I made a trip today to gringolandia. It isn’t really called that, of course, but it feels like it to me. The houses are huge, and beautiful. There is a clear view of the mountains, unobstructed by smog or buildings, and many, many gringos.

The only clue I had that I was still in Santiago was the gate guard, who clarified that, yes, I would have to walk around the corner and down the block to catch a bus. He seemed surprised that I spoke Spanish, and even more that I was going to take a bus. That’s how far off my normal route I was!

It turns out I had to walk a lot further, and then call Mark to come get me, because of a lack of public transportation. I was sure I had stepped back into the US!

When I went, I tried to guard my heart against envy of the material possessions that people in that neighborhood have. But I found that I wasn’t envious at all. I found that I felt compassion for them because they live such a spiritually poor life. I didn’t see one church, except a large rock cathedral. I wonder if they even know about Jesus, or if their space and beauty and stuff get in the way of feeling their spiritual hunger.