Double Lives

We live two lives. As travelers we travel. As workers we work and relax—we are settled. Two weeks passed as workers and it was as if our bodies had forgotten their former lives. What is this movement? What happened to sitting at the table until ten and conquering the invasive thistle menace until lunch? Where are the dishes to be done? The bread to break—so much bread was baked? All that, gone. No we move. Only how?

Leaving Daniel's farm left us puzzled. No bus would stop. One passed, another—no that one's in the other direction. Ten more pass going the wrong way. Now it's been an hour on the side of the highway. We sing songs. Soon we wonder if it's possible. Yes? What do you think Caitlin, should we? My thumb twitches. Soon it even flicks up. She gives me a look—Caitlin must have seen—now there is no choice. Defiant against my churning insides my finger flies. “Oye” a man cries, “he's waiting for you!” And so he was. The truck had pulled over, how strange, did he expect us to get on? Marcelo takes us to Temuco—two hours, 0 pesos, good conversation about how chile is dangerous, “We must be careful.” (Marcelo leaves his car running with two hitchhikers when he goes shopping).Now we are savvy city folk again. A minibus here, some urban hiking there—no problem. We arrive at Santa Isabel, the supermarket.

The next two days we spent with Anji and Danny, two old friends of Caitlin's from her time as an exchange student here five years ago. They expected us to be fun, go out and dance. We performed. Left the house at midnight, danced, came home at five. Missed the earthquake (5.8) thanks to the dancing. Slept until one. Luckily we didn't have to do it again. Here they explain the crazy schedule as a vestige of the dictatorship. As it goes, because of the curfew people would go out, and have to stay out until morning. I think it's more an imitation of Europe than anything else. It's their only hold out against becoming American's (They already have free trade, and lots of malls—we even went four times in two days!)

One pair of shoes and two movies later we left. Now, couchsurfing in Puerto Varas is reaffirming again my faith in our species. This is really a tourist town, complete with the best chocolate shop in Chile, and we know the owner. Vicky Johnson is the consummate entrepreneur, and bizarrely trusting of us—I guess that's a good thing.  As with the nature of this entire trip we going to take the next week by the seat of our pants.  We might stay here a week working in Vicky's B&B or we might leave for Chiloe which promises two or more weeks of work which may or may not include doing something with snails.  

All is well.  We are reading a lot of Steinbeck (me Grapes of Wrath, Caitlin East of Eden), and thinking about the nature of life.  

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