House Hunting in Valpo: An Update

Readers, as it turns out, putting up a post about the difficulty of finding a house in Valpo was all it took to seal the deal.

I must have offended the housing market on some level because the housing option #4 I mentioned in my last post turned out to be the One For Us. Not only did the deal seal easily, we didn't have to fight, prod, poke, or otherwise manipulate to get it done. I'll be the first to admit that I was a little surprised. 

I live in this house with my boyfriend Jorge and two others (another couple) -- Martin and Amanda. We are officially residents of Cerro Carcel (Jail Hill...it's not as bad as it sounds, really -- it's only named that because the old city jail was here until the city grew so large they had to relocate it further up into the hills. Now the old jail is a cultural center), on a little winding (and sometimes vertical) street that has an abundance of street art, greenery, and ocean views. 

I am happy. We are happy.

HERE ARE SOME PHOTOS!!

My bedroom. Seafoam green walls, ample sunlight,

and lots of room for writing, yoga and happy pondering. 

The enclosed patio. The house came with mandalas

painted onto the walls. That's a pretty good sign, right?

Jorge, looking out from out front door 

to the Valpo scene beyond. 

Our landlord is beyond cool -- he is considerate, "green", friendly and communicative. Furthermore, not only did the house come with mandalas (something I've been harping on for Art Nights here in Valpo for over a month), but it also came with a butt-baring gnome painted on the bathroom wall and a fully-loaded compost bin on the patio. SAY WHAT???? Oh -- you mean the compost bin I've been lamenting leaving in Ohio for almost a year now? It's here in front of my face? Okay. Fine. 

On another note, the house is unfurnished, which seems like a problem in both financial and backpacker terms, but I'll explain why it isn't. Here's a list for our listicle-oriented eyes:

1. We are 4. There4(fore), we are splitting costs 4 ways. MATH, I KNOW! But when you break down the basics -- some sofas, a fridge, stove, washer, and various household accessories -- and split it between 4 people, the price is quite economical. Plus everything is used and found via the equivalent of craigslist here in Chile. What it adds up to, for my math-deficient readers, is: Quite The Deal.

2. We signed a 6 month lease. This means we'll be renting and living here for 6 months (obviously), but the cost of investing in Objects For The House evens out over time. In renting and investing in Objects For This House, I am still saving money overall compared to what I was paying for a furnished ROOM before.

3. We are transients. This means that while we are renting a house and settling in, it's "for a time". We have not closed the doors to future moves, endeavors, ideas or adventures. The 6 month lease can be extended if we decide, or it ends there. All of the Objects For This House are being selected with this goal in mind -- that they are for our use, for a time, until we decide that we no longer want to be here -- in Valpo, in Chile, in South America, etc. They can be resold, gifted, or left on the side of a street. 

This venture in fact has been part of my overarching goal of the Ex-Patriot Drift: to go forth, to discover, to settle in, and then move on. To continually cultivate that which nourishes me, to find this source in new places, new settings...and then to let it go. I have long suffered from an attachment to Objects, Places, Routines and More. Part of my work here involves cultivating sacred home spaces, pouring love and attention and work into them, and then...leaving them. 

This doesn't mean, however, that my time anywhere has a limit. While my Ex-Patriot Drift includes various countries and cities over time, I do not have a plan. I feel the need to stress this, because what ultimately guides me is what feels right. If I end up staying in Valpo three more months or three more years, then so be it -- if I'm following my heart, the wind, good consciousness or whatever you want to call it, that's all I can ask for in this life. 

In several more months, I will know what the next step will be. But for now, I'm excited to upcycle, recycle, compost, and create new collaborative works within the walls of this delightful house in Cerro Carcel.

And, for those of you reading who feel like buying a plane ticket to Chile, your room is already waiting for you. 

House Hunting in Valpo: A Modern Day Horror Story

When I first came to Valparaiso, renting the temporary house of my dreams seemed like an attainable fantasy. There were room rental signs dangling from every telephone post in a 5 mile radius, spectacular views of the ocean and the surrounding city from almost every point in the city, and the university-centered city is no stranger to transients who rent and disappear. I found my current place within a week, signed the contract, and moved in.

Note: this is not where I live, but it qualifies as one of those

Long Term Ideal Fantasy Houses. Also I frequently go to this

yellow house and drink wine on the terrace. 

I've been living in my current apartment since April, and in this time I've come to realize that the next phase of my Chilean Living Situation is ready to begin. The reasons are varied.

At the risk of sounding whiny and totally hashtag firstworldproblems, let's look at a summary of Why I Want To Move Immediately:

1. This place receives no direct sunlight. Not a big deal, until winter hits and sometimes the frigid outside air is warmer than your bedroom.
2. Things break on a mysterious schedule. Once the shower stops leaking, the calefon is down for a week (re: no hot showers), then the toilet starts running, followed by lights that just...stop working.
3. My landlord makes things up as she goes along. No, really. She does. When I signed my contract, I was told verbally that gas was included, to find out two months later that I had to foot the $100 gas bill myself, only to be told 2 weeks ago that gas IS included. That's just for starters.
4. New rules appear out of nowhere. Most notably, in the form of a framed list that greeted me when I came back from the United States, including rules prohibiting the use of space heaters. The other day I was told we can't have people over after midnight. It continues to get progressively dictatorial.
5. I want a friendly, private space. The setup of this apartment and it's ever-increasing amount of rules creates a non-friendly, walking-on-eggshells environment. The energy of a special home space is important to me, which means not feeling like I'm going to be scolded at every turn for having a friend here at 12:03am or because they caught me using the space heater. Furthermore the landlord enters our house all the time, without knocking, without warning, and this tends to present problems when I'm either in a towel on my way to the shower or using the aforementioned illegal space heater.

All in all, renting rooms in Valparaiso is wildly utilized and the easiest option, but it means that you are first and foremost living in someone else's space. Not just 'borrowing' it while you pay for it, like in the US, but honestly occupying someone else's space with no real sense of inhabiting it. Back home, renting an apartment is like getting the only set of keys to a house and the landlord turns to leave and says, "Well, this is yours for a year, have fun! I'll check back in 12 months" and then they disappear into the sunset and you only talk to them on Rent Day each month.

 In Valpo, my experience has been more like the landlord peeks her head in every couple of days to make sure the sofa still looks good and the desk isn't being used for bread-making, and any infraction on her idea of how the space should be used is corrected via More Framed Rules. It reiterates the underlying theme: THIS IS NOT OUR SPACE. I am paying for my room -- only. That means that my *cough* ridiculously overpriced *cough* rent allows me omniscient governance of my bedroom. Common areas are indeed governed by the Eye of Sauron landlord, however she sees fit, no matter how much my roommates and I agree that we like the table better over there or prefer to use the electric oven as opposed to the gas oven.

Hence the new and urgent search for a house. I began skimming classifieds several weeks ago, pleased at the amount of houses available in the area. This will be a breeze, I thought. Wrong.

My expectations aren't that high, I swear. I'll take the shanty on the right, even.

 Just as long as I have room for my yoga mat. 

Oh, and a patio and a view of the ocean. 

And spacious rooms. ....And lots of sunlight. 

(On second thought, I'll take the yellow house pictured earlier.)

It seems Chile, at least in Valparaiso, has developed a lackadaisical renter's culture. The U.S. is much more straightforward: see listing, visit apartment, sign contract and talk deposit, move in on set date. Here, the process is similar, but imbued with a lot more ambiguity and a ton of un-returned phone calls. I'm not entirely sure the house visits aren't just a discrete psychological evaluation on the part of the landlords. I'll go through each experience we've had and explain each frustrating and confusing demise.

House 1: Two story, master bedroom with balcony, 2 other bedrooms with panoramic sea view, huge kitchen back yard, asado area, beautifully remodeled, safe neighborhood, easy access to everything, and, the kicker, it came with a dog named Lola. AKA: Shannon's Valpo Dream House.
Why it ended poorly: The landlords seemed happy with our situation and income, and we made a plan to meet Monday and sign the contract at noon. SCORE! Monday comes and they ignore our phone calls until 5pm. When we finally get them on the phone, they say they've decided not to rent the house. BUT LOLA IS WAITING FOR US!!!

House 2: Four bedroom, well-lit, brightly painted, no patio, wood floors, even closer than House 1, excellent safe neighborhood, and with a fun view of the downstairs neighbor's bathroom.
Why it ended poorly: The house didn't convince us; we kept it as a back-up option. Watching the downstairs neighbor take a piss seemed like a selling point at first, but we thought twice on that.

House 3: Very high up in the hill but doable, ridiculous amount of sunlight, amazing view of the sea, no patio, enormous living room and office area, 2 bedrooms, huge kitchen, safe neighborhood, huge rooms in general.
Why it ended poorly: The landlord was extremely kind and friendly. We left all our paperwork with him, in an effort to seal the deal and prove to him how responsible and serious we are. He assured us several times, enthusiastically, that we were first in line for the house. SCORE! We planned to meet Thursday and show the house to the other two roommates who couldn't join us on the initial viewing. Thursday rolls around and he can't meet up. Friday rolls around and he's MIA. Finally we coax it out of him via text that he's had a family emergency. We collectively feel bad about pestering him. Then later we find out he's waiting on the response of a foreign family. We collectively feel slighted and bitter. We'd been demoted from first place without being informed, waiting to make other important housing arrangements based on this response. We are still waiting final word on this one.

House 4: Tucked into a little alleyway off of a fun, artistic road about halfway between House 2 and House 3, safe area, two bedrooms with good sun, 2 bedrooms with no windows, big kitchen/living area, indoor patio with sunlight, comes with artwork already painted onto the walls and an abnormally tiny entryway to the bathroom that opens up into a regularly-sized bathroom.
Why it ended poorly: To be determined

House 5: Right next House 4, a smallish but wildly stylish renovated apartment, stone walls, cozy kitchen area, 1 bedroom, and a huge terrace that made my knees go weak, also with a fantastic view of the ocean and ample sunbathing opportunity.
Why it ended poorly: To be determined

Houses 4 and 5 are currently up for grabs. The landlord seems great, and we once again have a plan to send him all our documents and await a decision. We are supposed to know by Wednesday. While we are excited and hopeful, we are all very aware that this could end poorly.

A friend in Valpo once told me, after learning about our search for a house, that it was a nearly impossible feat. I almost didn't believe him, fully confident that the amount of listings I'd found online had to be indicative of an easy rental process. Furthermore, I thought the straightforward and relatively transparent rental procedure was common practice among first(ish) world countries.

But he's right. Houses 4 and 5 may not be the end of the line, or anywhere close to it. The tapestry of confusing landlord behavior continues to grow evermore complex. Who knows when we'll find that house that finally sticks to us. Until then, we are prepared for any amount of frustrating dead-ends, creative wheedling and incomprehensible disappearances on behalf of the landlords involved.

A Valparaisan Debut

Friends, family, lovers and others!

I present you with my very first ever creative reading in any hemisphere on the planet!

That's right. That's my name on there.

Also it's spelled correctly, which doesn't tend to happen in Chile.

In Cerro Concepcion there is a tiny little cafe (Cafe con Gracia) that has become something of my favorite haunt. Not only do they consistently have creative and entertaining guests, they also serve hummus. And a variety of other scrumptious snacks. And wine. Can an ex-pat ask for more??

I was honored to be asked to read for this event tonight. Matias (or "Matto" as it reads on the flier) is a poet who I met several weeks ago after his poetry reading. We've been in communication ever since, and when he asked me if I'd like to share my creative output, I seized up, paced my patio for a half hour, ate all the existing nails on my fingers, mentally re-read everything I've ever written since I was 15, and then finally agreed.

I'll only be sharing one piece tonight, something I wrote for an NPR contest recently. However, I'm beyond thrilled to be sharing energy, space and words with lovely people in something akin to my South American debut. I suppose this is just one more step on my path to Taking Myself Seriously As A Writer.

To celebrate this, I'm going to save room in my belly for some Short-Story-Sharing Reward Hummus. And maybe a glass of Public-Speaking-Contentment/Post-Hummus-Consumption Wine. 

De Vuelta: Chile

Hey readers – I’m back in Chile! This means that:

1. Chilean Immigration Officials let me into the country without issue (this is always stressful, even though I am not smuggling drugs, do not intend to overstay any visas, and am extremely compliant when it comes to international law)
2. I have an ample supply of red beans and Mr. Smith’s coffee to tide me over for a (short amount of) time, and
3. I’m back to ex-patriot living!

Coming back to Chile presented an interesting internal conflict. I was sad to leave home, my family, my friends, the SUMMER, the excessive amount of To-Go coffee available and the ease of acquiring hummus (see previous post about Ex-Pat Livability Standards); but at the same time, I was re-energized and excited to embark upon continued South American Adventures. My time at home was a nourishing and much-needed break for me. I am totally invigorated and bursting with motivation and ideas for not only continuing life down south, but making it unbelievably great.

That being said, Chile was a bit salty about my Winter Avoidance Tactics. So upon my return, it had a few surprises planned for me. Just so that I didn’t forget what I had left in the southern hemisphere. Sure, fly home and go north for “the summer”, Chile muttered. But when you get back, I’ll make sure you remember how it really is down here.

Not actually Valparaiso, but, I mean,

sometimes it feels like this. And maybe I'm living 

naked and half-frozen on that island.

(I should quit complaining -- I'm from Ohio for god's sake)

Things Chile Passive-Aggressively Reminded Me Of Since Returning:

• The freakin’ gas. My roommates and I have had a number of issues with the gas here at our apartment. There once was a week-long period where we bathed using the hot-water contraption (like, for warming up water for tea) and a crock pot. When I left, I thought the latest potential-gas-leak issue had been resolved. Upon my return, I found out that the gas leak issues had multiplied. We only had to go outside to turn on the pilot light for showers before – now, we have to open and close it for cooking as well. And if we forget to close it, the gas smell gets so bad that the neighbors come knocking. This makes me think twice about turning on the stove for re-heating my coffee. The landlord keeps saying someone will come to fix it. BUT WHEN?
• The freakin’ winter. Yep, I’m wearing parkas again. And my hands and feet are frozen all the time. The daytime sunshine is lovely and conducive to wearing only a short sleeve t-shirt. But, lest you all forget, our apartment doesn’t receive direct sunlight. And since my return, I found out my landlord posted a new set of “house rules” that expressly prohibits the use of space heaters, which was my only link to sanity prior to leaving. *cough*………*looks around*...Sorry, but…I’m using my space heater.
• The freakin’ water. Washing dishes and hands and faces with warm water is such a luxury. The country is very resource-conservation-minded, which is awesome. But when you’re already walking around as a relatively solid American Block of Ice, the thought of applying any of that frigid water to extremities is terrifying. Even if it’s just to rinse a glass.
• The freakin' Spanish. That's right, my Chilean Spanish Skills dwindled ever-so-slightly while I was cavorting about in the northern hemisphere. Even a little rust on the ole Wheel of Spanish Comprehension is a dire forecast, especially in this country. But don't worry, my ear is adjusting. Slowly.

All this might just be the whining of an American girl who left summer at its high point and is now back to wearing parkas in August. My return has been nothing short of spectacular – this first week back has been more jampacked with fun, events, activities and new people than my entire time in Chile prior. I made a conscious effort to start getting involved in Valpo, and the returns have been amazing. The amount of art, gatherings, communities and more in this city is incredible. Since I’ve gotten back, I’ve mingled with Chilean poets, seen impromptu live music sessions, seen a super chileno Musical Comedy that made me laugh so hard I cried, been to a yoga class, went to a wallet-making upcycle workshop, attended a Couchsurfing meet-up event where I met a whole slew of lovely people, and have been host to several group meals/asados in my home (the good energy and cooking helps warms the place up, too).

A group lunch featuring America, England, Germany and France.

Also featuring carrot ginger soup, garlic flatbread, 

avocado/tomato salad and Chilean wine.

Me and couchsurfer Karen went to a workshop and made 

some of these (ours are in the mix above).

They're made out of old milk cartons, tape, 

glue, random decorations and love.

And of course, daring cats mixed with street art. 

It feels really good to be back, Chile. Thank you for receiving me with metaphorically-warm-yet-technically-very-cold arms. I am looking forward to spring, and maybe, just maybe, I can take off these winter socks sometime soon.

In the meantime, I’ll keep enjoying all these awesome people and energies. Deal?

Ex-Patriot Living Standards Revised (And, Shannon Admits She's Not A Technical Vegetarian)

Hummus isn’t often used as an indicator for anything except the presence of Mediterranean cuisine or as a radar for locating nearby vegetarians. I maintain that hummus has another conceptual use beyond this, one that satisfies and delights as much as the feel of it slathered across a pita or dripping off your tiny carrot stick.  

Given my pseudo-vegetarian/vegan lifestyle, (the technical ratio is as follows: 90% vegetarian, 80% vegan, a “strike-my-fancy” fish-and-meat-eater, a guilty consumer of beef stroganoff and/or bacon once a year), traveling through and living in as many countries as I have presents its own set of culinary experiments and experiences. We humans love to try to stuff ourselves into neat little boxes, right? “Oh, you must be a vegetarian. You look like one. So you’ve never eaten a hamburger?” Come on. We’re far too complex, contradictory and whimsical for that sort of stuff. And in case you were wondering, reader, here’s my “neat little box”: I am a Tendency Vegetarian. I consume meat when in Mexican restaurants or when experiencing new meat-centric cultures, but when left to my own devices, when following my tendencies, I do not eat animals that much. So, really, not a vegetarian at all. But go ahead and call me one if you feel like you need to.

That said, being back in the United States has been a delightful journey through All The Vegetarian Options. There’s a billion kinds of hummus at Kroger and more meat-alternatives than you can shake a stone ground whole-wheat slice of bread at. Get to a bigger city and the options multiply uncontrollably, like roots on a spud in the windowsill– there’s things I haven’t even heard of, but I’ll try it. I swear to god I will.

Which is why I propose a new international standard, one that can be used by vegetarians, vegans, and pseudo-whatevers across the board to analyze their new international abode. One that is far more effective at analyzing general socio-economic levels, a standard that far exceeds things like “GDP”, “low crime levels” or “varied cultural opportunities” as attractive elements for a vagabond.

Hummus must be used as an indicator of ex-patriot livability.

Dat's some sexy hummus.

As in, is it available? How many flavors are there? What packaging does it come in? Does it taste like hummus? Has it been home made? Is it available in more than one store?  Are other people eating it? Do other people know what it is? Is anyone around you aware of where it came from? Do the people in your immediate vicinity know that a chickpea is the same thing as a garbanzo bean? Will you tell them if they don’t? Will anyone else try the hummus? Here, do you want to try it?

My recent trip back to the United States has shown me that the accessibility of hummus in my day-to-day life has, indeed, heightened my overall quality of life. (Some scientists believe that readily available hummus – a variety of brands, flavors and more – actually increases life contentment by a whopping 33%***.)

It facilitates my snacking, it ensures I avoid other less savory snacks, it nourishes me, it pleases me, it understands me. So why isn’t it more available across the globe?

On a scale from one to hummus, America scores Full Throttle. Sure, there are probably super rural areas where hummus is treated like a foreign disease instead of the savory gift from heaven that it is, but I wouldn’t live in those places and therefore don’t include them. Even in my small city (30,000 people-ish) the options range from original to smoked to pine nut to burn-my-buds-off-spicy. Good god!

On a scale from one to hummus, Chile scores a Meager Climber. I found one hummus option in the small city of Puerto Varas, almost to Patagonia in southern Chile, and that was only because an ex-pat and his Chilean wife had set up the first-ever vegan store in the region. They made their own and froze it. It was good, but not mind-blowing. But yet, it was hummus.

In Valparaiso, I live around the corner from a Middle-eastern restaurant that offers hummus as a topping option. Score! However, the big box stores don’t have hummus, and most other hummus availability occurs on the streets or from the alternative places. Therefore, it is an underground condiment, and constitutes an important part in the thriving counter-culture. Hummus is not only there, but helps me feel like I’m part of the change.

I imagine future ex-pats having the following conversation:

Ex-Pat Patrick: Hey, man, so what’s up with [insert country]? Do you like it?

Ex-Pat Patricia: Yeah, it’s great! I’ve been having a blast, there’s so many beaches and the buses cost like four cents. Also, plenty of toilet paper in public restrooms.

Ex-Pat Patrick: That sounds great, but, I guess what I really need to know is….what’s the hummus level?

Ex-Pat Patty: [heavy pause] There’s a low hummus score. I haven’t even seen it in the capital.

LOOKS LIKE IT’S TIME FOR EX-PAT PATRICK TO RECONSIDER HIS TRAVEL PLANS TO [insert country here]!!!!

Chile is a livable country by my new standard. Ex-pats, please use this information to your advantage, and propagate the use of hummus as an indicator of ex-patriot livability. Your vegetarian ex-pat country mates will thank you.

(Please have a list of hummus pick-up locations ready for them upon their arrival.)

***this figure is entirely fabricated for purposes of this article. 

Helped and Hindered

Life in South America has proven to be just like life anywhere else, except that it's in South America instead of North America. And everyone speaks Spanish. And there aren't that many blondes wandering around. And it's hard for me to find a size 9.5 shoe. And the culinary culture isn't that refined. And people aren't really that into spices. And everyone kisses each other on the cheek when they meet, even when they're strangers.

Okay, so life in South America is a bit different than life in North America. (Oh yeah -- tons more stray dogs!) But since I've been able to re-acclimate to life north of the equator, I've noticed a few ways that my life overall has been helped -- and similarly hindered -- by my jaunts down south.

Let's investigate some!

1. My brain learns, but in order to do so, it must forget. And this involves forgetting English. My handle on idioms, cliches and other parts of speech is at an all-time low. This doesn't bode well, as I am beginning a venture to brand myself as a language consultant *cough cough*. Hey -- who knew they were called speedbumps? Roadbumps is just as effective at getting the point across. And my future language consultancy clients will understand this. (syn: road acne)

2. I now have measuring cups for eyeballs. That's right, I see in 3-D AND in 1-tsp increments! Due to the absolute dearth of measuring tools in the kitchen (is it just because of where I've lived and who I've lived with? Or is this an invention that really never made it past the Andes?), I've been forced to eyeball, size up and otherwise scrutinize every recipe I've ever loved including in my eating lifestyle. Thanksgiving 2012 was a prime example, and my forays into Vaguely Healthy Cookie Creation were met with varying results until I finally pinned down the non-specifically-measured ratio a couple months ago.

Well, close enough. 

3. I am a tad more resourceful. Now, I don't want you all thinking that I'd be able to fend for myself in the wild, because I certainly can't, nor can I start a fire, always operate doors or change the gas tank for that damnable space heater in my Chilean living room. However, I CAN think around certain situations where common household items are lacking. For instance, are you making mashed potatoes? Were you scouring your new kitchen for a potato masher, only to find out that not only do you not have a potato masher, you also don't have anything resembling a bowl in which you'd like to mash? No problem! Find one of those drinking glasses with the uneven bottoms and get to work! Serve AND eat the mashed potatoes out of the same pot you cooked it all in, and to top it off, don't use napkins (because nobody buys them) and just use the dish towel. Hey, you might be asking, that's a pretty good idea with the dish towel. Where did that come from? The Argentinians!

4. I speak great Spanish now. Finally. Also, I can understand almost any Spanish you try to throw my way. Thanks, Chileans.

5. I speak hodgepodge Spanish. As in, Mexican-Chilean-Argentinian Spanish. My accent shifts between all three, freely utilizing vocabulary and expressions from three distinct cultures. Someday, this will get me into trouble.

6. I am losing my grasp on normalcy. Some might argue this has been a long time coming, but I assure you, taking the leap has hastened this demise. I suppose 'normalcy' is a term that can be argued until the alpacas come home (what?), but living life this off the grid has certainly shifted (re: completely destroyed) my paradigm. In losing my grasp on normalcy, I am finding more expansive happiness, plentiful creativity and penetrating gratefulness. More things seem possible, life feels limitless, and joy lurks around every corner. This doesn't mean life is some effortless, non-squeaking joint that operates perfectly at every moment. But rather, I've come to appreciate and laud the aches and groans and squeaks and eventual functioning of these joints, because these limbs are carrying me to places -- both physical and emotional -- I've always dreamed of.

7. Questionable metaphors, like the one found in item 6, tend to be more predominant. I don't know why, or how to fix it.

8. I will probably only ever wear black leggings for the rest of my life. No, seriously -- bury me in leggings and a slouchy shirt, because that's all I ever want to wear.

A beach in Huron, OH, complete with sunset, lake,

slouchy shirt and leggings. 

It's up to you, reader, to decide if these items have helped or hindered!

Bus Culture in America (Or a Lack Thereof)

I've lived in the United States my whole life, pretty much (a majority of the 2__ years of my existence, at least), and only this past Monday did I finally get on a bus as a means to travel between two distant cities.

By contrast, I've lived in three Latin American countries and traveled to a whole crapload of other countries, and the general rule in all of them is: get on the bus. Always.

How did this happen? How can this form of transportation be so familiar and snuggly and NORMAL to me in every country except my native land?

Before I go further, let me clarify: I'm not talking about inner-city bussing. I'm talking about multiple-hour, great-mountains-majesty-spanning BUS TRIPS. Ones where you need a meal at some point and part, if not all of, your body goes numb. If you would have asked me to get on a bus to travel anywhere in the US a year ago, I would have balked, looked at you funny, made a comment about Greyhound and asked why I couldn't just drive myself or fly? Yet since 2006 my preferred method of travel through Latin America has been the $1.30 ride on the chicken bus, where neither life nor luggage is strictly guaranteed.

That's a pretty weird double standard, don't you think?

Well, it finally came to an end. I recently visited Chicago for the second time since my American Whirlwind Tour of 2013 began, and I found myself without a ride back to Ohio. As in, I wasn't going to fork over the money to fly, and my own car was nestled comfortably 300 miles away. What does a vagabond do? GET ON THE BUS.

All Latin American Travel Preferences aside, Greyhound has a seedy reputation. Maybe it's changed since I last heard anyone comment honestly on it, but from what I remember, there tends to be shifty types lurking in bus terminals, questionable drug use and a whole lot of on-board harassment (unless that's the free entertainment in the ticket price?). And you could probably get chlamydia, or at LEAST Hep C, from the seat covers.

Enter Megabus, America's first ever low-cost express bus service and the natural choice over Greyhound. I can hear the Backpacker Angels singing from their hammocks in the hostel! The first time I heard about Megabus, I had a chilling flashback to Ryan Air, Europe's notorious discount airline that inspired this article for Vagabondish. But no, I was assured that Megabus not only was cheap AND respectable, it picked you up inside the city and dropped you off at the actual destination. None of that one-hour-away-from-where-you-thought-you-were-landing hullabaloo Ryan Air is famous for! Plus, wifi on board, and power outlets in every seat. What?! Megabus, am I dreaming? Or were you specially engineered to appeal to my budget backpacker, working holiday senses?

Your bold colors and low prices

inspire me to choose YOU, Megabus!

But there's always a catch, right? The first sign was when the bus wasn't there at the scheduled departure time of 4:15pm. A nearby lady muttered, once I had admitted it was my first foray with the company, "The thing about Megabus is, half the time, they're never on time."

The bus showed up around 4:40pm. We pulled away from the bus stop at 5:03pm.

Once I was comfortably nestled in my chair on the 2nd floor of the bus, excited about plugging something, ANYthing into the power outlet and hooking up to that wifi floating around our mobile oasis, I became aware of a nagging sensation in the back of my mind. As I looked around, took stock of my seat mates, listened to the overly detailed explanation about our intended route, I realized that we Americans are definitively and indisputably not a bus culture.

As I mentioned earlier, I have extensive experience with pretty much all forms of transportation apart from hot air balloons and drag cars. And my years of bus travel throughout Latin America have conditioned me to expect certain things from The General Long Distance Bus Experience, which MegaBus failed to provide. Here's why:

**Loading the luggage and passengers was lengthy and inefficient. What is an ongoing and flawless system for large, luxury bus companies between Mexico and Chile, took twice the time for Megabus. On the side of a street in downtown Chicago. In the searing sun. I've seen Chilean double-deckers arrive 8 minutes prior to departure time and load the whole damn thing, passengers and all, with 30 seconds to spare. BAM.

**There's no way to identify your luggage, apart from what might be the very same bus driver pulling pieces from the dark luggage doorway at night, holding it up with eager eyes for all to assess, and then putting it back inside if nobody claims it. Other companies give you luggage tags, which you present to the unloader so that you can at least have some way to really identify if that bag you're lugging home is actually yours -- or its lookalike.

**Being over 40 minutes late and then arriving over an hour and a half late to the destination doesn't bode well, especially in our time-conscious culture. Time is money, or so they say, and I don't think Megabus can get away with this for very long before people start to really complain and choose another service, at least when time is of the essence. Long-distance luxury buses in Latin America arrive and leave exactly on time, 99% of the time. I'm not actually sure how it works, but I suspect there are cleverly placed wormholes throughout the continent that allow for bus drivers to make up for lost time. I've never once taken a bus between cities in Chile that didn't arrive early. Come on, guys. It's possible to arrive AND leave on time.

Ummm, hello? Megabus? Can you come pick us up?

I guess when it comes to discount service providers like Megabus, Ryan Air and so many others, they find their shtick and stick to it. RyanAir's tagline is that they're the on-time airline; which is true, once you overlook things like their airports being in different postal codes and everything except the ticket costing 100 euro. And it seems like Megabus is no different: they promise a quasi-luxurious on-board experience, with wifi and power outlets; which is true, but you definitely won't be arriving on time, wherever it is you're going.

All that being said, will I take Megabus again?

Hell yeah I will.  And you bet your ass that when I go back to Europe, I'm first in line at the check-in kiosk for RyanAir, .01 kg under the weight limit for my backpack and with five layers of clothes on.

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