Santeaago.

Santiago is good to us. After the near-misery of the Argentinian border crossing, the sun rises and warms our chops. We take a taxi to Hostelling international, Cinefuego 151 and occupy a corner of the TV room. Then, we wait a couple of hours for check in, eating the scraps of snacks we have assembled in our backpacks. We are generously offered a free breakfast of bread rolls, jam and….

“Hang on a minute, that says Ceylon…”I said to Lucy.

The clouds part as a cup and saucer descend slowly from Heaven, held aloft by winged Chilean angels. A fanfare plays and trumpeters trump. Holy party poppers spill their load as streamers cascade in colours of red and gold. Milk and two sugars pour from above by the hand of the Almighty who stirs the velvety brown liquid with the tiny silver spoon in his celestial grip. He taps twice on the side of the cup making a satisfying double ding sound.

Then comes the silence. Angels crane necks watching intently as we lift cup to mouth. The earth stops on it’s axis and this small hostel in the middle of Santiago becomes the center of the universe.

I close my eyes yearning for that sweet familiar brew. The tea flows over the taste receptors and it’s good. Crikey, it’s most definitely, very good. The familiar intoxicating flavour instantly delivers, and dopamine trickles from the brain into the blood stream. Liquid sunshine transits through our bodies, nourishing the parts most in need.

Everything feels better now. The world lurches back into motion, heavy rotation reaching full speed. Tidal patterns regain their ebbs and troughs, planes stop crashing, politicians stop lying, everybody gets on well, guitars stay in tune, really difficult sums get easier, everybody gets what they really want for Christmas, cats become much less selfish, people get the ability to control their dreams and good tea is always available wherever you are.