We came in fast...288 kmph...We came in fast...288 kmph. We roared down the runway, the pilot pressing hard on the brakes; the reverse thrusters rattling behind us.

Still the decrease in speed seemed hardly perceptible. The Arrival Lounge loomed directly ahead of us. We could see people with their faces pressed against the glass, moving back. In a last ditch effort to save the craft and the cargo the pilot stood on the brakes. With the tires moaning we entered Gate 13. With a lurch the craft settled to a rest. In an instant the jetway was attached and we were preparing for arrival.

As I deplaned the Captain appeared from the flight deck. He wore a sheepish grin. His shirt was soaked from his neck to his navel. I had visions of Steve Martin in "Airplane" and half expected a rubber blow-up doll to come floating out of the cabin. "Welcome to Santiago" he beemed. "Bienvenidos a Chile". "Have a nice day." I nodded silently in agreement and trundled off to meet the 'Aduanas'.

They had their hands out when they saw me coming. They waved me to the side, to Check Point #1. These Latin border crossings are all the same; it doesn't seem to matter if you fly in or drive. Money, money, money is the name of the game. For $132.00 US you too can enter Chile. Murray got in a few weeks earlier for only $55. Now it was $132. I couldn´t believe it. I knew the bike would cost more. I silently wondered how much it would cost me to leave. I moved on down the line...

Murray had made arrangements for me to stay at the same homestay as him. I would stay in Maria´s room and she would move a few apartments down. Murray had inadvertinately mentioned this plan at the Spanish School where he was taking lessons. Wrong! Juan, the school operator wanted half of the money I would be paying Maria. What for? I wasn´t a student. These living arrangements were between Maria and I. They involved no one else. Juan threatened Maria. Maria would not do it if she had to pay Juan. Suddenly my room was in jeopardy.

I looked for a loophole and quickly found one. I would move in with Pablo; Maria could have her room back and Juan would be none the wiser. I would pay Maria the full amount and Juan could screw off with his commission. As far as everyone knew, especially Juan, I had left. All that remained was to cool the hot tempers from the afternoon´s events.

I retreated to my apartment. I was ready for some peace and quiet. It was 4:00 PM and I had been up for 33 hours. I had the place to myself for a few hours since Pablo would not be home until 7:00 PM or so. I went to my room, stripped naked and headed for the shower. I could only get cold water, and I did not need a cold shower. Then I remembered that in Chile they use direct fired gas heaters where a burner heats a copper water tube, providing hot water on demand.

The heater was located in the kitchen, only six inches away the way the crow flies, but down the hallway, up to the front door and into the kitchen via the layout. As luck wold have it, being fully prepared for a shower, I was still wearing my best birthday suit. In front of the heater was a clothes drying rack. I spread my feet for balance, pivoted forward over the rack and reached for the heater. With a lighted match in my right hand and my left hand poised over the gas valve, I peered up into the unit looking for the pilot valve.

In a single fluid motion, six feet behind me, a key was slipped into the front door lock, the strike withdrawn and the door thrust open. Thus, I met Angelica Donoso Mondujano.

The next day I visited downtown Santiago. At about 1PM I stopped for a light lunch. The place was nearly empty so I entered cautiously. I settled on a bowl of soupa de pollo (chicken soup). This immediately evoked memories when, in the Central mountains of Peru in 1999, I ordered a similar titled selection. However, unknown to me at the time, nestled in the bottom of the bowl there lurked a pair of the largest, bright orange, chicken feet I had ever seen. They must have been off of a `mega pollo´, some pre-Columbian Chickasaurasrex.

However, when this dish arrived it looked somewhat different. What appeared to be a full chicken was jammed within the rim of a large ceramic bowl, not unlike a wok. It rose above the rim like the Andes above the Deserto Atacama. That space which wasn´t occupied by chicken was filled with broth and a small vegetable garden. I had silently wondered why they charged $3.00 for a bowl of soup...now I knew.

Back at street level, a haunting image was re-kindled as I walked around... obvious the first time I visited Chile, but evermore troublesome this time around. In evidence were people still struggling with the debilitating effects of polio. Not so much the current generation but the previous one and the one before that. That disease has all but been eradicated in North America and certainly was not present in my generation. Sadly, here it still rears its ugly head.

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