For those of you who aren´t spanish speakers (or Chilean speakers, for that matter), Año Nuevo is spanish for New Years. Friday afternoon, after attempting to focus for the 5 hours that I actually lasted in the office, I met up with Eric so that we could head to the bus station, yet again, to join the rest of Santiago on the beach for the weekend. I purchased our bus tickets before leaving for the US for Christmas to avoid the nightmare that happened when I attempted to go to Viña del Mar on a holiday weekend the first time. We got to the bus station with about 30 minutes to spare before the time stated on our ticket, which is really about 45 minutes early in Chilean time, since nothing ever seems to happen on time. Upon arrival at the terminal, I went to the Condor Bus window to ask the clerk which platform our bus would be leaving from. He directed me to another Condor Bus window after telling me that we were at the La Alameda bus terminal and not San Borja, where we were supposed to be. I specifically asked the woman who sold me the tickets two weeks ago if La Alameda and San Borja were the same terminal. She asserted me confidently that they were. I will never understand why people in Santiago, rather than admitting that they don't know the answer to a question, simply lie and tell you what they think you want to hear. Nonetheless, we were able to catch our bus due to the fact that San Borja apparently is one stop before La Alameda and our bus would be passing through the station we were at only 20 minutes later. Thank the Baby Jesus that I didn't screw up the whole weekend for both of us! All of the buses within a 50 mile radius of Concón were sold out for the entire weekend at that point. We would have been stuck to melt in Santiago with the rest of the people who planned poorly.
We were dropped on the side of a road once we got to Concón and left to our own defenses to determine a) where the heck we were, and b) how to get to the house we were renting with our friends. Following a suggestion from the owner of the house, we attempted to hop into a collectivo, which is essentially a shared cab run by the public transportation system that charges far less than a regular cab with a more expansive reach than the bus system. Neither Eric nor I had taken a collectivo before, and we quickly learned that there is no etiquite to doing so. We casually approached the first one to stop at our posting on the side of the road, hoping to catch a ride to our house. All of a sudden 4 crazy old ladies ran before us, gave Eric the worst stink-eye I have ever witnessed, hopped in and slammed the door. So much for that option, I guess. We soon spotted a normal cab (which still only cost $3 to get to our destination) and were happily en route to the house.
We spent the weekend barbequing, teaching the Chileans our drinking games, relaxing outside and having a good time. I don't know how it is possible that I didn't learn my lesson last year getting fried on New Year's Eve at the beach in Australia, but I managed to do it again. The rest of my compatriots fared just as poorly with sunburns ranging from mild to incapacitating. The Chileans among our party somehow managed to stay a nice golden brown color. So unfair!
On Saturday night, after a big asado, we packed up the coolers, grabbed some blankets and headed toward the beach for the fireworks show. There were two platforms set up our in the ocean that blasted off fireworks for about half an hour beginning around midnight. At the stroke of midnight, everyone popped their champagne and sprayed it all over each other. Not a bad way to bring in the New Year!
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