Any confidence that I might have built up about my ability to speak Spanish during my time in Guatemala has been efficiently smashed to the ground and stomped on. Chile is a whole other animal just onto itself.
I got on the plane this morning with minor difficulty, nothing exciting to report. On the plane to Santiago, I would hear people talk, and literally not know what they were saying. I was hoping it was my airplane delirium setting in.
When I got in the airport, I knew I had to pay this stamp thing to get into the country, but I ended up standing in three different lines before I got to it. They all probably thought I was the idiot American, but I was so tired and grumpy I didn't care. By the time I got to customs, my disgruntled state must have been apparent. The guy started speaking in Spanish, then asked, "Do you have anyzing? Any sausage? Any dried fruit?"
Yes, I came all this way, and I want to smuggle dried fruit into your country.
