Back to Chile again.

Another 7 hour bus ride to Santiago and as we cross the border from Argentina, a large roadside sign informs us that the Falklands belong to Argentina. Hmm, try telling that to Maggie.

There’s a very strict policy on not bringing in any animal or plant products so we quickly eat up the cheese and fruit that we have in our bag and I realise I’m still carrying around my beloved pepper grinder which I’m not prepared to throw out so I have a plan which involves putting it into the bin on the bus. We do the usual palaver of getting off the bus with all our bags, having the large ones scanned and the small ones searched by hand and then I get back on the bus, wait for it to pull away…and get the pepper grinder out of the bin! Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

Just one night at the Hotel Espana (www.hotelespania.com) before we leave for skiing and we’re got to get Harley’s stitches taken out. Unsure what to expect from the hospital, we’re amazed by how clean and new everything is, more like a private hospital. We’re ushered in, escorted to a private room and within 10 minutes of arriving, a smiling if battle-scarred Harley walks out of the hospital, stitch-free. Having previously thought we were lucky to be in BA for the stitches, we’re now wishing we’d been here instead.

We’re having loads of problems trying to book our room for skiing tomorrow and we’re reminded once again how grumpy the average Chilean is. Years of living under the rule of General Pinochet, perhaps? The room we thought we’d booked has been given to someone else as we hadn’t faxed a signature over to the hotel (a bit difficult to do from a bus) and we’ve now been relegated to a chalet 200m away from the hotel.