Elenka and I found ourselves taking the bus from Santiago de Chile airport to the nearest subway station. English isn’t big in this part of the world and that led us to a bit of a mess right from the get-go. After lengthy, disjointed, back-and-forths with a subway station attendant we found that we couldn’t buy individual tickets; we would need to buy a transit card, then load money onto the pay-per-ride card. A similar system is currently being introduced for public transit back home, and we don’t like that one either. Shouting occurred, some in English, most in Spanish. “This is Santiago, not bloody Toronto,” I yelled in Spanish just as the man suddenly appeared.

He was in his mid-forties. His shoes looked relatively new and there were no visible stains or holes in his clothing. He wore a knapsack that seemed to be strung over his shoulders with shoelaces. When he said, “Can I help you?” I immediately grasped the pocket where my wallet was hidden and signalled for Elenka to do the same. 

He began to explain in broken English that we could not pay with cash - something we already knew. Then he pulled us aside and motioned for us to follow him. I thought of his shoelace strung knapsack. Elenka gave me a ‘no way, José’ look. I paused for a moment, pondering the situation. There weren’t so many people around. But there were enough to take notice of foreigners screaming for their lives. What the Hell could happen? And for all I knew this guy might be the only speaker of English in the entire country. So, with the man who had shoelaces for knapsack straps, we went.

He directed us toward the turnstiles and ushered us past the duty guard with nothing more than a salute. Why, I wondered, but kept my thoughts to myself. The man took us along a crowded platform, then through a pair of darkened underground caverns, devoid of humans. Though quiet, Elenka’s anxiety was palpable. Her brain was set on scream, kick and run mode. Out of the darkness, we arrived at another busy platform just as a train was pulling in. Once on the subway, our leader whipped a smart-phone out from his knapsack and began showing us passport sized photos, he said were of thieves and other criminals who’d done bad things in the Underground. And he did this just before properly introducing himself. His name was Herman and he was a frickin’ undercover subway cop, just doing a good deed. Moments later we arrived at Belles Artes, our stop. Before saying goodbye, Herman warned us of the bad hombres who ride the subways of Santiago de Chile, and said that we should be vigilant in guarding our belongings.

Yesterday, we spent seven hours on the north-bound bus to La Serena, a small town by the sea. There is no subway system here so we feel much safer.