Chile

Two hundred Gucci, Prada and Hilfiger-clad yuppies, encased in two hundred tons of precisely machined steel, aluminum and rubber took off from runway two of San Francisco International Airport. Prodded on by two Pratt & Whitney 2043 engines, the ensuing 193 kN of thrust and an idea by Herr Bernoulli, the metalosaurus climbed to thirty five thousand feet, traced a perfect geodesic arc across the western hemisphere and landed in Santiago. The pilot likely took extra credit classes at flight school to be able to land in Chile, a country so anorexically thin, a mildly strong ocean breeze would probably blow its entire contents into buxom neighbor, Argentina.

Subsequently ensued the usual rigmarole of immigration, baggage claim and customs. As I went through this circus, it occurred to me that airports might be the only place in the universe where Einstein's time dilation principle applies to a non-relativistic reference frame. It takes forever. At some point, I found myself in a bus headed to Valparaiso, where my parallel computing workshop was being held. A word about parallel computing here. In theory, parallel computing involves several processors cooperating to solve some big problem, working together with the efficiency and coordination of a Navy SEAL unit. In reality, its more like Afghan warlords running a democracy. It's complicated. Therefore the workshop.

Valparaiso, or Valpo as it is affectionately called, sits on the face of a particularly tall and steep hill facing the sea. It and the surrounding town of Vina del Mar form a crescent along the coast. The summer sun looks down on hills dotted with multicolored buildings, beaches, and the calm, azure waters of the South Pacific to complete the panorama. It was ridiculously scenic. Why anybody would want to work, study or engage in any sort of productive enterprise in a place like this was beyond me. But they did, and so it was on to an intense first week of talks, labs and terrible food. I don't know what agricultural trauma in Chile's past caused such culinary bankruptcy, the country is still clearly reeling from it.

The first weekend, we made our way to Santiago, from where we embarked upon a day hike to the base camp of an active volcano, El Volcan San Jose. It was part of a massive volcanic chain in the Andes on the Chile-Argentina border. Word about the Andes here. As a mountain chain, they are quite unique. They may not be the tallest or the longest, but they've got something others haven't. The element of surprise. There you are, moving along, you know, minding your own business. And bam! In front of you looms a fifteen thousand foot colossus of rock and ice. That's the Andes for you. No fooling around. Nowhere else in the world will you find such Himalayan caliber mountains within spitting distance from the sea. It was a long hike, punctuated with a few breaks. The scenery was, as advertised, breathtaking. Literally. The rapid altitude gain sucked the lungs dry. After three hours of intense huffing and puffing, we reached the top. Very scenic. Snow capped mountains all around. Stuff that keeps Kodak and Nikon in business. We ate, rested and clicked the obligatory five hundred pictures.

Next day (Sunday) was spent tooling around Santiago, which, in line with its industrious Spanish lineage, was completely closed. These people take holidays more seriously than work. The only noteworthy place was the president's palace, for which apparently two lone guardsmen on horses was adequate security. There was the obligatory Plaza de Armas, which was not as impressive as some of the ones in Peru. There was, miraculously, an Indian restaurant around here. I got my first non-puke-inducing meal in the country.

Another grueling week commenced and it was a war of attrition. The crowds thinned out faster than the Amazon rainforest. At this point, the locals in the southern city of Punta Arenas decided to exercise their democratic right to peacefully protest against draconian government measures. I mean "peaceful" here in its broadest possible sense. There was rioting and looting. Like most brave adventurers, I brushed it off at first, thinking it couldn't possibly be a big deal. Media always hypes these things up kind of a thing. The Christopher Columbus in me wanted to go ahead with the plan, if nothing else, it will make a good story for the grandkids. But the adrenaline eventually cooled off, and decided that the grandkids will have to make do with something else.

I hopped on to the first plane headed in the general direction of North America. After more stops across the continent than a hop-on hop-off city tour bus, ended up at San Francisco. My partially functioning brain sent out test messages to various limbs under its control. Having received satisfactory responses and established that all systems were good to go, I hauled myself up and off to home sweet home.