards.
BUT. It has made me braver! After stripping my own bed and shifting my own furniture out of sheer paranoia, I was forced to relax. Bugs happen. Fucking enormous, canary yellow, two inch long centipedes happen. I am in a foreign, southern country, and must adapt to the little creepy awful things as well as the larger, interesting, pretty things. This is one of those little things that, in life, must be dealt with. With poise. And perhaps a shoe and some toilet paper.
Perhaps we'll name him Fran.
Sarah, Katherine, Cassandra and I arrived at our apartment to find it not only had two bathrooms, but a good sized living room, dining table, ample closet space.... And an inhabitant.
After our immediate party through the rooms, where we squealed and danced our way through every nook and cabinet, we picked our bedrooms.
"Uuuugh!" was heard from the master bedroom.
We came running.
"An huge bug just ran into my jeans!" (no worries, the jeans were off, lying on the bedspread)
Me: How huge? Like, 'ew, a bug' huge, or actually, like, Huge?
Sarah: Pretty damn huge.
Cassandra: It's not here now... (picking through pants) AUGH!
An enormous, two inch long bright canary yellow centipede erupts from the jeans and vanishes down the side of the mattress.
Me: Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Cassandra: Where did it go?!
My first instinct was to rush down the hall, but I stop. My summer plans were to become self sufficient, courageous, and able. to. handle. shit.
Me: Ok, guys. Wait here. (I run, and re-appear with a shoe and a roll of toilet paper) We are NOT getting a boy. Let's get this bug, bitches!
The next ten minutes involved everything from shifting the furniture to peeling the bed clothes, but no centipede was found.
A few minutes later when Russell and Corey arrived ("The cavalry is here!"-Corey) the bed was almost fully stripped, the mattress pulled over, the furniture re-assembled yet again, and STILL no centipede. They doubted it's existence, and, in the manner of irritating men everywhere, periodically pretended to jump and point to make us shriek. Bastards.
BUT. It has made me braver! After stripping my own bed and shifting my own furniture out of sheer paranoia, I was forced to relax. Bugs happen. Fucking enormous, canary yellow, two inch long centipedes happen. I am in a foreign, southern country, and must adapt to the little creepy awful things as well as the larger, interesting, pretty things. This is one of those little things that, in life, must be dealt with. With poise. And perhaps a shoe and some toilet paper.
Perhaps we'll name him Fran.
Melatonin and Conquistadora
Otherwise Titled: Wildly inappropriate discussions to have in international airports.
Corey: The men keep asking me if I'm "with the girls".
Shannon: They're essentially asking you for permission to hit on us.
Russel: YES. They are all mine. 200,000 Pesos....
Shannon: I am VERY expensive. Also, 70% cut.
Corey: Us?
Shannon: Me. Mar the pretty faces and it's YOUR loss.
Sarah: I HATE sleeping on planes.
Corey: I have melatonin!
Shannon: Can we get in on that?
Corey: But of course.
Shannon: I love how willing you are to just give me drugs.
Corey: I couldn't find any Spanish kids books, though! That would be a help.
Shannon: Watch the original Dora. It was "Esploradora", like Sesame Street for Spanish kids.
Corey: Esploradora? Did she also wipe out indigenous tribes?
Shannon: No, no, that was Conquistadora, who also brought much wealth to mainland Europe. And would also be HILARIOUS.
(Because obviously prostitution and colonialism are AWESOME conversation starters.)
Ok, onto actual observations. The first flight I have ever been on where the pilots, attendants, and signage was in an entirely different language, and english translations came choppy and second. It was both new and a very real reminder that I was in an entirely foreign place. While I've been to the U.K, the "differentness" was lower level entirely. While I was aware in an abstract sort of way that English is not the default, it was still a bizarre experience seeing and hearing the change.
But also interesting! It was the first little nudge out of my comfort zone, and within a few hours I was comfortably ordering cafe con leche, por favore, and feeling thrilled when the cashier looked genuinely pleased with my "gracias".
When Sarah successfully bought herself a pack of cigarettes, I went out to get a glimpse of outside while we waited for our shuttle, and the world felt different. Though the morning was cool, the air was heavy and damp, and the garden outside the airport was filled with almost black moist soil and unfamiliar, dark green lush plants. While airports all look the same, I suddenly felt like I was in a different part of the world.
The day began exhausted in an airport at 6:30am, and ended after drinks and sushi on a sunny patio two stories up with a backdrop of smog and mountains. I have a subway card, learned where my school was, and bought things- already.
Also, we made a little friend...
Thursday, 3 May 2012
In my living room
Good friends, good food, and good music can have excellent effects on the spirit.
Last night, this room was full of people drinking, laughing, making excellent jokes in very poor taste, and showering me with affection and well wishes.
Now, I am sitting in the quiet, with my computer and boyfriend, and counting down the hours (18) until I leave my country for 17 weeks.
While I am excited, I have been experiencing much more of "shit-my-pants-anxiety" rather than anticipation. After last night, however, the anticipation is kicking in.
I have never experienced such overwhelming support from such a varied, enthusiastic, and often ridiculous group of people that I feel lucky as hell to call my own friends. Not only did you bring me half a liquor store (which I have bequeathed to my parents- they'll have a good summer, swimming in gin), you gave me renewed courage, humour, excitement, and I thank you all.
This is for you. Right now, I am still coming off my emotional adrenaline high from our Last Hurrah, but I promise you that my posts over the summer will not be as saccharine as this! I will try to keep you well amused and abreast of my adventures as they occur!
As we learned last night from a delicious, loudly coloured cake and a good friend,
Boa Viagem!
Last night, this room was full of people drinking, laughing, making excellent jokes in very poor taste, and showering me with affection and well wishes.
Now, I am sitting in the quiet, with my computer and boyfriend, and counting down the hours (18) until I leave my country for 17 weeks.
While I am excited, I have been experiencing much more of "shit-my-pants-anxiety" rather than anticipation. After last night, however, the anticipation is kicking in.
I have never experienced such overwhelming support from such a varied, enthusiastic, and often ridiculous group of people that I feel lucky as hell to call my own friends. Not only did you bring me half a liquor store (which I have bequeathed to my parents- they'll have a good summer, swimming in gin), you gave me renewed courage, humour, excitement, and I thank you all.
This is for you. Right now, I am still coming off my emotional adrenaline high from our Last Hurrah, but I promise you that my posts over the summer will not be as saccharine as this! I will try to keep you well amused and abreast of my adventures as they occur!
As we learned last night from a delicious, loudly coloured cake and a good friend,
Boa Viagem!
Nearly There
Have you ever watched Departures? Eat, Pray, Love? Maybe even Eurotrip?
All of the above seem to kindle the latent wanderlust that hearken our souls back to our nomadic roots of moving, of going, of seeking. The adventure, romance, and life-defining experience of just packing a bag, getting on the plane, and setting proverbial sail to some distant land is a more and more common theme in both pop-culture and literature as the borders of the world become more and more accessible and affordable for North Americans.
So, I'm going. This 5'4, 21-year old Thunder Bay born and bred female student is packing her bag, getting on a plane, and not coming back for 16 weeks and three continents.
Spoiler. So far, It's not romantic. It's terrifying, exhausting, and infuriating, and I haven't even left yet. That is what all the glorifying movies fail to get across. Of course it's glamourous enough to show the departing plane or the culture-shocking arrival- showing the trips back and forth to the passport office, or the increasingly panicked phone calls with the Brazilian Visa Centre, and the ceaseless internet searching for multi-destination flights that all led me weeping to a helpful and patient travel agent who assisted me with my dizzying flight and insurance arrangements would be boring. The onus of preparation is hellish in itself.
Yet, I am still visualizing how it will feel to step of a plane into a place I have only little idea of. How I will like my apartment in Santiago, or what the family I will be living with in Brazil will be like, or how I will adjust to my work placement in Steenburg Vineyards in the Cape winelands of South Africa. Will I collapse, or strengthen?
People rarely return from these sorts of ventures the same as they left them. The extent of the benefit must be enormous for it to be worth the agonizing planning stage. For every time I've crowed my pride in myself, I've nearly wept with frustration and fear when I think about using public transit, getting lost, and being sold into a human trafficking ring. Unlikely as that scenario hopefully is, that doesn't lessen the terror of the moment. I want to chronicle all aspects of my travels- the beauty, the glamour, and the sometimes overwhelming confusion and fear. I want the wisdom, yes. But I also want to remember the rocky, obscure path that led to it.
On May 4th of this year, I will be be on my own glamorously departing plane, off into the wild blue yonder. I'll try to let you know just how amazing, painful, wonderful, and terrible it is. Provided I don't get sold into that human trafficking ring, maybe you'll want to try it, next year. Until next time (please indulge my delusions of Christiane Amanpour),
Your overseas correspondent, Shannon
All of the above seem to kindle the latent wanderlust that hearken our souls back to our nomadic roots of moving, of going, of seeking. The adventure, romance, and life-defining experience of just packing a bag, getting on the plane, and setting proverbial sail to some distant land is a more and more common theme in both pop-culture and literature as the borders of the world become more and more accessible and affordable for North Americans.
So, I'm going. This 5'4, 21-year old Thunder Bay born and bred female student is packing her bag, getting on a plane, and not coming back for 16 weeks and three continents.
Spoiler. So far, It's not romantic. It's terrifying, exhausting, and infuriating, and I haven't even left yet. That is what all the glorifying movies fail to get across. Of course it's glamourous enough to show the departing plane or the culture-shocking arrival- showing the trips back and forth to the passport office, or the increasingly panicked phone calls with the Brazilian Visa Centre, and the ceaseless internet searching for multi-destination flights that all led me weeping to a helpful and patient travel agent who assisted me with my dizzying flight and insurance arrangements would be boring. The onus of preparation is hellish in itself.
Yet, I am still visualizing how it will feel to step of a plane into a place I have only little idea of. How I will like my apartment in Santiago, or what the family I will be living with in Brazil will be like, or how I will adjust to my work placement in Steenburg Vineyards in the Cape winelands of South Africa. Will I collapse, or strengthen?
People rarely return from these sorts of ventures the same as they left them. The extent of the benefit must be enormous for it to be worth the agonizing planning stage. For every time I've crowed my pride in myself, I've nearly wept with frustration and fear when I think about using public transit, getting lost, and being sold into a human trafficking ring. Unlikely as that scenario hopefully is, that doesn't lessen the terror of the moment. I want to chronicle all aspects of my travels- the beauty, the glamour, and the sometimes overwhelming confusion and fear. I want the wisdom, yes. But I also want to remember the rocky, obscure path that led to it.
On May 4th of this year, I will be be on my own glamorously departing plane, off into the wild blue yonder. I'll try to let you know just how amazing, painful, wonderful, and terrible it is. Provided I don't get sold into that human trafficking ring, maybe you'll want to try it, next year. Until next time (please indulge my delusions of Christiane Amanpour),
Your overseas correspondent, Shannon
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