|
|
|
It had been a horrendous day. A long, grueling, migraine-inducing bus ride across the Central Andes on a bus whose abilities to comfort and relax could only be described (and generously, at that) as meager. The considerably -proportioned man in front of me, sitting in the seat whose seatback-recliner stop mechanism had broken, decided to take full advantage of his newfound freedom and drop his chair back to approximately 180 degrees, landing his headrest squarely on my thighs. As if this weren't enough, apparently he decided to go for a Guinness World Record in the event of "throwing oneself into the back of a chair with all one's weight," which, if my bruised knees are any indication, he had been practicing for assiduously over a lengthy and grueling training period.
As if that weren't enough, the six year-old sitting behind me must have decided that the back of my chair looked like a soccer ball, because I bore the brunt of his tiny little sneakers of fury. The woman sitting next to me, oblivious to my plight, insisted on engaging me in conversation about her daughter, her job, the street she grew up on as a kid, and just about everything else. Just when I thought that the seventh circle of Hell had descended upon me and I began looking for the brimstone pit, our bus pulled to a stop at the border with Chile for four hours and sat there, waiting, because the Argentine border control had just implemented a new computer system they didn't know how to use. Then they caught five Mexicans at the border trying to smuggle boxes of hair dye from Argentina for sale in Chile, so we were detained another 30 minutes. I could actually feel my blood pressure rising.
So it's pretty safe to say that when I arrived in Santiago, I was more than looking forward to the Marriott hotel room that I had booked with rewards points. The taxi to the hotel took forever, the check-in process was a blur, and my only clear memory of last night was walking into my hotel room (which, for the record, includes my own private conference room because they didn't have a standard available) and seeing my complimentary fruit platter. Filthy, stinking, and with a splitting headache, I took one of the polished silverware knives, cut the stem off one of the plump red strawberries and stuffed it into my mouth.
It's amazing, but this whole time I've been whining about becoming jaded, about being unimpressed by many things anymore, it seems I've developed a new appreciation for the things I already had. I took a twelve-hour bus ride through the picturesque Andes Mountains yesterday, a ride that would have thrilled me nine months ago, and the best thing I can say about yesterday was that strawberry. But, of course, it's not just the strawberry. It's the clean sheets. It's the concierge. It's the fact that in Hostel Lao for $10/night in Mendoza, when they overbooked a guy, they squeezed a mattress into our six-person room and made it for seven, and when I arrived at the Marriott and they told me they had no more rooms like the one I requested, they booked me in a suite and apologized profusely. Nine months ago this would have been just another hotel room with another fruit platter. Yesterday it was like ginger after wasabi.
So here I am: clean (three showers will do that to you), well-rested (I particularly liked the five pillows of varying size, shape, and firmness... for those of you wondering, I went with the long, semi-firm one for my head with a square, soft one behind it), and well-fed (scrambled eggs with ketchup, freshly made pancakes, and all the peach halves I could shovel into my mouth), and ready to head off to Peru. Life may not be entirely about being able to buy nice things or pamper yourself, but it definitely feels pretty good from time to time.
previous travel blog entry
Would you like to comment or ask a question?
Sign up for a free account, or sign in (if you're already a member).