I am here, staying with a wonderful French-Canadian professor. His apartment is on the sixteenth floor, and from the balcony you can see Santiago sprawling beneath snow-capped peaks that fade in and out of the smog. Boys perform improbable juggling feats at stoplights, impressive colonial architecture stands alongside ugly urban development, and there's a bite in the early-spring air. The biggest flag ever billows over the Chilean treasury--it is at least the size of 16 queen-sized beds, I'd say, although Nathaniel puts it in the twenties.
After spending the day meandering through downtown Santiago, we returned to our kind host's lofty apartment. As I made myself a cup of espresso, I thought about the fact that I'm going to be on this continent for eight months. I didn't have a paper to write, I wasn't late for anything, and I was pressing finely ground coffee into an espresso maker with the back of a spoon. The mountains watched through big glass windows, and everything was beautiful.
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