The list was worthy of a world record.
Umbrellas. Fountain pens. Three cell phones (actually two, as one was stolen), two favorite pair of sunglasses, one being retro Bausch Lomb scored for two dollars at an estate sale in Detroit, then left at a bus station in Vietnam, and another in a coffee shop in China, and a pair of readers on a bus in Thailand (always travel with a spare pair of specs). One wallet in a Vietnam, countless hats in taxis and the list goes on.
But in all my travels I haven’t lost my mind.
The most sentimental items that I lost haven’t been while traveling while absent-mindedly cramming toothpaste into a packback, but items from my past that I’m lost on life’s journey. One being a collection of short stories that Mrs. Vilas, my third grade teacher, awarded me with for reading. Then a personal letter from a Time magazine editor in response to a letter I wrote him. The first line of my letter written in was,
“Even though I am only 12 years old, I know that your movie editors are not worth beans.”
It was regarding his review of The Sting.
But the Purple Heart of my losses goes to a plastic purse full of plastic poodles that I won at the duck game as a kid at the fairgrounds in Holland, Michigan, then left in the bathroom near the horse track to be exact, where I was scared by a clown, back in the days when kids didn’t need a body guard to pee in public places.
So why am I compiling the list of my life’s losses now? Was it the pair of hiking socks or underwear and gloves I left in Bariloche at the hotel that closed on me, underwear that had I got into a hiking accident, would be presentable in an emergency room?
Or is that I’m afraid of losing my mind?
It’s worse.
I lost my hiking boots, boots that were a gift from my sisters.
But the story has a happy ending.
Sorta.
I took a bus from Temuco to Concepcion as I’m bussing up the spine of Chile. Temuco got its fifteen minutes of fame in The Motorcycle Diaries (2004). But the place is a dead carcass of a town, the vibe similar to a delapitated neighborhood of Detroit where coyotes now roam.
According to the crazy guy who joined me for breakfast (a diving instructor on cruise ships who teaches root canal procedures in his spare time in the middle-of-nowhere Chile), the reason Temuco was deserted is that every weekend the entire population heads to the mountains, just like in beer commercials. Temuco did have decent hiking along with Chinese food that actually tastes Chinese. I was able to brush up on Mandarin with the owner who rolled dumplings by hand.
But my Temuco hotel belonged in a Stephen King novel. If you opened the window you could hear guy next door hacking or feared a pigeon flying in. I wrote a truthful review and the owner proposed if change it to excellent, she’d give me twenty percent off my next booking.
Why would I ever go back to Temuco?
To get a root canal by a diving instructor?
Keep in mind if there are no recent reviews of a hotel at booking.com, the bad ones have been deleted.
Anyway, I headed to Concepcion, a funky university town on the Chilean coast that’s a blend of creativity and ocean breeze. Lots of hiking, cafes and ice cream.
I went to Concepcion with the primary goal of finding –not losing– something. I needed to find a real lavanderia to wash the remains of my clothes.
My hiking boots were strapped on my backpack and placed in the cargo hold as I wore my rip-off Crocs for the six hour ride, footwear I purchased when I first moved to Lima as LATAM airlines LOST all of my luggage and I was wearing winter boots.
But I’m blaming this podiatry disaster on my bladder as I was in a rush to use the bano in Concepcion as I’m not a fan of peeing on a vehicle cruising at 100 km per hour.
I didn’t notice my boots were missing until I got to my hotel.
Instead of hiking or washing the remains of my clothes, I schlepped back to the bus station by foot, as cab fare more would be more than my bus ticket.
My Spanish is still in its infancy, so explaining my predicament to a ticket agent behind bullet proof glass was tricky. That bus is now at the other bus station he said. He scribbled the address on a ticket stub. When I got there, the bus was gone but a ticket agent who spoke English is there.
She made a few calls.” Your zapatos are still on the bus, but they will arrive here tomorrow morning.”
This Hallmark moment highlights the kindness if Chilean people.
So yesterday, I left Concepcion with my hiking boots on my feet and my knock-Crocs strapped to my backpack. And when I arrive in Santiago? Guess what happened?
Yes, my Crocs are still on the bus.
This time, they are traveling to Rosario and will arrive in Santiago at 5 pm today.
Maybe I was Cinderella in a former life.
So now I’m in my hotel room at the Hotel Univeritario in Santiago, watching Rocky in Espanol, waiting for my clothes to dry.
When you travel solo on a trip or travel solo thru life, whatever you lose, hang onto your sense of humor and your shoes, says the helpful ticket agent in Santiago .
Whew! Xxoo