I had a love/hate relationship with my year in Chile; not with the country, but with my year there. I lived in Valparaiso, a city at the cusp of something great. I helped to paint my roomate’s new venture, a small cafe. Nothing special just a hangout with too many ideas: is it a cafe, a bar, a record store, a clothes store, my roomate’s living space? Now I see that cafe in the pages of Lonely Planet, while my “Valpo” has turned into the hip city it was on the verge of becoming back then.
I was happiest in the south, or “El Sur” as I always got a kick reading on the road signs. I bussed down to pristine, Germanic Puerto Varas, filled up of Kuchen, then sailed all the way down to the bottom, so quiet, so blue and crisp.
I only wanted to go further.