Santiago = Pobrecita Lau

It never fails… It absolutely never fails… With an addiction to traveling comes certain sacrifices and annoyances. One for example, is missing out on various holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries. Another is the inevitable drying out of your bank account. For me, it has and always will be, lost luggage.

I vividly remember my first experience with lost luggage. My brother had been living in France for a year and during this time, Skype and the Internet were not widely used. At 17, I missed my brother more than you could imagine and couldn’t wait for our family trip to see him.

We landed at Charles de Gaulle, and made our way to baggage claim where suitcase #1 and #2 quickly showed up, but sadly, Little Laura’s bag was MIA. In most airports around the world, the staff can typically function in English, that is, every country but France. Imagine a 17 year old, overly sensitive girl who hadn’t seen one of her best friends in a year (cue the sob story music), and who could cry at the drop of a dime.

I’m not sure how, but David was able to make his way through customs to see what was happening. The second I saw him, my eyes welled up with tears and I broke down. Yes, it’s only luggage, but it was my luggage. Anyways, it turns out that when we left for France, my bag decided to detour to Hawaii. One day later, and it was safely back in my hands.

Next up, AerLingus… During my senior year of college, I went to visit my (then) boyfriend in Dublin for Thanksgiving. As most people living abroad, he had a huge list of things for me to bring (including a huge bottle of Kahlua and Vodka—you know, the essentials, or more so, the White Russian essentials).

After missing my flight at O’Hare, bc flight attendants are mindless robots (no offense), I was juggled around and eventually put on another flight to London, then Dublin. Ok, great. Another two hours at O’Hare gives me just enough time to drink a beer (or 2) and watch some classic American football (Bear Down, baby!!!).

After a grueling 16 hours, I was finally in Dublin awaiting a movie-scene-like reunion with my guy. Sadly this picturesque setting was thwarted by (once again) lost luggage…

We immediately got Mama G on the horn trying to sort out where in the hell my luggage went this time. This time we were dealing with English speakers however, beware: just because they speak the same language, doesn’t mean they are any more competent.

Phone call after phone call, Mama G finally forced one unlucky AerLingus worker to walk down to the luggage area at O’Hare, where magically my two bags had settled in for a long stay. They put my bags on the next flight, which in international travel terms, meant they wouldn’t be there for another 24 hours. Eventually they got there 2 days after I had left the States, and we cracked open the liquor. AerLingus ended up paying me 240 Euros for my troubles, which I quickly turned into an Irish shopping spree.

Which brings me around to my latest fiasco… Santiago, Chile. My roommate, Faby, and I were able to find some great deals to Santiago and thanks to Uncle Wayne and Aunt Natali, we had a comfy place to lay our heads.

(Some background info: Argentina is known for the strength of its worker unions that are often on strike) We were scheduled to leave at 9:00 on a Thursday night; at 7:00 pm I received an email from one of my favorite students giving me the heads up that LAN Airline pilots were on strike. Fan-freaking-tastic…

With our positive attitudes, we headed to the airport and were pleasantly surprised that international flights were not affected by the strike. While my bag is clearly carry-on size, the man at the counter nixed any carry on luggage, stating that there wasn’t enough room. Ok, no biggie. Tag it, weigh it, and send it on its way!!!

You know how the second you let your guard down, something bad happens? Welp, karma decided to grip me like a vice this faithful night…. We arrived in Santiago and after a hectic time getting my entry fee approved (care of: US, Canada, and Australia reciprocity fees), found the baggage claim.

“Mira, mi equipaje,” Faby said. Great, wonderful, mine should be right behind hers. Ladies and Gentleman, operative word: SHOULD… I’m pretty sure you all know where I’m going with this one: “Where the hell is my bag!??” Ahhh Little One, when will you learn, that when it comes to traveling, you’re always going to get the raw end of the deal…

It turns out that there wasn’t enough room in the luggage hold, so they randomly chose bags to leave in BA. This time I was equipped with a fluent Spanish speaker to fight my battle. We gave them all of my info and the Hostel that we were staying at for the night. They told us the bags would land at 9 am.

Like the boy who cried wolf, I believed them until we found out that the flight had been delayed (thanks to the strike). Ok, now it’ll be there at 3:00… Breakfast followed by Pisco Sours and a trip to the mall will do me just fine while we wait. Then we found out that it would be there around 6… Our patience beginning to wane…

We made our way back to the Hostel to collect our bags, where we were met by the most dim-witted chick I have ever met. To make a long story short, the airline called and asked if I was there, she said no because she was too dense to check the registration log, and my luggage was gone for another night. “Que boluda,” was all I could say, meaning, what an f*ing idiot for all you gringos.

In the end, it took a day and a half to make its way back into my possession. Am I upset? Yes. Will I ever quit traveling because of it? No. I just hope that one day I remember to take the advice of my mother and pack some of my Victoria’s Secrets in my purse.

Indiana University (Noun): A school where students spend more time drinking than going to class

Hi, I’m Laura and I’m walking kilombo.

Back at home my friends know me inside and out; all the good, the bad, and the ugly. I believe they would describe me as:

fun,

outgoing,

a complete mess-yes that’s more appropriate.

They’ve been there holding my hair back when I’ve been “sick.” They’ve been there dancing on the bar with me. They’ve been there for so many memories (most of which I unfortunately don’t really remember). We have more fun than you could shake a stick at, and I miss them and their ridiculous ways daily. They really are why I am the way I am today.

Anyways, I've found myself talking about my life back at home more than normal and it finally hit me why…. Because my life has been f*cking awesome. At first I really didn’t think there were too many cultural differences between Argentines and Americans (sorry, for this one, I’m going to be strictly American). Then the World Cup hit and the differences started to flow like the BP oil spill (too early to joke??!). Ok, let me explain…

People think that Argentines know how to party; they eat late, drink late, and stay out until the sun comes up, an impressive feat to the untrained eye. For an Indiana University (my Alma Mater) student, this is nothing short of a normal week. Like a finely tuned athlete, IU students prepare in their bodies to withstand 5-7 straight nights of booze and bars, beginning with $2.00 Tuesdays at Kilroys and culminating with dropping it low at Sports on Saturday night.

There is a phenomenon that exists in the States called COLLEGE TAILGATING, an indescribable event that I wish everyone in the world could experience. At IU, it might be because our football team could get worked by a little-league squad, but for us a football game = gratuitous drinking.

Let me walk you through the weekend schedule during football season:

Friday

3:00 pm: Finish up classes, go home, and crack open your first fresh, crisp Budlight of the night.

8:30 pm: Rock, paper, scissor to see which roommate will be showering first.

9:00 pm: Shower beers (yes, drinking a beer while showering).

10:00 pm: A combination of Beer Pong, Kings, Power-Hour, Flippy-Cup, or old fashioned shots.

11:30 pm: Bars, shots, bars, shots.

3:00 am: Stumble home.

3:30 am: Enjoy a Big-10 from Pizza Express (I recommend BBQ chicken).

4:00am: Bed.

Saturday

8:00 am: Wake up and don your favorite IU shirt

8:30 am: Decide with the roommates whether you will be enjoying Bloody-Marys or Screwdrivers for breakfast.

10:00 am: Head out to the tailgating fields for an all day drink-fest (don’t forget the puppy).

4:00 pm: After having your fill of hamburgers, brats, shot gunning beers, and port-o-potties, it’s time to get home for a nap.

4:30 pm: Glorious naptime.

8:30 pm: See Friday schedule, and repeat….

So, as you can see, I was completely and utterly shocked when I sat down for the first World Cup game at 11:00 am and realized that NO ONE was going to be drinking.. WTF?? Sports are really the only acceptable excuse to drink in the morning without looking like an alcoholic…

Sorry Argies, but your game and your partying endurance are weak in comparison. Put your training wheels on, learn how to dance to something other than cumbia (preferably hip hop), come to Indiana, and I'll show you how professionals work. And if you freaking ask me again why I am the way I am, please refer back to this post, I’m tired of explaining.

Partyability----Americans: 1, Argentineans: 0.