Grapes Upside Down

2. Pisco Sour

~Madisen~

"¡Esto es increíble!" Clara exclaims as we emerge from the changing rooms. Three massive swimming pools, settled among various rock fountains, glisten deep turquoise in the late summer sun.

"¡Vamos!" We dive in, the icy water delivering a shock all over the surface of my sun-scorched skin, which immediately burned during this morning's stroll through the city. I emerge from the water with a gasp, the chill penetrating my internal organs.

"¡Está frío!" I state the obvious, giggling like a carefree child.

After a fourteen-hour flight from the States, Aventuras Chile has kept us on the go for the past two days, shuffling from tours to activities to restaurants. Floating on my back in the freezing water, I close my eyes and to allow my introverted spirit to inhale several regenerative breaths. The chatter and shrieks of my peers filter as peaceful, muffled sounds through the water submerging my eardrums, and a rush of glee begins charging my insides. 

"Madisen! Clara!"

Mark waves a hot-pink beach ball in the air in an invitational gesture.

"¿Quieren jugar al volleyball?" His English pronunciation of the sport hangs thick in the air. Mark is also a Hispanic Studies major at Whitman and has one of the thickest American accents in the program. He's a football player with a muscular build and classic dumb jock voice, but he is actually quite sweet. We were on the flight out of Seattle together.

We join in the game along with several others, sprinting with all our might through the crystally water to save bumps, leaping haphazardly to smack the harmless beach ball into each others' faces. There is a collective energy of adventure, anticipation and utter lack of responsibility as we splash each other, hollering like middle schoolers.

When enthusiasm for the game winds down, Clara and I decide to avoid hypothermia by taking a rest on the lounge chairs. I apply another layer of sunscreen to my legs, which continue crisping as soon as I exit the pool.

"Did you say you have a host sibling?" I ask Clara, in Spanish, as she stretches onto her towel and slips on a pair of oversized sunglasses that make her look like a movie star. Since receiving our envelopes at lunch, we have all been abuzz with conversation over our new borrowed families.

"No siblings, just a couple. Not sure how I feel about that; I was sort of hoping to live with someone my age, or a little sister."

"Aw." Clara has two older brothers in her real family.

"Are there kids in your family? Besides Noah," she adds with a light laugh. "Your new brother."

"Ha. Nope—they have an older son, but he is away doing an internship here in Santiago, which I guess is why they had the extra room to take on two exchange students."

Our chat is slowed and simplified by our unpolished Spanish, which we compensate for with embellished expression, hand gestures and the occasional use of circumlocution to fill in vocabulary gaps.

The shortest adult human I have ever seen passes through the maze of poolside furniture and serves us Pisco Sours, which we happily receive. We are giddy to be living the high life these first couple days in Chile. At twenty, we are still under the legal drinking age in the States.

The cocktail stings my tongue on the first sip with delectable foaminess, the immediate buzz enveloping me in a full-body experience.

"These are intense," I comment to Clara, who merely giggles in unconcerned agreement.

"Esta es la vida," I sigh, butchering the translation of the expression and sounding like a cliched Gringa.

"Hey, there's your roommie." Clara motions across the way, and I spot Noah dribbling a soccer ball along the cement by the edge of the pool.