JOEL GRIFFETT

Pre-order ‘Long Road to Nowhere: The Lost Years of Richard Trevithick (Part One)’ now, HERE.

16/9/2022 – When I touched down in Santiago de Chile on Thursday morning all I could dream of was sleep, but the umpteenth coffee of the night/morning sent me full circle. In total it took over 16 hours in the air and at least 10 hours of waiting around between leaving the hostel in Madrid and checking into the hostel here. This better be a long trip; I’m not doing that again. 14 hours in a giant tin can where sleep forever eludes me, not least because I’m the wrong size to be comfortable (tall not fat) in an economy seat, but also because when I sleep on things that move I violently twitch myself awake as quickly as I nod off, much to the dismay of the frail old French lady sat beside me.
I can imagine her distress having to sit next to this big hairy lump who can’t stay still and I can also imagine her having stern words with an Air France official as she returned home, demanding to know which mental asylum I escaped from and why I was allowed on a long haul when clearly I should be locked up. Had Interpol been contacted? What if he’d murdered me? She screams. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to sit next to a sweaty degenerate like me and as soon as the me beside me started twitching and spasming I’d be furious too. If that persisted for 14 hours I’d much rather hijack the plane than be sat next to that lunatic.

But I made it in one thoroughly dishevelled piece. I spent two hours on Tuesday hurriedly sorting through all the Covid forms with a hangover that screamed ‘go back to bed’ only to find out, once I’d submitted the last one that they were not required anymore. I went back to bed and then for a few more beers which as always, gave me a new lease of life. I was not prepared for the onslaught of taxis, official and unofficial, that waited in the surprisingly crisp winter air outside the arrivals terminal and I ended up in an argument with two of them when I asked why they didn’t have an actual taxi just a very dented burgundy Kia with none of the official markings. I felt guilty – they were just trying to earn a living but both of them were evidently trying to rip me off. They probably weren’t going to murder me, but naturally all the sensible travel bloggers on the internet advise to avoid such hawkers. They might rob me but on the whole it’s probably not worth it. Both were charging way more than an actual taxi and they had their bullshit reasons at hand to explain why. Blah blah parking charges blah blah petrol or some other guff. When I jumped in an actual taxi my guilt disappeared immediately when the driver called both the men thieves. So, for the luxury of an actual taxi with a very kind driver behind the wheel who made sure I knew exactly where the hostel was and even shaking my hand as I walked up the steps I paid 23,000 Chilean pesos. The first unofficial taximan was trying to charge 50,000 CLP. I made the right choice.