Damn Twinkly

This trip was never about women to begin with. In fact, it’s not easy to talk to women when you haven’t showered for a week, your hair has a separate personality, and when you take off your shoes people contort their faces in shapes you didn’t know were possible. Because this usually wasn’t me who elicited such visceral reactions, I expected that CJ´s smells would work to my advantage. Especially after I had introduced myself to an attractive Chilean who confessed she knew her past lives and liked to take “Special Amazonian Journeys” several times a year.

In other words, things were going well: I was smelling good, she was looking good, the Chili Peppers were playing, and CJ was harmlessly talking to some of guys at the other end of the bar. I should mention that in moments like this, moments where things are going so well that i suprise myself with the good time i am having, I’m never afraid or hesitant to take a quick break from the action. I like to enshroud myself in a few minutes of mystery, a few minutes of “who is that guy, why/where did he just go, and why is he now talking to her?” So I took the break, walked to the bathroom, and on my way back began talking to another female at the bar, just to let the world know that I was not desperate, not particularly looking, not particularly suave, and not particularly aware. Because within the first few words that this new woman said, it occurred to me that I might actually be talking to the devil incarnate. She was a fiery Colombian who insisted I couldn’t handle her heat, couldn’t handle her passion, and couldn’t handle the dragon that was crudely tattooed on her upper left shoulder. And honestly, I was miffed. I remember thinking (commence inside your head voice), are you fucking kidding me? And then I really looked at her for a second, looked at eyes that were darting around the bar like black flies in august…. and I knew she was right. I couldn’t handle her, and nor did I want to. So I slipped away from this conversation and made my way back to the New Age Chilean who now happened to be ´´talking´´ with Cj. I put quotes around ´´talking´´ for three reasons:

1) She does not speak any English

2) Cj does not speak any Spanish

and

3) Because Cj had turned on his googily eyes and had an arm tightly wrapped around her waist

And I thought (internal voice), fuck. My little self indulgent egotistical pause just landed me on the toes of Satan while I was about to kiss an angel. Okay, maybe that’s a bit over the top, but I was damn pissed that Cj would hawk in and steal her. I had yet to break out my dance moves and woo her with my fox trot.

´´Cj, what are you doing?´´

´´What? She’s a good kisser, Si.´´

´´Dude, I saw her first, she’s spiritual, and doesn’t speak English´´

´´Well she reminds me of my old girlfriend and we seem to be communicating fine´´

´´This is true but, but CJ wtf?´´

´´Well those guys were gay and at first it was okay. But then one of them wanted me to make out with me, and wouldn’t stop, so I left.´´

´´Cj, do you even know her name?´´

Pause and concerned blank stare.

´´Okay, whatever.´´ I said, ´´I’ll catch you later, I’m leaving the keys on the bottom left side of the gate.´´´

´´No no-no-no-no, talk to her!´´

I’m not sure why, in my inebriated state of mind, I thought this would all work out, but I did and it didn’t. She told me that she wanted to read tarot cards for me and we ended up walking to some beach at 3:00 in the morning where Cj kept a radius of no less and no more than 15 feet, constantly circling. ´´Ahora CJ,´´ (now cj´s turn) she said. Wtf again. (Commence internal voice) This is ridiculous. What is going on here? I’ve had enough of this nonsense and it’s apparent that any possible romance is going to be strange, if at all, and outside of my comfort zone.

So I said, ´´Bueno Mariana, tengo sueno, que disfrutan.´´ (I’m going to bed, but CJ wants to stick around and hang out). At which point Cj again chimed in, ´´no-no-no-no-no!´´ Cj insisted that we all walk back together, which translated into me walking ahead brooding over the fact that I had ever listened to his advise in the first place, as the two of them chatted happily away in different languages. It became quickly evident that neither had any clue what the other was saying. ¨Yo soy feminista pura´´ (I am a strong believer in feminism) ´´Oh, oh, sí, I like painting! Simon, como se dice painting?´´ (Simon, how do you say painting?)

When we arrived at our residencia (managed house), which was run by a charming cat-lady like of a woman, Mariana asked to be walked home. Being the most sober of the group, I decided Cj, who seemed just slightly excited and kept saying, ´´I just want to be held by a woman,´´ would be the man for the job. Annoyed at this never-ending journey, I decided it would be best to sleep in the yard under the stars (It just so happened that I would be sharing the lawn the cat lady’s cats, which ended up attacking me on three separate occasions and leaving holes in my sleeping bag). And while it is true that the stars were not aligned for me in Valdivia, they were damn twinkly.

All the best,

Simon

PS, we had a wonderful write up by an amazing biker/hiker/close friend who rode his mountain bike from new jersey down to Santiago, Chile….if you have the chance check it out… http://teacherontwowheels.com/2009/01/06/more-than-just-glaciers-mountains-and-meadows/