Making a run for the border

Everyday we learn something new. Most of the time the lessons are little things that cause us to sigh and feel a little silly. Other days the lessons are full day frustrations. The common theme is that eventually, someone always seems to help us out and set us straight. This past weekend the whole gringo mistake, dope slap, frustration, help out, alls well that ends well cycle was in full swing.
It all started innocently enough with an idea to make a trip go easier. Since Mike and the kids need to cross the border for visa purposes, why not rent a car and drive to scenic Bariloche, Argentina. Everyone says the mountains are beautiful, the chocolate is delicious and the exchange rate is favorable. We'll take the bus part way to Puerto Varas, spend the night, trade a favor for some babysitting, then we'll be so smart and rent a car for the second half of the trip from Puerto Varas to Bariloche. Date night+happy children+a stamp in the passport; what more could we want? Ahhh, Friday night our friends (fellow English teacher volunteers) Hilary & Annie watched B&G while Mike and Lisa had a lovely Italian dinner. Saturday morning we piled into the rent a car and headed off. The fertile valley turned into the foothills of the Andes, we drove past lakes and hiking trails and all was right with the world. Until, Lisa got to step three of the border customs process, the part where they check the registration of your car. The part where the gringo finds out she needs special notarized, authorized, insuranized papers to take a rental car out of the country. Ah yes, the little thing we didn't know to ask about and the Chileans assumed everyone knew. So, after a few hours of trying to get papers faxed, being offered a $100 a day car rental by the 'friendly border policeman' and waiting for a bus that had no empty seats, we drove the four hours back to the hostal in Puerto Varas, turned in the rental car and bought bus tickets for Sunday. And that was when we ran into the Chilean help out alls-well-that-ends-well part of the story. While buying the bus tickets Lisa did her usual "I'm not really a gringo, I'm a profesora de ingles" to the lady selling the tickets. She asked where, Lisa said Castro, she asked which school, Lisa said Carpe Diem, she said "my grand daughter is in kinder garten there with a boy who can't speak Spanish". Well, the next thing you know she is getting us set up with all the right tickets and wanting to meet 'el famoso Roberto'. People told me every city in Chile is a small town. I never thought the small town would extend 100 miles away!
So, the next morning we boarded the bus for Bariloche, got a warm send off from the folks at the bus station and had an uneventful trip across the border. Yes, the border folks did remember us. For those of you who have bus traveled with Lisa, you will understand that 'uneventful trip' = we have translated 'seasick pills' into Spanish. As for our 36 hours in Bariloche, we'll let the following photos tell the story.