The Aliens and The Night Bus

Since my arrival in Santiago four weeks ago, I have gone from "utterly lost in a country whose language I don't speak" to "integrated in a fully functional local social network"... and I'm strangely proud of that achievement. I am the only gringa in this social group and while I still speak to my new friends in Spanglish, I am now fully capable of understanding any conversation held within the group. The drunker I get, the more fluent my Spanish becomes. I guess my biggest issue is merely my inhibition to speak it.

I met MJ three weeks ago, when she was on her first night-shift at the hostel. MJ fascinates me beyond measure. She makes a point of using my name at the end of her sentences when addressing me, a habit I've always liked in people. She wears pink fanny-packs, silver-coloured, full-body leotards with bright yellow skirts and has oil-painted a cloudy sky on her converse trainers. A visual artist by day and receptionist by night, she reads George Bataille in vintage paperback & listens to electropop when the hostel tucks in for the night.
We are like fire & water and yet we've everything in common. In terms of aestethics, she hates what I love. What she loves, I simply deem fit for a restraining jacket. Yet we discuss Foucault & Butler, the golden number, strange attractors, indigo children and libido for hours on end, without ever leaving common ground. My fascination has nothing to do with attraction and in some weird way, I believe that makes perfect sense.

When MJ invited me over to her house for a quiet party, I was too intrigued to decline. As I walked through the cast-iron gate of her front door, I tumbled straight into the most delightful mess. The flat was littered with oil-palettes, terpentine bottles, canvasses with works in progress, old vinyls and inflatable animals in the most vivid of colours. The wooden beams in her flat decorated with stencils of a choatic subset of artists. And I suddenly very much wanted to be part of it all.

Sometimes, what appears to us as our most extreme opposite, is really nothing more than an alternate version of ourselves. We're forever geared to focussing on a mere few aspects of ourselves. Maybe it takes a confrontation like this to makes us realise that in fact, the things we haven't been, is perhaps also part of who we are. Maybe that is why I felt so at home on her sofa. At any rate, a merger of some of her friends with some of my earlier SSFs, has materialised into my local group of friends and my days and nights have been more fascinating ever since.

I've learned how to bribe the nightbus driver, so that he lets on six of you for the price of two. In true corruption style, the busdrivers look like they've stepped straight out of a Colombian drugwar. They plaster the ceilings of their busses with blacklights and a psychedelic collection of glowstick aliens and stars. The first time I fetched a ride, I simply couldn't stop laughing. I learned to shout ahead of my stop and jump off the bus when it reaches its slowest acceleration, for it never actually comes to a halt. I discovered it's best not to wear flip flops when doing so.

After the Pisco Sour incident, I've now been initiated into the habit of drinking Piscola and Roncola, which I suspect is nothing more than a cheap knockoff of Rum. People do raid eachothers fridge at their heart's content, without being reprimanded. And the 80's electropop style dancing is in full retro-swing. DJs play inovative Latina bands as well as Vive-la-Fete. Mullets are all the rage and they make it look sexy. I've learned not to leave the dancefloor when people start chanting "baila Pew, baila Pew, baila baila" as it's just a ritual that targets any one individual on any given night and is meant to encourage people to perform a solo dance while others stand around clapping in encouragement. I've taken to the physicality of their dancing like a fish to water, and will miss it when I go home.

I've been shown how to take it easy during the day. To pace myself. To sit and have a coffee without thinking about the next thing. To try and look up close and beyond, rather than just at. That things become a lot easier when people stop defining who or what they are. To go with what I feel at any given time. To listen during discussions, rather than to state my points of view. To just do, rather than to contemplate. And to simply take things as they come.

I have two days left before I leave Santiago and I will sorely miss it when I do. It just comes to show that even four weeks can make a world of difference. Besitos to MJ, Joseline, Yoyo, Camilo and Henrique for such fun times and a home away from home.