Farwells and Fur Walls

We gringos just had our last she-bang, carrete, shin-dig, fiesta, blow-out, whatever you want to call it, we did it.

I am writing this at 6:30 A.M., and words fail me.
Or perhaps my brain is failing me.
Or maybe the Spanish has finally squeezed out all the English skillz from my cerebro.

But that won't stop me from trying to express what's about to come.

As I sit here, the sun rising behind me, my ears pounding, my clothes reeking of bar, and my breakfast waiting in the wings, I could not be more thankful for mis amigos, mis experiencias, o mi vida. Those were some fuerte goodbyes we just gave, but the friendships are todavía más fuertes.

But I will try not to dwell on the mushy stuff.

I love you all very much. And you know it.

So.

Allow me to describe the scene of our farewell.

Primero, as I was riding the bus last night, I counted at least twelve people cracking open beers as we tooled along in public transit.

I took this to be a good omen. And it was.

So we met at the firestation to kick off the party. Yes, the firestation. Through friends of Chilean friends of Chilean firemen, over the semester we became good buddies with the men of the First Company of Firemen of Santiago.

FYI, these bros really know how to get down. If it's four in the morning, these sonofaguns are just getting started, pleading for the sleepyheaded gringos to keep the spirit alive and shoving drinks in hands like it was their job.

But seriously, they do have a job to do, as we found out last night. We were so used to hanging around with the firemen, we forgot they actually fight fires. At the beginning of the night, two of our friends had to scramble from the station to answer a call; a building down the street was in flames. Meanwhile, we gringos were setting up camp in the hang-out room of the station, playing pool, chatting it up, and starting to realize that this would be our last night all together.

Now this firestation. Consider it more of a frat house. A very nice one. Very clean (Did I just negate my first comparison?). Anyway, this place has bunk beds and video games and pool tables and a schnazzy bar. And so we partied.

From this firestation, the brave-hearted proceeded to a club (less than a block away).

Now this club. It's called El Tunel (The Tunnel), and it was a former strip joint. The walls are covered in fur. Dwell on that for a moment.

Many stripper-poles still remain for those so possessed by the demon water as to need to self-exorcise (exercise, also).

The music was funktastic. Think "Jungle Boogie" and "Robot Rock."

The scene was a little Shady-McGrady, with oodles of ogling chileno-bros, who looked as if they half-expected El Tunel to still be a strip club instead of a regular club.

Regardless of the creepy drullets that seemed to be lurking closely behind us every time I turned my head to pull off another stylish dance more, I had the time of mi vida, dancing, grooving, boogieing, and saying all those things you say in a farewell that you have been meaning to say for a long time.

After a wonderful night in El Tunel, I saw the sun come up this morning, over the mountains whose faces I feel like I know as well as my own, from the 25th floor of an apartment, from the right side of the clock.

I live a blessed life.

Thanks for the love, the friendship, the adventures, the laughter, the support, the readership, the everything.

This experience has truly changed me. So thanks be unto you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, aaannnddd you.

And now, I guess I will stop delaying the inevitable.

This is my final post from Chile. I promise to continue blogging about the reverse-culture shock/about the holidays/about random adventures/about Crunkle Mike/etc.

Ya me voy, y a Chile, te echo de menos ya.
No es adiós para siempre.
Volveré.

And to the gringos, expect to come around the corner of your abode one fine morning and see a redhead drooling on your couch cushions. 'Cause I'm coming for a visit!

Whoowhee!!!