Between Here and There

Argentina and Chile are close neighbors: in the time it would take for me to travel by car between Sandusky and Cincinnati, I had moved from one country to another. Being such close neighbors I had assumed there would be small differences but not many.  I also had assumed that, generally speaking, they would be friends. I was wrong on both accounts.

If my childhood, elementary school experiences and general politics of the world have been any indicators at all, I would have realized that those living in close proximity are usually the fiercest of enemies. Maybe enemies is a strong word here, but it's safe to say that there exists a certain tension between Argentines and Chileans. As a matter of public opinion, both Chileans and Argentines have choice words regarding the other. Most of the things they say are the same on both ends. Both claim to have invented the asado and perfected it. Both regard themselves as slightly if not indisputably superior. I'm speaking in general terms here, the overarching stereotype of public opinion, and don't mean to proclaim any of these things as facts or even my own opinion. However, it exists, just as unsavory opinions and undercurrents run rampant in the U.S. and every other country of the world. I've met as many Chileans who talk down on Argentines as Chileans who don't give a crap and have tons of Argentine friends

Argentina, however, has a different feel. Like the Portokalos family house in My Big Fat Greek Wedding serving as a painfully obvious physical tribute to Greece, Argentina almost feels like the beacon of Europe within a continent dominated by energies more associated with "typical Latin America". The people have lighter skin, are taller, trendier. The order and energy of the city here remind me more of Italy and Spain. Distance between countries may not be great down here, but the differences in culture, language and customs can be as different as if they were on opposite ends of the world. Chile's neighbors alone are the perfect example: third-world Latin America to the north with Peru and Bolivia; trendy, upscale Argentina to the east; and then Chile itself, a blend of Latin America and Europe with a booming economy and first-world standards of living.

Some Notes about Argentina:

• They chill their red wine. I'm not kidding. Isn't this the biggest no-no of wine connoisseurs everywhere? I had thought so, until I met Argentinians who put ice cubes in their red wine. And then I came to WINE COUNTRY in Argentina and am finding both regular and chilled red wine. My palate is appalled, but being the open-minded gal I am, I shall continue the wine-tasting until I acclimate.

What you can't see in this picture is that 

THE WINE IS CHILLED.

• The Spanish is more musical. Being that this was a haven for Italian immigrants at some point in the past, the Argentinian accent is as melodic and enchanting as Italian. Get a group of Argentinians together and sit back and enjoy. 
• Argentinian Spanish has its own set of frustrating peculiarities. "Si po" is replaced by "Si che"; "Weon" gives way to "voludo". The most confounding part? Argentinians utilize the vosotros verb tense. Anyone from Perkins High School's Spanish Club will recall that we specifically did not learn that part of speech because "it doesn't get used that much anymore".  Sigh. Luckily I know enough Spanish to know what I'm being asked/told/shouted/repeated for the fifth time. 
• Purchasing one, tiny item in a store does not require four different employees and four unnamed, unadvertised steps. Chile is famous for the Check-Out Hassle; most common stores (apart from the big name chain stores) utilize the four-step checkout, which entails the following: one employee to select your item from the wall of available items, another employee to hand you your 'check-out ticket' which you then take to the caja (register) where another employee will handle your money, who then gives you another receipt to take to a final counter where a fourth employee will re-find your items, package them, and hand them to you. The pattern of steps and shuffles this creates across the floor of the store would look like a drunk hectagon. Phew. Learning this was irritating and confusing, to say the least. Argentina's system is less bureaucratic - I can just wak into a store and buy what I want from one employee -  but then again, less checks and balances might be the reason why their economy is suffering at the moment. Who knows. 
• Argentinians are physically unable to consume a meal without bread. Also, there exists a vaguely unhealthy obsession with mayonnaise. 

Plaza de Independencia at dusk.

This has nothing to do with bread or mayonnaise.

Editor's Note: For as long as I can remember, there have been discussions, disputes and full-on linguist wars about which term is more appropriate: Argentine or Argentinian. Do I have any idea which is technically correct? No. Have I used both terms wantonly and interchangeably throughout this post? Yes. For those who would like to opine, feel free to chime in. 

A Step-by-Step Guide to Border Runs

There comes a time during every ex-pat's trip when the "maximum date" allowed on the visa approaches scarily close to the actual date staring back at you on the calendar. If you've already approached the Foreigner's Department and paid $100 for a 90-day extension, have no plans to leave, in fact have already signed a contract for an apartment in an uber-cool part of an even uber-er-cool city, what do you do?

Border Run.

Listen, it sounds shady and illegal and maybe it is in a 100% upstanding-law-abiding-citizen-of-the-world sort of way. But I'm not the only one who relies heavily on this legal loophole. The governments know that extranjeros (foreigners) frequently leave a country for a matter of days or weeks only to return to wherever it was they were staying just to get that extra 90 days. It can be done indefinitely, I suppose, until Immigration starts asking questions. Luckily, it can take years for that to happen. I don't plan to raise any eyebrows down here, so once it gets suspicious I'll apply for a different type of visa. Eventually. 

This isn't my first foray with the Border Run. My first experience was Guatemala-Belize when I had my internship with Cafe Yax-ha back in 2008. My friend Annie and I spent a glorious weekend among Mayan Ruins basking in the sun and the strange English of Belize, eating shrimp tacos and sleeping in hammocks outdoors. The Border Run is oftentimes a forced vacation. The level of enjoyment is determined by your attitude and your bank account. Luckily for me, the former is usually pretty good and the second one, well, I'll make do. 

Step One: Buy a ticket to the nearest foreign destination. In this case, it's Mendoza, Argentina, right in the middle of wine country.  It's only a 6 or 7 (or 8...or 9?) hour bus ride. The only option they had was the overnight bus. Onward to wine country!

Step Two: Pack very little. Unless your Border Run is a multi-week adventure, this is a chance to experience lightweight travel. Which, for me, is a rarity akin to arriving anywhere at the time I said I'd be there, or spotting Bigfoot. I came to Mendoza with a backpack - a regular school backpack, mind you - and my purse. Here are some of the things I left behind: my towel, my yoga mat (EGADS!), all shoes except the ones on my feet, all pants except the ones on my legs, and the variety of clothing that normally accompanies me and fills up the backpack and ipso facto weighs me down. INCREDIBLE. Editor's Note: I did bring underwear. 

Step Three: Go through Customs and Immigrations without any eyebrows being raised or questions asked. If you take the night bus, this will occur precisely at 4am, right during the deepest part of your profoundly-uncomfortable semi-cama bus ride. The night air will feel like Ohio on one of the coldest nights you can remember and you will wait in line for an hour. You will repeatedly thank the heavens that you brought your winter parka and eventually consume the walnuts you had reserved for food for the next day. However, you will successfully smuggle in the apple you really wanted to eat for breakfast because nobody on the Argentinian side actually checked anyone's luggage, leading you to formulate an extensive list of all the things you could have smuggled in but didn't. 

Step Four: Witness the sunrise on your winding Andean bus trip that all the other passengers the next day said was nauseating and terrifying but surprisingly was the best sleep of your life...despite the profoundly-uncomfortable semi-cama seat.

HEY, NICE COLORS MOTHER NATURE.

THOSE ANDES AREN'T TOO BAD EITHER.

(Note: Andes Mountains not pictured here.)

Step Five: Arrive to said destination at 8am, buy your return ticket for either the next day or the day after, and wander the city. Locate pink-water-spurting fountain. Drink a coffee and do some work long-distance.

At 8:30am, this was a treat.

The city was still waking up and I was able to have

a quiet, solo walk around the center.

Step Six: Meander aimlessly, revel in the hot sun and the new sights and the distinct European feel of the streets despite the fact that Argentina is so close to Chile. Eavesdrop on grisly old Argentinian men discussing business. Locate a yoga studio. Converse with hostelmates once you make it over there. 

Step Seven: Remember why you reserved the hostel (money! It's so cheap! How could you NOT?) and remind yourself of this strongly when you find your bed.

Mine is the middle bed of the three-tiered bunk system.

Step Eight: Repeat steps 6 and 7 as necessary until the departure date. Make sure the wine tour falls in there somewhere as well.

I think this is a fairly comprehensive border run guide. I will update as necessary if I discover any missing crucial bits to the Border Run Guide. For now, though, I hope this can aid some of you as you seek to cross borders, renew visas, and otherwise enjoy life on the fringe. 

Introducing: Valparaiso, Chile

Every person I talked to about Valparaiso prior to my trip north told me the same thing: "You...are going...to LOVE IT."

When multiple people echo the same sentiment from a variety of sources (from total strangers to trusted friends), it's hard to ignore it. Furthermore, people that know me down here tended to add, in a lower voice with a meaningful look, "Shannon, you will fall in love. It's the perfect city to live in and be a writer."

Okay, I thought. Fine. Let's do it. Give it a go. I decided to combine my Birthday Easter Island trip with an exploratory mission to Valparaiso, stay there for a week and see what happens. I went prepared to hate it, but also prepared to love it. Really, I was open to whatever. I had a loose plan to move to Valparaiso post-Puerto Varas (god knows I'm not sticking around for the frigid winter down here), so I was hoping I'd fall in love like everyone was certain I would, but I was also prepared to come up with a plan B on the fly if I went and found out it was a miserable, disgusting, awful, dirty city that just didn't have the charm everyone else saw.

So I went. I found Amanda in Santiago after Easter Island, we took a day bus to Valpo, and began our explorations.

The street art in Valparaiso is incredible, completely unique,

astounding, breathtaking, and poignant. Not to mention really freaking cool.

The first thing I noticed about Valpo was twofold: the sea air, and the amount of people. We had arrived to a big city, with buses, people filling the sidewalks, tall buildings, and that unmistakable energy of a port city. 

Valparaiso is dangerous, huh? I guess we'll wear our thug faces to ward off attacks.

Valparaiso is centered around the sea-level pleno, where most of the government buildings, banks, big commerce and the port are found. Then sprawling up and around that center, away from the sea, are the 42 cerros (hills) that give Valpo that sparkling, multi-colored, extremely vertical backdrop. Based on my world travels, I would best describe the city as a Guanajuato, Mexico -style Vertical Venice. Add in a healthy dose of collaborative art that covers almost 90% of the city, a bustling port that lends a certain grit and open-sea worldliness, and you have Valparaiso. 

The street art serves a purpose. It's not just for shock and awe,

it's to prevent the taggers from defacing the buildings.

People hire artists to cover their outer walls in order to

avoid that messy, sporadic tagging common to big cities.

What Valparaiso accomplishes, perhaps without intending to, is a small-town feel within a relatively big city. Valpo isn't the biggest in the country - it's about the 6th biggest city, and Valpo proper has around 300,000 residents - but it's big enough to have veganism options, while still retaining an easy-to-understand city layout. By day four there I felt I had a grasp on where I was going. At the close of week one, I was directing others how to get around. That doesn't include the cerros, necessarily - those, in fact, can be quite confusing and irritating to navigate, especially once you get off the beaten track and decide to "try out the staircase" in a particular area. Chances are you'll end up several streets over from where you intended, and Amanda and I found an actual vertical street on our trek to Pablo Neruda's house one day. I'm not sure how cars kept all four wheels on the ground. Driving in Valpo is not something I'll be trying. Ever. 

Valpo girl? Almost.

As soon as I got to Valparaiso and realized that I would, in fact, love to stay there, live there, and perhaps base a writing career there, I set to work looking at apartments. I ended up finding a majority of the leads from signs posted around the touristy cerros. Valparaiso is a university city as well, so there is a constant flow of transients, both Chilean and foreign, coming to stay for weeks or semesters or years. There is a huge renter culture in Valpo, and it became quickly apparent that me finding a place to live for any amount of time would be no problem. All that remained was finding the right place to live. 

Calle Ecuador - the nightlife hotspot.

With over 20 bars to choose from, this street is

hopping pretty much every night. And the drink specials never end.

Being an American from a relatively small town, I am highly acclimatized to privacy, ample living quarters, and quiet. The Chilean style, however, is quite different. It seems most families will rent out rooms in their house to students or transients, welcoming the flow of new faces and energy without a second thought. I'm not sure if the primary motive is extra income, the feel of a full house, or both, but I definitely have found that most Chileans prefer to live with others, even complete strangers, as opposed to living alone. I quickly shed my original idea of "finding an apartment to myself". Maybe someday, when I can afford to buy out a whole house to myself, but for now, shared living it is. I checked out four places before I found the one that, after 20 seconds, I said, "LA QUIERO" (I want it). 

My new bedroom, complete with two windows, a desk, a bookcase, and a closet.

Not to mention a sweet view of sprawling, sparkling Valparaiso.

I EVEN HAVE A DOOR! A step up from Puerto Varas, for sure.

Being that I'm a 2__ year old lady, I've reached a point in my life where I feel confident in demanding a certain something from my living situation. No longer can I cram myself and my belongings into an unforgivingly small cube of a dorm room (unless it's a hostel, and only for a few nights); no longer will I go for the cheapest option, conditions be damned (unless, again, it's a hostel, and only for a few nights, and I'm broke); and furthermore, I have NEEDS- space to lay my yoga mat, appropriate sun for meditation/contemplation, a desk for my laptop and work environment. My bedroom is my office essentially - for nonprofit work, for writing articles, for writing novels, for translating and copyediting - so having the room to breathe, think and work is crucial. I know this now because I haven't had it since I moved to Chile. And now, I'm demanding it.

Amanda makes herself comfortable on the couch in the shared living room.

Bad Chilean soap operas come included with the cost of rent.

Valparaiso is cool because it's a gritty, artsy port city, but other lifestyles are within easy reach on the same coastline. Just 10 minutes away from Valpo Center sits Vina del Mar, a newer, slightly classier city that caters more to tourism and family life. It features taller, bigger apartment complexes, better beaches, and fancier options...essentially the Small Suburban Brother of Valpo. In fact, that's where American tourists may be pleased (or dismayed) to find both Ruby Tuesday's and Starbucks. (I, for one, was thrilled to visit Starbucks. I never imagined I'd be so excited for drip coffee. When I get back to the States, I'll boycott it again I promise.)

On Renaca beach, just a bit beyond Vina del Mar.

A father and child in the evening sun on Renaca beach. 

Valparaiso used to be Chile's number one port city; it's still one of the most important seaports in Chile, but now the seaport of San Antonio takes the number one spot. The influence of the sea-faring life in Valpo is palpable; open-air seafood markets abound, the smell of fish and sticky salt hangs on the coastline, and amongst the hostels in the city center it's hard not to run into a sailor or two. In fact, on the last night in my first hostel, I recorded English phrases for a Chilean ship captain who was taking a test to obtain certification to sail internationally; one important aspect being able to announce things in English to both passengers and other ships. It was fun getting a look into the life of  sailor, including some of the terminology unique to ship captains. The guy was really friendly and took the time to explain why they say certain things, how the ship is laid out, etc. He's also traveled quite extensively around Chile and we talked (actually, gushed) for a long time about Easter Island. 

View from our walk toward the Pablo Neruda house/museum.

Looking up the ascensor Reina Victoria,

which passes right next to my NEW PATIO!

Another thing Valparaiso is famous for is the abundance of ascensores, the cable cars that lift you from one level of the city to another. It's helpful for avoiding the sometimes-vertical and always-rigorous climbs up the winding streets. I still wonder how the hell anyone managed to build a city on these hills. The houses are so jampacked and sprawling, it's a curious feat to think how many people per square mile are stuffed into the houses on the hillsides. I think this also lends to the small-town feel of the city: you don't have to go far to get from one end to the other, but there sure are a lot of bodies in between!

Wandering around Cerro Alegre, one of the best-known tourist areas.

I am thrilled to consider myself a resident of Valparaiso soon (even if the government of Chile might disagree with the term 'resident'). I plan to move by the end of the week, with all of my belongings in tow, and begin inhabiting my new space in Cerro Alegre. It's not hard to see why Pablo Neruda loved the city so much, nor why he used it so extensively as inspiration for his works and poetry. I plan to be extracting the same creative juices from the air and the sea. Let's hope the Valpo sights, smells and sounds can similarly infuse my words with that special, time-transcending, port-city magic.

---

Check out The Best Travel Backpacks before your next trip! Especially if you're on your way to Chile, or want to swing by Easter Island, I always go with Lonely Planet:

The Ballad of Flank & Shan

Flanky and Shannon were partners

Oh lordy, how they could roam

Swore to be true to each other

Just as true as the moai around.

She was her dog, and they hiked for hours.

-original version of the classic song "Frankie and Johnny"

I was wandering around map-less on Easter Island in the blazing mid-day sun, walking down a long, deserted road thinking that maybe I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere. My destination was Rano Kau, the biggest inactive volcano on the island which, at its summit, features the ceremonial site of Orongo. Being the guilty young traveler that I am, I feel often obligated to use legs as opposed to easier methods of transportation even though I usually want to take the easy option. So I thought yes, let's walk. 10km there then 10 km back. Cake. There was a pedestrian trail that began in some ambiguous spot near the coast, and as I wandered further my mental map grew fuzzier. A mother and her child whizzed by on bikes, took a left turn, and I decided I'd follow them.

Down the road which I later found out to be the wrong turn (note: do not just follow strangers. Their mere existence does not mean they have the same destination as you), I was almost bowled over by a friendly stray dog and his companion. Folks, meet Flank, the friendly stray who was my dog for a day on Easter Island.

Flank leading the way, friend in tow, at the beginning of the pedestrian trail.

"Come on, slow human. There are things to explore!"

I've had plenty of strays accompany me on various journeys. But never to this extent. In a way, I feel like Flank chose me. I didn't give him a name right away- I fully expected Flank to wander away after ten minutes or so. But he stayed true to me. He waited for me as I lingered like a silly bipedal humanoid wielding strange contraptions and pausing for amounts of time in various spots to snap photographs. He made sure I caught up when I struggled down narrow paths. And he sat with me whenever I chose to plop down in a field or along the path to take in the heavy silence of Rapa Nui Nature.

Not a bad view. Here we stopped to look at the scenery

and eat soda crackers. Please note the walking stick I

acquired somewhere along the way.

Flank and I finally reached the first stop of our two-tiered voyage above, the lookout over Rano Kau. This volcano crater, which looks like a giant scummy pond, provides the fresh water for the island. 

I named Flank "Flank" because I was staring at his flank the majority of the time. Also I think it's funny to pretend it's a bad mispronunciation of "Frank". Also, I found out that Flank was a female about halfway into our hike. By that point, we'd shared so much that I couldn't just up and change her name. We kept Flank despite the unladylike moniker. 

The Rapa Nui men used to compete for a coveted religious position

by swimming out to these rocks,

collecting some sort of seafood, then making it back to land alive.

Whoever made it back without being eaten by sharks or other

monsters of the sea then had the honor of spending

a year in a cave by themselves.

Along the trail up to Rano Kao.

That red face is a mixture of sunburn and exertion. 

Flank was so much "my dog" that day that she would come when I called her (I felt silly screaming "Flank" in front of other people but, hey, it's her name) and always reunited with me despite wandering off sometimes to go explore other things. When we finally reached the ceremonial site of Orongo, I was a bit panicky: what should I do? Would she wait for me outside while I went to look at the site? The answer was quickly clear: she was coming with. In fact, she led the way. Right through the visitor's center and all through Orongo. She was very friendly with the other tourists, and quite inquisitive as we see below. 

Flank, no! It says you can't go in there!

I had so much fun with Flank at Orongo. I was way more engrossed by the fact that I was wandering around an inactive volcano with my adopted dog-for-a-day (I mean, come on, who gets to go see ancient stuff with their pets??); so engrossed, in fact, that we breezed through the site and I think I missed all the exciting petroglyphs. Oops.

On our way back from the hike, Flank led me down a different

road than from where we started. I followed her, the dutiful

master that I am, and she brought me to this gem.

I am forever grateful to her.

Flank rests with me in the park. There were also

more moai here, so she gets a couple

tour guide points for this one.

Find the Flank! 

I thought she was being a silly and irresponsible Rapa Nui pup when she wandered off along the super steep coastline (depth not perceived well in the photo above), and when she began to descend closer to the cliff I even called to her to come back, anxious that she would slip and fall to her death. She ignored me, and instead sat on her haunches and watched the sea, unmoving, for almost ten minutes. We both enjoyed the view quietly, the sea breeze whipping our respective locks of fur/dreads. 

After the hike and surprise visit to the place above, I knew firmly and resolutely that she was the coolest dog I've ever met. I told her all about my dog back in my home country far, far away, how they would probably be really good friends; I told Flank that my dog could never be off-leash like she was, and that she was really lucky to have such a cool view like on Rapa Nui. Flank understood me. She also listened while I made up songs about the activities we were performing. 

After our hike, we meandered back into town. She waited for me as I stopped to buy groceries; she sat by my table as I rested with a coffee and to journal, even though the waitress tried to shoo her away and I said, "Please, she's with me." Flank paused as I lingered over souvenirs, waited patiently as I consistently was slower than her due to my two legged deficit. In fact, it was around this time that I knew she had to come back with me, whether or not the cabana owner Carmen liked it.

Just as we were about ten minutes from the cabanas, it started to rain. The precipitation up until that point was pretty sporadic- maybe it would sprinkle for five or so minutes, then it would clear up. Well, not this time. What started as a grey drizzle turned into a full-fledged monsoon. I wanted to take a taxi but knew that no Flanks were allowed in cars. So we walked. Step by step, through mud streams and up hills and along horse paths that had turned into miniature rivers. By the time we got back, every article of clothing was leaking water and I was completely soaked to the bone. But Flank was with me. 

And then, my beautiful Flank instantly plopped on the welcome mat in front of my door, as if she already knew it was my room.

Carmen came over a bit later and found Flank and I lounging outside during the freak rainstorm. She wasn't pleased. "What are you going to do with this dog? She can't stay here." I felt awful, like I was abandoning Flank, but what could I do? Feed her for a couple days, then just disappear from her life, never to return? It was a doomed situation and I knew it. She was Rapa Nui; I was beholden to the continent. I disappeared into my room for a time and when I next emerged, Flank was gone. I think Carmen's dogs scared her off.

This post is dedicated to the wonderful 6 or so hours that Flank and I spent together. I left for Orongo that day alone but returned with a new best friend. 

Rapa Nui Bliss

Tell anyone you're going to Rapa Nui, aka Easter Island, and the response usually begins with an exclamation ("How cool! Bakan! I've never been!") followed immediately by a piece of advice ("Go to this restaurant. Visit this place at this time. Watch out for the moai at night."). The night before my flight from Santiago to Rapa Nui, I was lingering outside my hostel and got to talking with a random passer-by. The conversation of course led to Rapa Nui (all conversations end in Rapa Nui), and when the Advice Portion of the conversation rolled around, this is what he said first:

"Oye, chica, los pascuenses te van a comer." (Hey, girl, the Rapa Nui men are going to eat you.")

Unsettling.

I'm proud to report, post-Rapa Nui, that I was never eaten by the rabid Rapa Nui men, nor was I molested in the night by the moai. I was, however, fully and completely satisfied by my trip in every possible way.

Let's start the Rapa Nui Review with some stats.

Number of empanadas consumed: 2. One was tuna and cheese on the beach for my birthday, the second was shrimp and cheese. Both were mouth-wateringly fresh because, well, fishing is pretty much the only option for fresh food round those parts.

Number of volcanoes climbed and conquered: 2. I climbed Rano Kau via a pedestrian trail, then continued on to a ceremonial village higher up named Orongo (long, hot, sweaty, lovely hike, accompanied by a totally unexpected but perfectly matched stray dog, whose tale I will relate another time); also ascended Rano Raraku on foot, which was a far less impressive feat but still beautiful and useful in my stats nonetheless.

Number of moai visited, spotted, witnessed and otherwise enjoyed: Upwards of 40, easily. It was hard to keep track of them all. Forget naming them, too. I thought that was a good idea in the beginning (wrong).

Time spent lingering, wandering, oogling and otherwise admiring the shit out of the island: innumerable hours.

Shades of tan acquired from sunbathing, hiking or just standing on the corner for too long in mid-day sun: 4

Amount of money spent on the island: [this information is currently not available nor will it ever be analyzed]

Number of caves spelunked: 1, La Caverna de Las Dos Ventanas. This number should have been higher. Next time, Rapa Nui. Next time.

Number of 4-wheeler breakdowns: 2. One of them occurred just as a policeman was signaling me to stop so he could check my driver's license. Little did he know I was in panic mode and desperate for someone to explain what was happening with the gears and why it would no longer shift out of 4th gear. We never got around to checking my license.

Average cost of a meal in any restaurant on the island: About $20, conservatively, not including drinks, appetizers, desserts, or anything.


People told me, prior to my trip, that 6 days was too long there. "Baaah, you can do it all in three days! Four, tops!" As an official Rapa Nui Veteran now, I can say with a firm word and soft heart that 4 days is an injustice, 6 days is a tease, and three weeks is ideal.

However, in fiscally responsible terms, 4 days is sufficient, 6 days is stretching your budget, and three weeks will leave you penniless and scouring the earth for extra income. Although I am still a "budget traveler" even when I splurge, Easter Island hit me way harder than I thought. I sort of knew this in advance - being the most remote island on the planet, one can't expect them to have cheap amenities. Everything, save the seafood and the moai, must be shipped in from Elsewhere. Farming is hard on the island due to rain and crop loss. Deforestation has altered the landscape, wildlife diversity is limited, and there's a history of cannibalism when protein sources dwindled. In other words, shit is expensive there.

My splurging consisted of the following: one meal out per day, usually with an adult beverage or two, a 4-wheeler for 24 hours, my own private room in some cabanas away from the city center, and the entrance ticket to the two main parks. The rest of the expenditures consisted of food for me to eat at the cabana, an occasional taxi and internet use, and the inexplicable disappearance of pesos when one is on Rapa Nui. (Most likely the moai in the night.)

However, let me make one thing clear: every last peso was incredibly well spent. Was I paying double or sometimes triple the price compared to anywhere else in the world? Yes. Was I still shocked and dismayed even coming off the tail en of a stint in Puerto Varas, one of the more expensive cities in Chile? Quite. Was it irrefutably worth it and I'd do it all again in a heartbeat and if I'd had more money I would have stayed for two more weeks? YES. YES. YES.

Sunset on Rapa Nui, my first night there.

Fun and festive cemetery. 

On the north-eastern part of the island,

during my four-wheeler adventures. See the moai

on the hillside?

I was the girl zipping around in the chic

black helmet with dreads flying in the wind.

At Ranu Raraku. The site of the quarry,

where the moai were carved.

Hiking along a twisting dirt path, rocky and impassable

for cars, with the vague idea that a cave was somewhere along

the way after about an hour or so of walking. 

I found it, eventually. But only after a few piercing moments of doubt

where I mistook nearly everything for a sign to the cave entrance.

View from La Caverna de las Dos Ventanas.

Spelunking is funlunking.

In case you wondered,

this is what the face of spelunking actually

looks like in Spelunking magazines. 

A bit of a funky shot from Anakena Beach,

where I spent my birthday reading, writing, sunbathing,

and reveling in that tuna empanada.

One of my favorite shots.

Tongariki, the day of my 4-wheeler excursion.

The day was too gorgeous for words.

Tongariki sits on the sea (like the whole island, technically?)

and features 15 moai.

This shot looks like something from a video game to me.

This is Rano Raraku, the quarry.

The moai are essentially in various points of 

a tumble down the quarry hill. Their transport

was halted for unknown reasons and they were left 

abandoned. I like to call this shot

"Moai Rush Hour".

Tongariki.

Hanging with 15 of my closest buds

(not all pictured here).

A shot from my hike to the cave on my last full day on the island.

The views were stunning, and the hike was hot but pleasant.

I passed maybe 4 people the entire way there then back. 

Quiet, peaceful, beautiful, and humid sea air.

That dirt road is among my favorite places in the world. 

I spent the majority of my time alone during the day, finding company in the moai and my journal. At night, I spent time with my fellow cabana mates; one Spaniard who had moved to the island trying to start a massage/holistic venture, a Chilean couple who came to get married and then spend their Honeymoon there, and a Chilean journalist who was one of the most educated and well-spoken people I've ever met. The owner of the cabanas, Carmen, was pure Rapa Nui and she and I spent a few nights talking about life, culture, the real reason behind the moai, and yoga. All in all, I spent my time expressing myself on paper in English and verbally in Spanish, which is why upon my return to Santiago where I met Amanda, we noticed that my English skills had...slipped, to say the least.

Traveling alone to Rapa Nui was one of the best decisions I've ever made. Plenty of people commented negatively about this decision ("You're traveling alone? How boring. And for your birthday no less? Why would you do that?") but for me, it was a liberation that I didn't know I'd been craving. Everyday I woke up and asked myself, Hey, Shannon. What do you want to do? Feel like going to the beach? Maybe you want to meander slowly to the coffee shop and write for few hours? What about a hike to the summit of this volcano over here? Caves? Maybe caves? What about a FOUR-WHEELER. Well, at any rate, do some yoga, eat that fruit and nuts, take your time because no time schedule exists and you can do anything you want to do however fast or slow you want to, and then I'm sure there will be moai somewhere along the way. Just make sure you get really sweaty throughout the course of the day and take a thousand pictures. And also make sure the Rapa Nui don't eat you today.

I really like to be alone, though I'm not a perpetual introvert. I need a healthy dose of socialization. However, this trip came at just the right time. It was a nice (and needed) break from the rhythm of Puerto Varas. And far more physically taxing than what life has been for me in the south so far. I'm not sure how many miles I hiked/walked during my stay there, but it was far more than anything my body is used to. 

Furthermore, one of the reasons that I think extra time is not only a plus but a necessity for travelers like me (who find that delicate balance between budget and personal satisfaction) is that 'conquering' Rapa Nui is technically feasible in a day, if you rent a car and whiz between sites or, worse yet, come in a group package that ushers you blindly from one thing to the next. That doesn't allow for the quiet wonder and wander, the light sea breezes that caress your bright red boiling cheek in the middle of a hike where the trail end seems to be more of a fantasy than fact. Nor does it allow for the unexpected entrance of stray pets into your life (like I said, story pending), nor the discovery of caves, moai sites off the beaten trail, and more. I think Carmen, the cabanas owner, thought I was a bit of a rogue - some mornings I showed up at her cabana asking roughly how to do one thing or another, she would show me on the map, and then I'd go do it. Planning was at an all-time low on this trip, even by my standards.

This approach saves money, sure, but more than that I feel like I really connected with the island. With so much time spent knee-deep in it's hills and crevices, but yet with so much left to explore, I've got a good start on the journey to really know and appreciate this ridiculously remote gem of an island.

Also, please, can someone, anyone, give me a truly feasible answer for how anyone found the dang island in the first place? 

Guess what? Couldn't hold it in.

Like I said, I'm bad at holding it in. Farts, laughter, secrets about what I'm getting my friends for Christmas/birthdays, and more. I've been hanging with the moai here on Easter Island since Friday and, well, my harddrive space is filling up at an unprecedented rate.

Before I bore you all with this megalithic monotony (just kidding: far from monotonous. Sorry, moai. That was just a joke. Please don't haunt me in the night), I would like to pose a riddle.

How many dark silhouette photos of moai-against-sunlight can you have before it's too many?

Do you know the answer?

....Yeah?......Do ya?

Time's up!

The correct answer is: It was a trick question, YOU CAN NEVER HAVE TOO MANY! My iPhone and laptop harddrive serve as testament to this little-known but deeply true FACT. I present to you all now a sneak peek of Easter Island. Much more words and pictures to come, this I promise you.

Enjoy!

P.S. I think I may have to move to an island soon. Not necessarily Easter Island, because it's relative remoteness makes me uneasy on the inside (seriously, once plane fuel prices go up, they are so screwed). But this sun? These palms? This ocean and sand and view of various cliffs and volcanic remnants? Yeah, I'm ready for that kind of stuff in my life. Plus the humidity isn't bad. I never thought I'd miss humidity, but DAMN YOU OHIO SUMMERS you've crept into the fabric of my being.

Found this on accident my first day here during my walk to town.

This is the ceremonial site of Tahai. 

Literally can see it from my cabana. 

Found this guy today on my way back from a 

dirtbike expedition around the island. I don't know what

site it is yet, but he was very stern and didn't talk much. 

He's probably upset because he's got some ancient paint on his face.

This is me and the moai at the beach Anakena.

I spent my birthday on this beach this past Saturday.

People say I'm traveling alone, but I beg to differ.

These guys behind me were great company.

The Countdown Begins

Let's be fair, the countdown is actually ending, since today is my last day before I leave Puerto Varas for my three-week stint in the north. Tonight at 10:30pm I leave on an overnight bus to Santiago. I'll check into my hostel tomorrow, spend a nice afternoon/evening in the capital, then check in for my flight to Easter Island on Friday at 8am.

Am I thrilled? You bet. Excited? Heinously. A little bit braindead due to the onslaught of experiences, vistas, and newness that awaits me? Absolutely. On top of all this, I am in a strange state of denial about the fact that my time in Puerto Varas has come to a relative end: sure, I'll be back here at the end of March, but the majority of my friends and acquaintances will have fled by then. So these past few days have been rife with goodbyes, celebrations, a-little-bit-too-much drinking, and a helluva lot of FUN.

Yesterday my friends and I celebrated my birthday a bit early with a home-cooked Jambalaya at the Guesthouse, followed by tres leches cake, Sex on the Beach (the drink...come on, guys), Euchre, a brief nap, dinner at a local nice restaurant, a stint at the Casino (I played Blackjack without having any idea what I was doing and was up 6,000 pesos at the end, roughly $12 USD), then a long night of Champagne and Cosmopolitan consumption at the Garage with some close buddies. Truly, a lovely way to celebrate my 2__ th birthday early in Chile.

Now, off to go celebrate my real birthday on Easter Island this weekend.

Expect pictures and stories and details and a general explosion of thoughts, but maybe not until the whole trip is over. There's no telling if I'll fully disconnect on the island; though that's the goal, I may be too inspired by the moai to be able to hold it in (I'm bad at holding it in).

Another notable sunrise in Puerto Varas.

Looks impressionistic - good job, Mother Nature. 

And then also this one.

HOT DANG.

Catch you on the flip side, ya'll. Thanks for reading, and I wish you all the most delightful experience in whatever you are currently doing. NAMASTE!