A few months ago I visited Argentina and Chile for about two weeks with my parents, where I ate approximately my own weight in food. I lived in Santiago for a little under two years starting in September 2004, and since I never got a work visa—it’s pretty easy to get paid under the table, and it never seemed worth it since I always thought I was going stay for just three more months—I went to Mendoza, Argentina, fairly often to renew my tourist visa. A couple friends and I would take the six- or seven-hour bus trip over the Andes, spend the weekend consuming obscene amounts of red meat, red wine, and ice cream, and roll back into Santiago early Monday morning with a steak hangover.
