Peering over the Chilean edge, or: The Night Before, Round Two

So right now I'm smiling to myself as I think how fantastically strange it is to be sitting here in my Denver living room, stealing the neighbors' wireless internet on my laptop, and beginning another blog. It feels comfortably familiar, but at the same time happily different in a few ways. I don't have that complete sense of vulnerable dread sinking to the base of my stomach that I remember (almost fondly now) from that chilly night back in December. It was one of the scariest times I can remember (the next day managed to top that night, however). But my 3 1/2 months in Mexico ended up being some of the most amazing I've ever known--it was an experience unlike anything I'd ever imagined, and I came away from it with a wholly new conception of that country. And through it all I used my blog as a way to stay connected to the reality I'd left behind. So now here I am, grateful as ever for my neighbors' lack of stinginess, anticipating tomorrow's trip to Valparaíso, Chile. I'll be gone for five months this time, and will be participating in a direct-enrollment study abroad program through Butler University. I'll be staying with a host family--two brothers this time--who live in Viña del mar, "Valpo's" twin city, and are reportedly four blocks from the beach. (!). This time I'm also heading off with a slight handicap--I'm three weeks out of ankle surgery today, so my trusty boot will be accompanying me. I've decided this may actually be a good thing; I don't have to carry my own luggage or even walk to my gate in Dallas. Plus, I'll get to experience Chilean physical therapy, which I'm actually pretty excited about (I've always enjoyed physical therapy). I won't, however, be able to participate in the orientation's hiking excursions or skiing in the Andes, which makes me kind of glum. But on the other hand, it's a great conversation-starter.

So I feel kind of like I'm standing at the edge of some great abyss (a happy abyss; ignore the urge of connotations). The toes of my right foot, along with the velcro straps of my left, are curled over the layered soil and rock; small pieces crumble ever so slightly and are lost to the updrafts and eddies of the air streams below. I can't really see what's below me as I peer over my nose--it's hazy like the view from atop Monte Alban in Oaxaca. The colors of the sky bleed gauzily into the mountains and hills and valley below. It's peaceful and calm, but there's palpable tension that can't really be defined even though it gives me that familiar feeling of unsettled...ness in my chest. I don't know what's coming, and half of me's scared to death to find out, but another part of me's ready to jump off. Either way, I'll be in Chile come Wednesday morning.