It was bound to happen eventually. I was having such a great time. And as eventually happens when you're having a great time, shit happens.
For some people it happens literally, through bouts of diarrhoea that seem to swoop on my tour group at unexpected intervals. For another it came in the form of accidentally leaving their passport behind… with a border crossing the next day.
My downfall began on the drive between Ushuaia (Argentina) and Torres del Paine (Chile). We had what I like to call, a mystery camp. Let me explain.
So you know how the South American content is massive? Sometimes city A and city B are so far apart, the tour bus will drive for as long as it can before stopping at any spot alongside the road that looks good enough for us to spend the night.
One time we camped in the middle of a football field. Oftentimes we've camped behind or alongside gas stations. On this particular occasion, I couldn't even describe to you where we ended up. All I remember is a grassy field with fences behind some wooden buildings, maybe they were fully-functioning, maybe they were abandoned. My mind seems to have blocked out what it could.
What I do remember (and what I'd do anything to forget) is the cold. I've never felt such freeze in my life. Despite having brought one thick, trusty coat with me, the same coat that served me well through a European winter, I was not prepared for this. This was a whole other level.
It was so cold I couldn't look at my iPhone without condensation obscuring the screen. My teeth were chattering. My joints were aching. My thermals and sleeping bag were futile. It was so cold Icouldn't didn't sleep.
And that was the beginning of my 2-week decline.
A dry cough from hell ensued, causing countless more sleepless nights. The hours I lost sleeping, I made up for in guilt - for keeping everyone around me awake with my uncontainable exorcist-level coughs. My nose, when it wasn't clogged with mucous, was a dripping tap. The skin around my nose peeled from the sheer amount of nose-blowing.
On two occasions I forced myself to go hiking (one big, one small) because I couldn't bear the thought of not hiking at one of the world's most famous destinations for it. People come from all over the world to hike Torres del Paine. And there I was being a sick bitch. Resenting myself if I did. Resenting myself if I didn't.
My whole experience of Chile was shattered. I will forever remember the beautiful mountains of Torres del Paine as Torres del Pain in my Ass. I will forever remember idyllic Patagonia as Patago-and-fuck-off. I was that utterly miserable.
After so much first-world suffering, I couldn't wait to get to Santiago, where we booked into… wait for it… not a campsite... not hostel rooms, but hotel rooms. ACTUAL HOTEL ROOMS. WITH ACTUAL FLOORS AND WALLS AND CEILINGS TO PROTECT YOU FROM THE FUCKING COLD.
It was like a gift from the universe for finally starting to feel better.
But then the hotel room had bed bugs. FUCKING BED BUGS. At first I thought it was just a mosquito, so I let it go. I was already in a silk slip. I applied repellent. I sprayed my bed with bug spray. But then the succession of emerging new stings wouldn't let up.
Distraught and sleep deprived, at 4am I pulled the spare blankets from the wardrobe and slept on the floor.
I woke up with my neck, shoulders, arms, and face had swollen from bites. I went to reception first thing that morning to ask, on the verge of tears, to change rooms.
To think I had envisioned a good night's rest before a productive day of exploring the city. With only a 2-day stop-over in Santiago, I dragged myself to do a walking tour but struggled to give the city the appreciation it deserves. I was tired and teary. I was fed up defeated.
Perhaps the only positive thing that happened during my time in Chile was catching up with an old room mate from my year abroad in Spain. We had terremotos (white wine with pisco and pineapple ice-cream). The name translates into "earthquake," because that's how the ground feels after you drink one.
Apart from that my time in Chile went from bad, to worse, to "fuck this shit."
Chile, maybe one day we can start all over again?
Love, Noeline
xox
For some people it happens literally, through bouts of diarrhoea that seem to swoop on my tour group at unexpected intervals. For another it came in the form of accidentally leaving their passport behind… with a border crossing the next day.
My downfall began on the drive between Ushuaia (Argentina) and Torres del Paine (Chile). We had what I like to call, a mystery camp. Let me explain.
So you know how the South American content is massive? Sometimes city A and city B are so far apart, the tour bus will drive for as long as it can before stopping at any spot alongside the road that looks good enough for us to spend the night.
One time we camped in the middle of a football field. Oftentimes we've camped behind or alongside gas stations. On this particular occasion, I couldn't even describe to you where we ended up. All I remember is a grassy field with fences behind some wooden buildings, maybe they were fully-functioning, maybe they were abandoned. My mind seems to have blocked out what it could.
What I do remember (and what I'd do anything to forget) is the cold. I've never felt such freeze in my life. Despite having brought one thick, trusty coat with me, the same coat that served me well through a European winter, I was not prepared for this. This was a whole other level.
It was so cold I couldn't look at my iPhone without condensation obscuring the screen. My teeth were chattering. My joints were aching. My thermals and sleeping bag were futile. It was so cold I
And that was the beginning of my 2-week decline.
A dry cough from hell ensued, causing countless more sleepless nights. The hours I lost sleeping, I made up for in guilt - for keeping everyone around me awake with my uncontainable exorcist-level coughs. My nose, when it wasn't clogged with mucous, was a dripping tap. The skin around my nose peeled from the sheer amount of nose-blowing.
On two occasions I forced myself to go hiking (one big, one small) because I couldn't bear the thought of not hiking at one of the world's most famous destinations for it. People come from all over the world to hike Torres del Paine. And there I was being a sick bitch. Resenting myself if I did. Resenting myself if I didn't.
My whole experience of Chile was shattered. I will forever remember the beautiful mountains of Torres del Paine as Torres del Pain in my Ass. I will forever remember idyllic Patagonia as Patago-and-fuck-off. I was that utterly miserable.
After so much first-world suffering, I couldn't wait to get to Santiago, where we booked into… wait for it… not a campsite... not hostel rooms, but hotel rooms. ACTUAL HOTEL ROOMS. WITH ACTUAL FLOORS AND WALLS AND CEILINGS TO PROTECT YOU FROM THE FUCKING COLD.
It was like a gift from the universe for finally starting to feel better.
But then the hotel room had bed bugs. FUCKING BED BUGS. At first I thought it was just a mosquito, so I let it go. I was already in a silk slip. I applied repellent. I sprayed my bed with bug spray. But then the succession of emerging new stings wouldn't let up.
Distraught and sleep deprived, at 4am I pulled the spare blankets from the wardrobe and slept on the floor.
I woke up with my neck, shoulders, arms, and face had swollen from bites. I went to reception first thing that morning to ask, on the verge of tears, to change rooms.
To think I had envisioned a good night's rest before a productive day of exploring the city. With only a 2-day stop-over in Santiago, I dragged myself to do a walking tour but struggled to give the city the appreciation it deserves. I was tired and teary. I was fed up defeated.
Perhaps the only positive thing that happened during my time in Chile was catching up with an old room mate from my year abroad in Spain. We had terremotos (white wine with pisco and pineapple ice-cream). The name translates into "earthquake," because that's how the ground feels after you drink one.
Apart from that my time in Chile went from bad, to worse, to "fuck this shit."
Chile, maybe one day we can start all over again?
Love, Noeline
xox
Ah, it's complicated. I've never been there but I know I should go some day.
ReplyDelete/Avy
http://mymotherfuckedmickjagger.blogspot.com
♥