I was very deeply asleep in a freezing retreat house in Linares, spending my first night in Chile.
This is the post I wrote describing those first couple of days. The title quite accurately describes my memories of that first day off the plane and in another country where not everyone speaks my language. I remember being cold, eating a lot, and not having a clue what almost anybody was saying. I seriously doubted my 8+ years of Spanish. I was generally very confused, exhausted at the end of each day, had to put my trust in a lot of people I barely knew, and yet was impossibly in love with just about everything.
And that was just Linares, guys. That was only two weeks out of the now seven-plus months this journey has entailed. I’ll be more reflective when I hit my one-year arrival in Santiago later this month. But man. A year. A whole YEAR has passed since I got to Chile for the first time.
And now I’m back. What does that even mean?