It’s a weird time to write about travel. And not just because we’re all stuck at home, unsure of when the world will open up again. But also because the collective mood in the U.S. is in the dumps. We’re sad, we’re tired, we’re overwhelmed, and we’re angry. We’ve lost jobs and we’ve canceled plans; our health has been politicized; our racial wounds have been ripped open yet again; our whole way of life is in tatters. Writing just hasn’t come naturally lately, as you might imagine, and my preferred topic seems trivial at best and insensitive at worst.
But this is my last post about Latin America, and it’s been in the works since the day we arrived in Mexico. It’s also one of my favorites. It celebrates some of the most fun, strange, and thought-provoking moments from the five countries we visited. And as odd as it feels to write about experiences that none of us can have right now, it would feel even worse to forget they ever happened.
This post also highlights one of the greatest things about travel: meeting locals. Sure dramatic scenery and exotic meals are nice, but have you ever shared a laugh with a stranger over an awkward language barrier? Or realized you had something in common with someone whose life is completely different from yours? Or had your preconceptions shattered by a brief conversation? I have, and it’s fantastic.
I miss people. I miss spontaneity. I miss levity. And writing this post—reliving these experiences—gave me some of that joy again. I hope it gives you a little, too.
Very friendly local, Atacama Desert, Chile
Mexico
Yours truly, Mexico City, Mexico
1. A couple of hours after Sean and I arrived in Oaxaca for the start of our Latin American adventure, a magnitude 6 earthquake struck a nearby town. Neither of us had ever experienced an earthquake before, and we thought for sure the sirens meant we were under attack.
2. We didn’t hear much English in Oaxaca or San Cristobal, but our first Uber driver in Mexico City, Juan, spoke it flawlessly. “I lived in Georgia for 22 years,” Juan told us proudly. “Oh wow,” I said. “Why did you move back to Mexico?” “I got deported.” For the rest of the ride, Juan filled us in on his backstory: He crossed the border when he was 19, learned English by watching the news (not movies—they teach you bad words), installed solar panels all around the U.S., and left a two-year-old son behind when he got sent back to Mexico. “I got so excited when I saw you,” Juan said. “I love driving white people around because I get to practice my English. I want to go back to the U.S. someday, so I don’t want to forget it.”
Colombia
Tayrona National Park, Colombia
3. On the bus from Tayrona National Park to Santa Marta, an activist was preaching about something I couldn’t quite follow. (We found out later that he was using some pretty inflammatory language to denounce people who visit the park.) After about 20 minutes, the locals started getting agitated. “Respeto para todos!” (“Respect for everyone!”) one woman kept yelling. “Bájate!” (“Get off!”) demanded another. Eventually, the arguing got so intense that the driver kicked the guy out on the side of the highway.
4. About 10 minutes after our Airbnb host picked us up from the airport in Medellín, we were stopped by police at a random checkpoint. While one officer quizzed our host outside, another stuck his head in the back door and started interrogating Sean and me! My Spanish isn’t bad, but somehow the language of law enforcement never came up in any of my classes, so I bumbled through like a brain-dead idiot. (In fairness to myself, I probably wouldn’t handle a police interrogation in English very well, either.) The officer kept asking if we paid our host for the ride, and since Uber was illegal in Colombia at the time, I suspect that’s why he stopped us.
Local resident, Guatapé, Colombia
5. Throughout Colombia, we were constantly confronted with reminders of the horrible humanitarian crisis in Venezuela. From the man selling stacks of worthless currency on the bus in Guatapé, to the guys weaving bags and wallets with it in Bogotá, it’s so depressing to see how far the country has fallen. Once upon a time, Venezuela had the highest GDP in Latin America and was a haven for immigrants (most notably Colombians fleeing the decades-long violence in their country). But now the tables have turned: The Venezuelan economy has all but collapsed, crime is rampant, and desperate locals are escaping to Colombia in droves.
6. We were tailed by a couple of Canadians in Colombia. We first spotted them next to us on the beach in Tayrona. A week later, they showed up at breakfast at our hotel in Medellín (what!?). A few days after that, we wound up at the same tejo bar in Salento (no way!). That’s where we finally broke the ice: Max and Stéphanie from Montréal, meet the American travel companions you never knew you wanted. The next day, we ended up at the same coffee plantation (I know!) where we chatted about our shared love of New England and discovered that our routes were about to diverge. BUT not before one last serendipitous rendezvous at the bus station on our way out of town (no kidding!).
Chile
Antiplanic lagoon, Atacama Desert, Chile
7. If I asked you to name the world’s friendliest people, who would you think of? The Irish? (Absolutely! We adore them.) The Japanese? (Oh man, hospitable like you wouldn’t believe.) The Canadians? (Indeed, very lovely stalkers.) I now submit, for your consideration, South America’s sweetest people: Chileans. They rival Romanians for helpfulness; I lost track of the number of times they rushed to our aid completely unprompted. To wit:
While waiting for the sun to set atop San Cristóbal Hill in Santiago, we hoped to get our hands on a mote con huesillo (a syrupy drink made of dried peaches and barley). Unfortunately, the snack stand that was advertising them had just run out, so we figured we’d have to do without. But as we were walking away, a local woman (who was also in the market for a beverage) chased us down and mimed that we could get one at the stand next door. Even though she spoke no English, she still went out of her way to tell us the price and order for us, and she insisted that we take the first glass.
Mote con huesillo, courtesy of a kind stranger
Pisco is the pride of Chile and Peru, and it’d be unnatural to visit either country without indulging in a cocktail or three. We wound up enjoying our libations at the coolest bar in Santiago, with the friendliest bartender in the city. He whipped up frilly drinks with skills straight out of Cocktail and surprised us with samples of small-batch hooch while we chatted about life. (He’s actually a displaced Venezuelan and, in more capitalistic times, a bar owner. I can only assume he chose Chile because that’s where all the best people are.) At the end of the night, we walked home with pleasant pisco buzzes, a new Instagram buddy, and an offer to assist with anything we needed during our stay.
We must’ve looked confused as we made our way to our little mountain retreat in Cajón del Maipo, because as soon as we got off the train a man hurried over to us to ask where we were going and to point us in the direction of cabs and buses.
We were definitely confused as we waited for the bus back to Santiago from Maipo, but luckily another local man was there to help. He asked us where we were going (in Spanish, natch) and advised us whether or not we could take each bus that arrived. When we finally did manage to board a bus, it was completely packed, and my stuff was stacked from my knees to the top of my head. But no matter: The gal across the aisle moved her young daughter into her lap and offered to let me store my bags in the seat next to her.
Argentina
Uquía, Argentina
8. We hit the language barrier hard at a grocery store in Jujuy, and things got awkward. The cashier asked if we wanted to pay in cuotas, and then he had to explain what cuotas are. In Spanish. To a couple of dumb Americans. (They’re basically installments, I think?) We eventually Spanglished our way through it, and as we were leaving, he said in clear English “Sorry, people like you don’t come here. I am out of practice.”
9. It’s illegal to drive with any alcohol in your system in Argentina. And since we accidentally planned our road trip during the bacchanalia of Carnival, we found out just how seriously the country takes its liquor laws. Sean got breathalyzed twice in one day at random police checkpoints: once at 9:30am on our way out of Purmamarca, and once at 5pm on our way into Cafayate. That shattered Sean’s previous record of zero breathalyzer tests in one day. He couldn’t be prouder.
10. On our way to the airport in Salta, we pulled into a carwash for what we thought would be a quick hose-down—until we realized we’d locked our keys in the car. The two attendants sprang into action, jamming a metal wire through a crack in the door while Sean yanked on the handle. We were convinced that we were going to miss our flight to Buenos Aires, but after 20 minutes of frantic lock-picking, our heroes ultimately came through for us. The language barrier may have been an issue throughout the ordeal, but our whoops, cheers, and high-fives came through loud and clear.
Brazil
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
11. We might’ve gotten touchy-feely with sweaty superfans at a futebol game in Rio, but our local lovefest didn’t end when we left Maracanã. While we were trying to figure out which train to take back to our apartment, a Lee Corso lookalike swooped in with the assist: “Ipanema? Copacabana?” he asked, and then motioned for us to follow him. He kept a watchful eye on us throughout the ride to make sure we didn’t get off at the wrong stop. And when a couple of English-speaking Brazilians got onboard, he asked them to confirm that we knew where we were going.
12. The beaches in Rio may be beautiful, but they have beastly sides, too: namely, incredibly strong undertow. We saw not one but two dramatic sea rescues during our stay. Four people had to be scooped out of the water in a net off Ipanema and airlifted to shore. And on Copacabana, a huge group of people swore they saw someone struggling to stay afloat, so they frantically flagged down lifeguards and triggered a search-and-rescue mission that included a jet ski, three snorkelers, and a helicopter. They didn’t find anyone before we left, and we didn’t see any news reports about it after the fact, so we’re hoping it was a false alarm.
13. We met some Brazilian honeymooners over breakfast at our B&B in Foz do Iguaçu, and they invited us to join them for a drink later that night. We showed up with a bottle of champagne to celebrate their nuptials, and the four of us spent a couple of hours drinking and chatting in an hilarious mix of Portuguese, Spanish, and English. We now have a standing invitation to stay with them whenever we return to Brazil. (Obrigada, Audrey e Guilherme!)
Champagne-soaked selfie, Foz do Iguaçu, Brazil
What’s the first thing you think of when I say Colombia? Cocaine? Pablo Escobar? Narcos? FARC? Terrorism? That’s fair. But what if I told you everything you thought you knew about the country is wrong?