4am.  Bitter cold.  19 cummulative layers of clothing.  My two friends and I boarded the "Geyser Tour" van anxious to catch a glimpse of dramatic eruptions in the rising sun.  However, we arrived at the world's highest geothermic field with hours to spare, prompting a few of our fellow tourists to disregard our guide's warnings and attempt to navigate around the geysers in the dark. 

   Fortunately, it was soon light enough to see, and we were able to get a closer look at the geysers and more colorful "mud geysers."  After observing the carefully constructed walkways and countless signs surrounding the geysers at Yellowstone National Park, I was surprised when the guide invited us to stroll freely in the field, and even more surprised to see people walking near, peering into, and even reclining against some of the geysers.  One guide, anxious to serve hot instant coffee to his group, had tossed a box of milk into one of the geysers and was impatiently waiting for it to heat.  Over breakfast, our guide congratulated us on our success in navigating the field, and concluded with a few stories of those who had not been so lucky.  I felt as though we had passed some sort of test, earning the privilege of exploring The Cactus Forest, our next destination.

   Shedding layers, we continued through the desert, reaching the cactus forest a few hours after sunrise.  What we initially assumed was a scenic overlook turned out to be a three hour hike, winding us through canyons, next to 15 foot cacti, and past a waterfall. 

   Mesmerized by the breathtaking views and satisfied with our choice of tours, no one realized the bus tickets were disappearing: by the time we returned to San Pedro, all buses to Santiago and San Pedro (our two final destinations) were booked.  Naturally, all of the hostals were full; when I inquired about a room at one of the more expensive options, the receptionist took one look at my dusty sweatshirt and dirty jeans and announced (in perfect English) "This hotel is expensive."  Elated to discover a hostal with vacancies, we tossed our luggage in the room and collapsed on the beds, no questions asked.  A few minutes later, we discovered that the hostal had neither water nor electricity.  All was "being renovated."

   One 22 hour bus ride later, we found ourselves back in Santiago.  After one last brunch with friends, one last "night on the town" (dinner atop a classy revolving restaurant,) one last micro ride, and one last wave at "my friends the constuction workers," I boarded the plane for Atlanta.  Wednesday, July 13th, I touched down at O'hare, 148 days after departure.

   In the days since then, I've re-entered US culture.  I've grown accustomed to using only English words (rather than the awful Spanglish spoken by "the gringos of Chile,") rediscovered the joys of cranberry juice, driving, peanut butter and jelly, drinking fountains and the consistent presence of tp and soap in public restrooms.  I have been able to see (for the first time) the true wealth of the States and how much is taken for granted.  I truly appreciate the open fields and cleaner air (not to mention the weather; everyone here is surprised to learn that it's winter in South America.)  

   Along with the excitement of the initial "tourist phase" of re-entry, I am beginning to miss aspects of my life in Chile.  I miss empanadas and Chilean chocolate, I miss my doting host mom, who would not even let me stir my own coffee, I miss my friends.  But at the same time, it's so hard to believe it's over; as one of my friends said, it feels as though I could wake up in Chile any minute.