Once Upon a Backpack
Pride, prejudice, and bewitched by locals
“…you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.” (2005 film adaptation of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice)
This is how it started
It took us more than 24 hours to go from Anchorage, Alaska, to Santiago, Chile.
Wait.
Before I go into what happened after that, I’ll just say this is not one of those travel memoirs about landmarks, cultural experiences, gastronomy, and Lonely Planet checklists.
No-no-no. This is one little curious tale.
And it goes like this.
Friday (three days after our 26 hours of travel between Anchorage, Alaska to Santiago, Chile)
Our new friend in Santiago, a young expat from the U.S. who never leaves home without his surfboard, took us to parts of the city we would never have found on our own. The vibe was hip with university students milling around the plazas and bus stops. Eateries overflowed with after-work crowds.
Jim, Surfer Dude, and I stepped into an unassuming restaurant and spent leisurely time eating, drinking, and marking my Chile map with Surfer Dude recommendations for off-the-beaten-path places for us to explore.
We agreed to meet on Sunday (two days later) a couple of hours down the coast. The plan was for Jim and me to ride with Surfer Dude in his beater van to go sightseeing and finish Sunday afternoon at his favorite wave. Something about timing our arrival with the tide.
Saturday morning
Halfway down the Seventh Region, Jim and I pulled into a gas station to fill our rental SUV. Jim popped in through the driver’s window, eyes wide, hyperventilating, as I changed camera lenses on the passenger side.
“I can’t find my debit card!” he said.
“When was the last time you used it?”
“Twenty minutes ago. At the mall. The bank ATM. I must have forgotten to grab it after I took the cash.”
We exchanged a quick deer-in-the-headlights moment and raced back to the mall.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him there was no way in hell we’d be recovering a debit card that was left poking out of an ATM at the exit of a shopping mall.
I was quiet the whole drive back to the mall.
The bank was closed.
There were no bankers and no cleaning crew inside. Just a security guard walking around the inside perimeter of the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, circling like a shark in a giant city aquarium tank.
I walked up to the glass wall next to the ATM machine and motioned for the security guard to come out so I could explain what had happened. He mouthed from inside that he couldn’t come out.
I probably looked like a panicked loca.
If I were him, I wouldn’t have come out and talked to me, either.
Hold my beer.
I smiled big and got him to come closer. I mouth-explained our situation. He mouth-asked me to get Jim to press his passport to the window, open to the photo page.
Thank goodness I never go anywhere without my backpack! It’s the sacred vault for photography equipment, our passports, wallets, and other valuables. Jim walked behind me, unzipped it, and pulled his passport from a hidden pocket.
The security guard leaned in and inspected the photo page, then raised his hand and asked us to wait a moment.
He came back with the debit card and mouthed that someone leaving the mall had seen it sticking out of the ATM slot and brought it to the bank as they were closing.
Next, he motioned for us to walk toward a heavy metal door, where he broke protocol and reached out to return the card.
“Muy agradecidos,” I barely finished expressing my gratitude before he slammed the door shut.
Jim stared at his debit card, incredulous.
Did that just happen?
Saturday night (7 hours after the debit card incident)
Surfer Dude had recommended a guest house in a small coastal village close to his secret wave a few hours south of Santiago. My husband missed surfing—too many years in Alaska had intensified his itch to surf again.
It was late in the day when we checked in, and the guest house owner could hear our stomachs rumbling. She said the little restaurant around the corner was still open, but would be closing soon. We dropped our bags in our room and got to the restaurant just in time to order dinner. The owner cleaned the kitchen and stacked dishes for the next day while we ate.
* * *
Ah. . . I finally showered and was settling in for the night with a full belly after a long day of stop-and-go driving and photography. We got a text from Surfer Dude, confirming he’d come by to pick us up in the morning.
Tomorrow’s going to be fun!
I slid into bed.
“Would you grab the camera out of my backpack?” I asked Jim. “I want to see the pictures I took today.”
“Sure. Just tell me where you stashed the backpack.”
I bounced to my feet. Oh shit! OhshitohshitohSHIT! “If it’s not here, I left it at the restaurant!”
“WHAT? Our passports? Your camera equipment? Our wallets…”
I think I was dressed and running out before he finished the list of irreplaceables I’d left behind. I probably left a trail of dust behind me.
* * *
I pounded on the ginormous wooden doors of the corner restaurant. Nothing but silence inside. The whole town seemed to be asleep, except for my rapping on the door, which got the attention of the neighbors across the street. After a brief conversation about why I was there making a racket, the neighbors told me the restaurant owner’s house was around the corner. A blue house.
“I looked for you. I waited, but I had to close,” the restaurant owner said when he came to the door. “I have your backpack. Wait here.”
Lucky lucky lucky me.
Sunday
Our Sunday drive with Surfer Dude was amazing. We saw small towns, vineyards, and fishing villages where people sat lazily outside mending their nets. After many stops, we finally made it to Surfer Dude’s secret wave.
The Dude surfed. We watched and combed the beach.
* * *
Tired and hungry, we piled into the old van and headed up the rocky hill as the sun hung low in the sky. Up on the ridge, we cruised through a dirt road lined with houses overlooking the Pacific Ocean below.
Pop! Thumpthumpthumpthump… A flat tire.
We pulled to the side and Surfer Dude soon discovered his spare was no bueno. It was flat, too. On a sleepy Sunday. As the sun was setting. Nowhere near a tire shop.
What now?
A man who was driving down the road stopped next to us. He said he’d take the tire to the police station to get it fixed at their mechanic’s garage while we waited.
A few minutes later, a woman came out of a nice house with a beautiful garden across the street. She looked at the three of us and asked me if I speak Spanish (I had the look of a native speaker, the guys didn’t).
“Yes. I’m a translator.” She asked about our situation and I told her about the flat tire. “We’ll be on our way soon,” I said apologetically.
“My daugther goes to the British Royal School in Concepción. She was supposed to read a story and do homework this weekend and she hasn’t started. I don’t know English. Would you be interested in coming in to help my girl with her homework while they wait for the tire?”
Awesome!
I grabbed my backpack and followed her through the garden.
* * *
The little girl read the story out loud while we sat on a plush sofa by their crackling fireplaceplace. Her nanny brought empanadas and lemonade for me while the salty guys stood around the van and talked like old friends outside.
If they could see me now.
* * *
Just as the girl finished writing the answers to the homework questions, I looked out the window again and spotted a group of uniformed men approaching the guys, so I got up. Before I left, the little girl gave me one of the plastic bead bracelets she was wearing and I gave her a gel pen out of my backpack. We exchanged hugs and I said my goodbyes to the women.
* * *
“What’s going on?” I asked Jim.
“The cops fixed the tire and came to mount it for us. They won’t let us do it.”
You’re probably wondering how the rest of our trip went.
We’d gone to Chile with no plans and many prejudiced warnings (from people who don’t travel) about the dangers of exploring unknown places in South America.
And I will tell you this.
Our Chile adventures were at par with our Alaska life. In Chile, we experienced unparalleled nature, culture, human kindness, agricultural abundance, history, and heritage beyond compare.
And my backpack? It returned safely with me. It even saved me (and my camera equipment) from injury when I fell on an uphill hike with loose gravel.
Chile…you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.
Man this was crazy. We are one day into a trip to Spain and have had several hiccups already. Nothing close to that however!
That's the best travel guide ever! I want to go to Chile now!