Sometimes, (in a habit that undoubtedly annoys my travel partners) I tend to narrate an experience as it happens:
"The three beautiful, windswept adventurers stand in between two jutting points of the snow topped Andes Mountains, the border between two incredibly powerful Latin American countries, waiting for the opportune moment to seek refuge in the Chilean wilderness."
Usually Veronika will roll her eyes and Devin will pat me on the back in a sort of motherly, "i´m glad you got that out of your system" way. By now they know all too well my tendency to romanticize everything.
But hey, it sounds better than:
Three overtired, rumbled, slightly smelly American college students, stand in an endless immigration line at the Argentine and Chile border. They`ve been trapped on a bus for 20 hours already, and as they stand waiting to have their passports stamped, they half notice the mountains outside the windows.
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