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Seeing the awe inspiring peaks of the Andes towering up towards the clouds below me, I wasn't sure if the flutters I felt deep in my belly were the beginnings of excitement or the building of anxiety as I flew towards my new adventure. Travelling to South America had always been on my bucket list. I think the remnants of Portuguese in me created a pull back towards my roots, yet as we descended into Santiago, Chile, it felt like anything but home. Stepping off the plane, I felt the cold wind slap me, a contrast to the warm Australian climate I was used to. Surrounded by towering mountains, it looked like I had landed at the bottom of a crater that had come to life. More than that though, I realized I was suddenly trapped in a bubble. The language I had planned to learn bounced around me like splashes of colorful paint being thrown against a blank canvas. I could hear but not understand; speak but not be heard. "Hola", "Gracias" and "Dos cervezas por favor" were clearly not going to get me very far. Thankfully my companion spoke Spanish and translated for me. My first few days were spent in a whirlwind of colour and noise that left my head spinning. After settling into a hostel in the city and a few quick Spanish lessons from my friend on the important things, like finding a toilet, I felt brave enough to set off on my first solo expedition in this strange, beautiful land. I headed to Valparaiso for a day trip, a colorful and vibrant port to the west of the city. Arriving by bus, I navigated my way to the start of a walking tour of this "Paradise Valley" which took me to significant sights, up steep winding steps, through brightly painted alleyways, past buildings steeped in history and finally ending up at a quaint family run store selling 38 varieties of empanadas. By the end of the day I was completely satisfied, beginning to feel like I was finding my feet. Soon, feeling even braver, I decided to head south into the mountains to a horse ranch in San Fernando. Getting to the station, being told that the bus I needed didn't leave from there and I should find the "other one" didn't even faze me. Until I arrived there and was told the same thing! By then I was running out of time and had no idea where I was going. I had the option to give in to my growing anxiety and fear or take a deep breath and figure it out. As I walked out onto the street, a lady rushed past with a suitcase so I took that breath and followed, I really had nothing to lose. She led me straight there and I was on my way. Having organised with the owner of the lodge (who luckily spoke fluent English) to be collected at the other end, it all sounded pretty straight forward...until I arrived. As I sat on my suitcase in that small town in the middle of nowhere, waiting for my ride, I began to wonder if I had made a bad decision. Listening to the clock tick on past the pickup time; watching the shadows get longer; a single, white, 40+ female alone in a foreign land with only herself and Google Translate to rely on. As my imagination went into overdrive, a friendly face smiled at me and I realized that my rescue had finally arrived. Trail riding in the Andes was everything I had imagined it to be and after a few days at the secluded property high in the mountains I realized I was starting to feel at home. Spending time with the locals, I had picked up enough of the language to feel comfortable and there was something very grounding and balancing about being surrounded by nature. Watching the sunrise over the tree tops, feeling the fresh air on my face and knowing I had overcome some massive personal hurdles by leaping into the unknown, was an extraordinary and exhilarating feeling. I could only sit and wonder where my next adventure would lead.