By nine pm, sitting in the YUL terminal, I wasn’t feeling so hot. I’d been pretty sure I’d have a mix of excitement and remorse at this point, but right that minute tenia miedo more than anything else.
Since I basically fell in love with Santiago last year, I’ve been eager to return. A week before, after letting the idea germinate for months, I simply went online, bought a ticket and that was it: I’d be in Santiago for a whole month.
Not exactly an impulse buy, but damn close for an adventure of this scope. I found myself sitting alone in the terminal, having said my goodbyes to pretty much everyone I know—including my sweet partner in crime, L, who introduced me to Chile—and wondering if it was such a good idea after all…
By 1am it was done… had connected in TO and was back in the air: we left Toronto behind and the flying cruise ship was on its way to Santiago. After my bout with anxiety I returned to a more rational disposition: my spanish (if not my Chilean) was at a functional (if not pretty) level and one month isn’t that long, after all. It’s going to be be a crash course in a few subjects, mostly real life Chileno-speak and a test of my uprooting capacity.
The next day, L’s brother—who’s recently relocated to Chile—was to meet my at the airport and I’d complete my role of mule for L’s family by delivering a load of goodies (mainly chocolate, much appreciated nutella and clothing) and was hoping to find some connectivity and a place to freshen up at her aunt/grandmother’s place. It was reassuring to know I had a backup.