Cuddle Time and Pillow Talk

Let’s flashback for a moment, to January 30th, when I left Santiago for a grand adventure into the Argentine countryside.  Part of my contract at work was that I got a free bus ticket to Mendoza, Argentina when I quit.  As part of my work visa, the Chilean government requires there be a one way ticket out of Chile guaranteed in my contract, and the institute I worked for chose to give a one way ticket to Mendoza.

I decided to take the next two weeks to volunteer on an organic farm (via WWOOF)somewhere near Mendoza.  I know a few people that have done WWOOFing in different places, and I have heard good things.  The only thing I was nervous about* was going by myself, but if I could make it in Santiago de Chile for 5 months by myself, I could make it for two weeks on a farm by myself.  So I wrote down the directions and got on that bus, and I was off.

On the bus ride to Mendoza, I fell asleep right away.  (I chose an overnight ride for the way there, and then I would take a day bus back to Santiago.)  The only thing I really remember was the winding curves up to the border.  I honestly thought the whole ride was like that, but on the way back I figured out it wasn’t. 

Now for the cuddling and pillow talk: The man sitting in the seat next to me kept trying to cuddle and make pillow talk with me at the border, and I was in no state to be functioning in any capacity (or language).  He wasn’t actually cuddling, but he did keep invading my seat space.  There was no need for that considering the nice semicama seats.  And the pillow talk was just him being chatty and friendly.  He was telling me about the book he was reading and his life story, and after learning I studied political science, he offered to show me around the political science department of the university he worked at because he was a professor (and this wasn’t a lie- he gave me his business card).  I wasn’t talking much, mostly just nodding along- it was something like 3AM and I was woken up on the top of a cold mountain to go through customs. 

When we finally arrived in Mendoza, I got off the bus prepared to look for the bus company of the regional bus that would take me to Rivadavia, the next stop on my journey.  My chatty seat neighbor was worried about me getting there safely, so he talked to the person in the office of the bus company.  He explained to the man that I was from the US, traveling by myself, and I didn’t know any Spanish, so I was essentially doomed.  (Please, keep in mind, he didn’t know any English, so every word we had exchanged was in Spanish.  Also keep in mind, that as I am listening, he is speaking Spanish to everyone.  I, by no means, think that I know that much Spanish, but I do think I know enough to get around.)  While we waited on a bench, he started telling this random woman the same thing.  She started asking questions about me, and when he didn’t know the answer, I chimed in and answered her question.  She seemed a bit surprised that I had been following and understanding their conversation, considering I “didn’t know any Spanish”.

*As a side note, I was also slightly nervous about getting through customs.  You may remember me mentioning my friends that tried to go to Mendoza one weekend, and they had quite the situation.  I did not want any border problems.