Santiago: first night on the road

There was nothing different about stepping off the plane except the language had suddenly switched from English to Spanish in a nanosecond. We met our first tour guide outside the airport and he led us out to the bus. Immediately a few differences were apparent to my team mates.

For instance, the zebra crossing rules were all different. The cars would blaze through them without a second thought whereas in New Zealand, drivers were expected to stop. Speaking of drivers, everyone drove on the right side of the road (in both meanings of the word). We were told about the mythical pickpockets of South America, but as far as I know, no one had any problems the entire time.
As we reached the bus we got the expected speech or two, loaded up the bags, and started a half hour drive to the first school.

On the drive we saw both the immaculate, opulent, modern areas of Santiago, and the poverty-stricken slums that surrounded it, all encircled and united by the majestic Andes mountains.

On the way to the school (actually 20 minutes out of the way) we stopped to see the field we would be playing on (which was separate from the current school; the school is being moved next year). There was one massive rugby field, two more smaller fields, with even smaller ones going sideways across them, two hockey fields and some more astros (astro turfs). We then went back towards the schools. Along that route, we saw the richest neighborhoods where all of the houses were super-sized, gated (with spikes on top of the gates), fitted out with tons of security cameras, and most of which had pools.

We arrived at the actual school at about 12:00 and had lunch as a team. We were alone because in South America, it is customary to have lunch near 3pm and dinner near 9pm. We waited around until the end of their school day (about 3:30) and met our billets. I was matched up with another forward of similar height to me but who probably outweighed me by 10 kilos. We (my billet, me, Jonno Wilde, Harry, aka RG, and their billets) walked back to one of the billets' house. On the way we passed a shopping mall with the most chaotic traffic I have ever seen. We literally walked through traffic unscathed, something that our billets would do daily (not the walk, the going through traffic). The walk was cold, but not too long, maybe a mile. On the way, my bag broke. Again.

The tour bags had already gained a reputation for being horrible. By the end of the trip only one or two people had a bag that wasn't broken. Two bags per 39 players. Plus coaches, plus parents, plus equipment bags. The first time my bag broke was in Auckland and it happened several times during the trip.

When we arrived at the house (not my billet's), there was a massive gate (yes, with spikes at the top). There was also a little booth with a guard operating the gate. As we approached, the billet greeted him and he opened the gate. The gate opened to show a cul-de-sac with a few houses in it. We walked to his and were greeted by his mother with a kiss on the cheek. We went upstairs to find a PS3, a massive TV, hundreds of games, and tons of other high-tech equipment. A far reach from the slums we passed on the way here.

After a bit of getting destroyed at a soccer video game, we got into a car (7 people into a 5 person car) and drove to another house (with their own personal gate with an intercom) where we met up with more members of the team. We were all jet-lagged, and I was the only one who knew that we would be waiting till 9pm for dinner. Our team captain fell asleep multiple times and was joked upon throughout the night. When the pizza finally arrived we all found it funny that it was called 'Pizza Pizza'. The language barrier was almost non-existent that night (mainly because they spoke very good English) and we all got along well.

After the 'mini party' my billet and I were picked up by his parents. I greeted them in Spanish but they spoke back in English, something I wasn't looking forward to (preferring to practice my Spanish). After getting back to his house, I took my bags upstairs, unpacked some PJs and had my first night on tour.

The Beginning

This is the first in a series of posts detailing and preserving the 2011 Scots College Rugby Tour.

The first great feeling of excitement came two days before the beginning of the tour, starting to pack my things. I realized that this was the start of an experience I would never forget. Thinking of all the little things my teammates and I would be doing and what I would have to do to prepare for them. The bag started off with a minimalist vibe, but near the end it was a bit of a mission to close it. When the date came, my father graciously dropped me off at the airport on the way to work and waited with  me for a bit to help me get organized. It was an hour and a half wait before anyone else showed up. Once the tour organizer, Peter Cassie, arrived things moved like a well-oiled machine, bags being tagged, sorted, and loaded onto the plane in a matter of minutes. We were given a speech and then we were off to Auckland.

I had a while to gather my thoughts, and it sunk in that this was our first step to South America. On the plane, you could see clear from one side of the North Island to the other, and we were on our way to the world.

The first sour note was struck in Auckland. We were waiting for a bit and questions were arising. One of the coaches then told us "This is what professional rugby is all about, standing around." After a while we found the truth: the flight was stuck in Sydney for a day. We went to a flash hotel and booked two floors. Each player was assigned a buddy for the tour and you were to share a room with them. I made an effort to put everything back in its place so as to not to disturb the gentle flow I had planned for the trip. Later that night we were treated to a fancy dinner. The food was amazing, that being an understatement. Afterwards we played cards and chewed up time until we went to sleep.

In the morning, still in Auckland, we had our first practice as two teams. I was a bit disappointed when I found out I was the biggest guy on the team and would have to play as a forward. After practice we walked around the block, played in the pool at the hotel, and generally wasted time before the flight.

If you have ever been on a similar flight (one of around 12 hours), you would know that those types of flights are some of the most uncomfortable experiences in the modern world. Cramped, sickly, ugh. It was all worth it the first step I took off of the plane, when the traditional greetings were replaced with Hola and Bienvenidos!