No Way Jose

Jose reaches down to his left hand into the driver side door and passes you a small plastic bag containing a powder white substance.

Maybe it depends on the context?

You are in his truck, driving down the freeway.

We should advise, this blog may need parental guidance.
Guidance for parentals after they read it.

Clearly, by posting this story, you know we are okay. Though there were moments we did not know where this story would take us.

Arriving at the Santiago Bus Terminal was simple enough, a fond farewell to our apartment, a short bus ride with our BIP cards and a browse of the bus companies offering trips to Curico.
We walked to the first, they advised we could make the next bus if we wanted, it departed at 10:30. It was 10:29, we weren't sure we could make it. The attendants said something in Spanish, we shook our heads, they pointed behind us. There stood a man, who we discovered later was the driver of the 10:30 bus. Sure, all we had to do was follow him. Which we did, to his bus, bags loaded and off we went, down the road to Curico.

A simple enough journey with pleasant views of the vines, back dropped by steep snow capped mountains.
In Curico, we walked the town and relaxed under a tree for lunch. Just a couple hours to spend before catching another bus to the smaller village of Molino for our acommodation.

At the terminal, it was a little confusing accessing a bus to Molina. We were told to pay on the bus, so we walked to the line of shuttle buses in the parking lot, we found the one bus that didnt say Molino on it, though it had a driver who wound down his window and called out to us. We said, Molina, he nodded his head, we asked how much, he said 600 peso ($1.20 aud) each, so we hopped on. He departed with just us and one other passenger.
As he left the terminal, around the corner on the street, a further 10 passengers boarded at the stop light. As we soon discovered, these shuttle buses between towns stopped wherever the passengers requested and boarded wherever they hailed them. So with a number of stops on the 15km journey, we enjoyed the site seeing.

Now, our reason for choosing Molina was for the spectacular access to the Andes mountains and some beautiful hikes up to some waterfalls. We had spent some time researching these hikes and how to access them, we could take a bus from Molina, one hour up to the mountains, then hike for a few hours, before returning in the late afternoon. Perfect.
After visiting the tourist information centre, we confirmed the bus to the Parque Ingles did indeed leave from the small terminal that dropped us off. The following morning at 8.30 am, we made our way, hiking bags packed with water and food to the terminal. Now this isn't an actual terminal, but just a street corner where the buses pull over momentarily to allow passengers to exit and enter. Before shuttling off again.
Funnily enough, as we walked down the street, we noticed a particularly dusty bus. On the front was a sign for Molino. We had a second look but no one was on it. We sat down on the pavement and waited. As the dusty bus departed and turned the corner we caught a glimpse of, Parque Ingles on the back. Hmmm, we wondered, maybe that was our bus to the park, well, Iim sure another will turn up.
So we sat, and waited, and waited, and waited. After half an hour, we thought maybe they came every hour. After an hour, we then went and asked some locals.
"Parque Ingles?"
Yes, they nodded. So we waited, some more. Another half hour. By this time, arguably, 100 shuttle buses had come and gone, all for destinaltions to the nearby towns. But none to our beautiful, scenic National park we were looking for.
So, at 10.30, two hours after arriving, we asked again.
"Hmmm.." In their fluent spanish something didnt seem right. They were talking abou cinque, did that mean the cost.
No, we could work that out, they meant 5pm.
With broken Spanish we re-confrmed, "5pm tarde?"
"Si!" They said.
Oh dear, the next bus to Parque Ingles was 5pm. We were only in Molina for a day, this wasnt going to work.
So with a very upset and disappointed state of mind, we walked back to our accommodation.
The Parque is meant to be incredible, maybe another day we will get to visit it.

At the end of our time at Molina, we checked our options for transport further South to Chillan. We could catch a shuttle back to Curico, then a bus from Curico to Chilan. Or, we could walk East to the freeway and try to catch a bus on the freeway heading in the direction we want. Supposedly, that is what the locals do.
We opt for a shuttle back to Curico, then working out a bus from the terminal to our final destination. Simple enough.

At 10am, we get a shuttle back to Curico, only 20 minutes and we arrive at the terminal. We have a variety of bus operators to choose from. We walk around asking for Chillan. A lot of them shake their heads or point to another small booth. W eventually find our way to a Turbus booth. We ask for Chillan and they seem unsure, eventually they say yes, but not from this terminal, from a different terminal in town. We ask which and after much confusion, they show us on google maps a place at the end of town near the freeway.
"Hmmm..." We think, 'maybe the Chillan buses stop briefly near the freeway then get going again.' But that is a fair walk for us to get to. Maybe a taxi would be best.
We walk outside the terminal, and ask a taxi if they can take us to the other terminal. "Si, $5,000 peso."
Oh, that's $10AUD, thats a bit much. Hmmm... well, we had some time to spare, so maybe we would save our money and walk instead.

One hour later we arrive at the corner of the freeway off ramp, a petrol station, and an unnused industrial lot.
Somewhere here, we are meant to find a bus terminal and coordinate a bus to our destination South, Chillan.
This did not seem right.
We wandered a few extra blocks just to make sure we hadn't made a mistake with the directions.
No, we are certainly somewhere near the freeway and there is nothing else.
We ask at the petrol station, bear in mind that no one speaks English, and our Spanish is single words only.
"Autobus to Chillan?" We ask.
One fellow seems to suggest we go to the freeway, but then after a Spanish discussion amongst themselves they say,
"Centro Terminal." And point us in the direction we just spent one hour walking from.
We give our thanks, then walk away to have our own discussion.
What were our options and what information did we know was true?
Are we in the right place?
Will a bus come to this corner if we wait?
What is our time limit for waiting?
Could we somehow get to a town halfway then organise another bus from there?
Do we get a shuttle back to the main terminal and try again?
It was now 12:30, we have been on this corner for an hour, after walking another hour in the heat.
We could walk further down the freeway, it looked like maybe some buses were pulling off further down the road?

We knew it was a 3 hour journey to Chillan. It was hot and we were tired, we also considered scrapping the bus plan, getting accommodation in Curico and doing this properly tomorrow. At the expense of $30AUD accommodation we wouldn't use in Chillan. Not the worst and chalk it up to learning.

We choose to investigate further down the freeway, maybe we are in the wrong spot. We had seen buses pull over elsewhere and people climb on.

So off we walk along the dual lane freeway, turning every few steps to see if a bus is coming our way. When we see one, we attempt to wave it down. But they charge on by.
Time and time again, they don't stop, even the ones that say, 'Chillan' on the front.
There are also no other people standing on the freeway doing the same. Something wasn't right again.

Another pause for discussion.
What are we doing and what are our options?

We know it would be easier to go an hour South, to Talco. From there we could organise a bus the final two hours to Chillan.
Just how do we get to Talco?

We put our thumbs out.

Now we know, our Mother's have a feeling of dread, but this story turns out okay. While our Father's are probably encouraging us, 'Stick your thumbs out further, so they can see you!'

And thats what we did.
There we stood, on the freeway outside Curico, with backpacks at our feet and our thumbs out. Hitch hiking in Chile.

The heat, the tiredness, the determination and the frustration led to us attempting to hail any vehicle, bus, car or truck to lend us a ride.

In the moments that passed, like the many cars, we wondered if we had the hitch hiking strategy correctly deployed.
Ian at the front, Jamie behind.
Jamie called out, 'Maybe you should sit down beside me while I stand up? And maybe hide your beard?"
As the vehicles flew passed, we learnt how it felt to be turned down.
But with the good fortune of Saint Christopher with us, we only had to wait 20 minutes and a truck pulled in.
With utter joy we scurried to the truck and clambered in. Jamie first, dragging her bag and climbing onto the truck bed at the back of the cab. Ian next, sitting in the passenger seat.

There we met Jose, the driver of the truck who so kindly pulled over for us. He didnt speak a word of english. But over the next hour we managed a mixture of broken communication and missunderstanding. Jose was a father of two girls and was now a truck driver after suffering an injury to his shoulder. We weren't sure what he did before this. But he was descriptive in his shoulder injury. He had also been driving for four hours and was glad to talk to some people to stay alert.

It was here, that Jose bent down into his door and pulled out a small clear plastic bag containing a white powder type substance. While speaking spanish, he passed it to Ian sitting in the passenger seat. Ian, doing the only thing he has ever known to do when passed a plastic bag of white powder, he opened it and stuck his nose in.
There was no smell. He couldnt tell what it was, so he passed it to Jamie for assistance. Jose then gave further demonstrations, shaking his plastic water bottle and then pointing to his windscreen.
"Ahhh..." Jamie not being dumb enough to put her nose in, worked out that what Jose carried in the back of his truck was the same as in this small plastic bag. Either a silicone or plastic substance!
Then Jose gave a very funny piece of advice and said not to sniff it! As he laughed some more at Ian.

Jose was a character, and definitely our lack of spanish made the situation a lot more confusing. But we were terribly thankful for him as he dropped us off in Talco. We tried to give him some money and he refused.
We wished him safe driving on his journey.
We then high fived each other for a successful experience of our first ever hitch hiking.

A 30 minute walk into the centre of town and we found the bus terminal. Further confusion at the ticket booth when asking for Chillan and being told to just get on the next bus out the front. So we do.
The driver is a little confused but with more broken spanish we say were paying cash and we are allowed on board.

Our bags loaded, the bus departs, and for $5,000 peso each we are on our two hour journey to Chillan.
Unbelievable. Airconditioning, we sit back and relax, and laugh about where we were a few hours ago.

Another simple bus journey, we pull into Chillan and wander through a few parks to our Airbnb.
We made it to our destination. But the journey was sure as hell not the one we had anticipated.
At dinner, over food and beer, we laugh and laugh, recounting what we felt throughout the day.
What a journey.