First Impressions

People say first impressions last forever, but most of the time my first impressions are way off. I tend to seriously over/or underestimate people. My arrival in Santiago makes me wonder if it is fortuitous. Will the ‘trials’ I faced when I touched down in “Santiago de Chile” tell me a little something about the place I’m going to be inhabiting for the next year? Or will my first impression be wrong like it usually is?

The actual plane ride from Dallas to Santiago went off without a hitch, although I got almost no sleep on the overnight flight. After I got off the plane I had no idea where to go first (surprise, surprise), so I played the trusty follow-the-masses card and got in the Immigration line, seemingly without a hitch. As I was in line, I noticed a younger-looking male immigration agent at one of the dozen or so available service booths. I got to the front of the line, and when my number was called I ended up at the booth of the young agent I had noticed. He told me that I HAD gotten in the wrong line, so I trumped over to the Reciprocity Fee line (Americans have to pay a $131 fee upon entering Chile).

I went and paid my fee and when I got back in the Immigration line, I was mysteriously herded to the same agent’s booth again. He asked me all the normal questions about how long I’d be staying, where I was from and where I’d be working. Then he said I would need to get a residence visa if I was going to be in Chile for the year. He ripped my carbon copy tourist card in half and on the government copy he asked me to write down my e-mail so they could send me some information about the residence visa. It seemed a little weird to me that I would have to do this—write my e-mail in a random blank spot, only on his copy of the card—but I figured he’s a government worker, he can’t abuse his power, right?...Wrong. Later that day he sent me the following e-mail with the subject line “Hola, Hermosa”:

Hola Maria, espero estes muy bien, soy Rodrigo del aeropuerto de Santiago, ojala me recuerdes, bueno este es mi mail y cualquier cosa que necesites escribeme, me encantaria saber mas de ti y quizas invitarte a salir un dia si es que lo deseas, un beso, eres preciosa, cuidate, respondeme.

In other words, I got asked out by a random immigration agent who now has my personal e-mail. What can I say, I have a tendency to trust everyone I meet. Works pretty well for me in my hometown, but I have a feeling Chile might be a little more back alley than what I’m used to.

After I got past the immigration step I figured out that I needed to get my bags next. So I went to what I thought was the only carousel with outgoing luggage and waited there for about 15 minutes. At some point I started to realize that no one else at that carousel was speaking English and all the bags seemed to be coming from Madrid…probably not the right place to be.

I knew they had not told me a carousel number for my flight and there were no fancy LED signs with flight numbers on them. So I went to what I thought was the next busy carousel and waited there for a few minutes. Just as I was thinking to myself, “I might not find my luggage in this madhouse,” a 30-something man came up to me and asked me in Spanish if I had been on the flight from Dallas. I didn’t know if I could trust him either, but I told him that, yes, I had been on the Dallas flight. He told me I had the wrong carousel and needed to go to the very last and, seemingly empty, room. Thank goodness somebody had pity on the confused-looking gringa.

I got a hold of my bags just as some airport worker with a walkie-talkie was about to have them taken away. I somehow got myself and my obscenely oversized luggage out the exit and was bombarded by a huge crowd of people, most of whom were holding bold, professional signs with people’s names, hotels or businesses on them. I looked hard for my name, or any other affiliation that could be associated with me. It seemed that I had struck out again. No one was waiting for me. I thought I had noticed another exit and decided to look there for my contact. Through the melee I saw a long-haired young guy holding a piece of lined notebook paper with ‘VE Global’ scratched on it in pencil. Safe at last.

My first impression of Chile: A sketchy encounter with a Chilean man, a complete lack of logical organization, contained panic on my part, help from a good Samaritan and a feeling of safety when in the care of my organization. We’ll see if these events are an exception to the rule or if they rear their heads regularly…