Beginning the Adventure

I am not a man of any religious conviction. It has been many years since I prayed to any kind of a god and I am not sure if I will ever return to any belief system that is dogmatic and rule driven. I realize that I do not know if God exists, and that is all I need to know. However, when times become hard and I am at a loss to understand why I have found myself a part of such times, I do turn to something that I know will be constant and that has ways of offering its own advice.

Last winter, having graduated college and finished my student teaching, I found myself wondering what my next step should be. I knew I had a desire to teach abroad. I knew I wanted to perfect my Spanish. And I knew that I felt like I was holding on to a great amount of potential that would slip out of my hands if I could not use it soon. This prompted a time of unrest and anxiousness, and in an effort for answers I went to Eldorado Canyon to get my head together. I spent the day soloing routes on the west ridge and upon finishing up the day I sat next to the frozen river that splits the canyon, and thought to myself, “What next?” In that moment of thought, I glanced over at the ice and saw the form of South America. I knew that Eldo was right, and started making my plans to leave that night.

Whether my faith in the voices of the mountains is some hippy nonsense, or tree hugging, pagan stupidity is irrelevant. I believe in the mountains because I have had direct, poignant experiences with them. Ask any believer in God why they have faith, and they too will tell you of their direct experiences with Him. I am simply living my experiences, and believe that the mountains wish to usher me into those experiences with good tidings. It is with this in my mind, that I found myself making perhaps the biggest decision I would make while in South America. Funny, because I have only been here two weeks.

Chile was an amazing way to arrive into this new continent. My friends in Santiago have a knack for making a foreigner feel welcome in their country. I had hardly arrived when I was met by my friend Yael, who I had originally met in Spain and who visited me in Colorado about two years ago. She welcomed me with open arms, a kiss on the cheek, and a readiness to give me a tour of Santiago. We stepped out of the hostel into the congestion and pollution of downtown. Almost as soon as I had decided that I would hate to live in such a gigantic, fast paced city, we turned a corner, and I found myself in a quaint, quiet part of town, that was almost European in its architecture. I found myself reassured that even big cities have their finer parts.

The day was spent at museums, La Moneda, a small restaurant with amazing food, and walking tours of various parts of the city. The highlight was watching a group of men playing chess in a plaza. I decided that if I ever lived in Santiago, I would like to join those men for a few games, though I knew I could not match their intensity and speed. The day turned to evening quicker than I expected, but the welcome was not complete. We ate dinner at Yael’s house with her family. It was a delicious meal with conversation and laughter and Shabbat prayers. I felt very much at home with her family despite being in a foreign country and at a table with religious customs very different than any others I had experienced. My fatigue grew as the hours went by. I struggled to recall all the Spanish I knew, but I did not feel ignorant, or uncomfortable. I simply existed there at Yael’s house, happy to be beginning this new adventure.

We had one more stop before the night was over. Another Chilean friend I had met in Spain had recently gotten married and there was a celebration at her apartment in honor of the signing of the legal documents. Although tired, I was happy to go and see Magda and meet her new husband. There were a lot of people at the party, and I found myself stumbling through the Spanish language to be able to keep up the conversations. There was no amount of piscola (a very strong local drink) that could bring my language skills to fluency, so I did as best I could. When we left, I struggled not to fall asleep as Yael drove me back to the hostel. It had been an incredible day, the best welcome I could ask for, but my whole body begged for a bed and I was eager to comply with its wishes. I said goodbye to Yael, and slept a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next week was filled with random events, which at this point in my journey are hard to recall. The rest of the group staying at the hostel were all hired through Teaching Chile to work around the country. I got to know a few people and enjoyed their company over the course of the week. Jon Mark, another teacher from Tennessee, and I both shared a similar passion for travel and the mountains. We joined forces one day to try and walk to the base of the behemoths that stood just outside of the city. After walking about two hours, we realized we were probably still 15 miles away, and we decided to turn back, but the trip led us through some very cool neighborhoods outside of the center of the city.

There were many nights that week where I found myself hanging out with the other teachers in the hostel, making jokes and drinking a bit too much red wine. When I wasn’t with the other teachers, I was being led around to restaurants, Jazz bars, and Pablo Neruda’s house (amazing) by my local friends. Despite the tours from Chileans and good times spent with the other teachers, I was getting anxious to part ways in order to live out my own individual adventures. I was set to leave for La Serena, the city I was contracted to teach in, at the end of the week and tried to wait patiently for my turn to leave the group.

The day before I left, Yael, and two other Chilean girls (both I had also met in Spain) Yipsy, and Maca, took me to the mountains. We took to the highway and made our way past small pueblos in order to arrive at Cajón del Maipo, a beautiful area nestled in the Andes outside of Santiago. Although there was too much snow to do any hiking, being in the mountains with friends refreshed my spirit and breathed life into me. It seemed like all of us were in need of the reprieve, and we took it in as fully as we could before heading back to the city. I was gracious for the opportunity to be in the mountains, and before saying goodbye, thanked my friends and made promises to see them again soon, even though I would be a 6 hour bus ride away. Little did I realize, the next few days would take me a lot further away than I had thought.

Upon arriving in La Serena, I was disappointed. Although the man I was staying with, Ricardo, was exceptionally kind and welcoming, the city itself in no way met my expectations for a place to spend my stay in South America. I was promised beautiful beaches, mountains, and a very “special” city. I found myself instead in a suburban neighborhood with cookie cutter homes. The biggest highlights of my tour were the Híper Lider (Chile’s equivalent of a Super WalMart), the mall, and street after street of chain restaurants and stores. I had been looking for an experience that would be very culturally different, but was shocked to see that I had landed in a place that reflected the things I loathed most in American culture. I was also told at the same time that I was not going to be hired as a teacher, but as a teaching assistant, despite my qualifications to teach on my own. Everything about La Serena seemed wrong and I thought that maybe I could find hope in the local climbing area, but when I got there, it was covered in graffiti, trash, and was being used my several homeless people as a favorite place for defecation. This was not what I had been promised and could not see myself living in La Serena for more than a few days.

I called the Director of Teaching Chile, told him of my disappointment, and he gave me an encouraging response, telling me I should “follow my heart”. His promise of a full reimbursement made me believe that I could manage to escape with the funds I would have, and his support made me believe that I could leave in good standing with the program. I would later find out that he was lying and would turn vindictive and spiteful, but at the time I was confident that I could leave La Serena without any hard feelings and with enough funds to get me safely to my next destination.

I bought a bus ticket to Peru. I had made a few contacts in the city of Huaraz a couple weeks before leaving for Chile. There was one job in particular that seemed perfect but that didn’t come to fruition in time. I thought that I could give it another chance, and so booked a ticket to Arica, the closest Chilean town to the Peruvian border. I had no idea what I was getting into, but knew that I could not stay in La Serena. It didn’t feel right. It wasn’t where Eldo had called me to be.

The voyage from La Serena to Huaraz lasted 60 hours. Most of the time I was crammed in overnight busses where I could not manage to sleep. Occasionally I would have to change busses or go to different bus terminals. Crossing the border into Peru, I found myself sharing a ride with 5 others Peruvians, all of us crammed into an ancient, beat-up Oldsmobile. I couldn’t help remembering what Ricardo, my would’ve been roommate in La Serena, said about crossing the border: “You’ll know you’ve made it to Peru because all of your stuff will be gone.” The shared car ride tested my nerves, but I quickly befriended another passenger, Yolanda, and realized that Ricardo didn’t know what he was talking about. Both the driver of the car and Yolanda, genuinely wanted to help me out. After getting dropped off in Tacna, Peru, Yolanda showed me how to get to the right bus terminal to get to Lima, and bid me farewell without any false expectations of payment or reward.

The bus rides through Chile and southern Peru spanned huge expanses of some of the most barren landscapes I have ever seen. The bus was dwarfed by mountains of sand and rock that held no green spaces and made the soul colder and quieter in contemplation of why such harsh lands exist. I have never felt so scared and alone purely by looking at a landscape as I did while crossing those deserts.

My final, 8 hour ride landed me in Huaraz. Three days had passed since leaving La Serena. My neck was stiff, my stomach ached from starchy bus food, and all I wanted was a place to lay down horizontally to rest. I arrived at 6 in the morning, grabbed a taxi to my friend’s parents’ hostel, and was once again welcomed with open arms despite the bags under my eyes and complete inability to speak Spanish from such a strong fatigue. I was told that my room was on the fourth floor. I made my way up the stairs and before collapsing on the bed I looked out of the window to see that Huaraz was going to provide me with another protector. I barely got a chance to introduce myself before falling fast asleep.

Huascarán was there as I awoke. He made me feel comfortable and convinced me that Huaraz was the place I needed to be. From my fourth floor window, he stood out perfectly visible in the clear day sky, the second tallest mountain in South America, a picture of beauty that can only be inhaled through ready lungs and seen with willing eyes. He would be who I called after for help in these unknown times. He would provide comfort and advice. He was there to watch over me.

I am convinced that Huaraz is where I need to be at the moment. Though I have no job, very little funds, and am also coping with all the elements of culture shock, I feel comfortable here. My friend’s family who is watching over me has been a lesson in generosity and kindness and the people I see on the street reflect a potential for me to learn and grow that I could not imagine finding anywhere else on this continent at the moment. I feel happy, and I know that if that feeling wavers I will only have to look out my window to know that I am being taken care of.