Chilling in Chile

Ok. Sorry for that lame headline, but wow.

So I’m sitting in Santiago, Chile drinking a Pisco Sour and about to be served a cornucopia of seafood—mussels, prawns, squid, tiny clams, crab and of course Chilean sea bass. I just nodded and said yes to everything the waiter—who it turns out is an aspiring journalist clad in Captain Stubing's uniform-- suggested. I still have no understanding of this wacky 500-to-1 Chilean Peso currency math so my jet lagged addled mind has no clue if I’m getting a bargain or ripped off, but this moment I just don’t care.

Chile is quite literally a breath of fresh air after three weeks in China and three weeks in India. The weather is absolutely breezy and beautiful, exotic birds are chirping, and it’s CLEAN. Amazingly clean. Both the air and the sidewalks. Not a whiff of urine or human feces in the air. Sorry to be graphic, but it’s a shockingly welcome olfactory omission not only having just been in India, but also owning a house in the Mission.

There are two things that may be surprising about the news that I’m sitting in Santiago eating my weight in fish. One: I didn’t really announce I had another trip coming up. Even Michael Arrington asked if I’d be in the office this week-- as I was boarding my flight. It’s partially because I was intending to go from Chile to Brazil, and after all the many death and rape threats, I promised Mr. Lacy and several other over-protective friends I wouldn’t pre-announce any trips to Brazil just to be safe. But that trip is put off—yet again—and I’m just doing Chile and Argentina this month.

The other reason it’s a surprise: I just got home from India on Tuesday. I had just enough time home for a press:here shoot and a friends-and-family laden Thanksgiving before hopping another 20-hour flight.

 I don’t think the body is supposed to fly some 45 hours in one week. I don’t feel sick so much or even jet lagged as I feel like I might be in various states of organ failure. Sneezing, ankles that have morphed into unsightly cankles, a little dizzy and oh—there was the morning of Thanksgiving when I was doing some last-minute shopping and actually had to race out of Whole Foods to throw up on the street. That’s a first for me—ever. And no, I’m not pregnant. I’m just exhausting and living in between vastly different cuisines and time zones. I actually had to be woken up to say goodbye to my Thanksgiving guests Thursday night. I kept my eyes open as long as I could without toothpicks and unknowingly nodded off like some senile old man towards the end.

(News flash: The waiter insisted I didn’t order too much food. He lied. Also, turns out I’m not a fan of abalone. Too fishy! The Pisco Sour is fabulous though. Wow. I'll have to try Peru's, I know. Even the waiter--when pressed--admitted the Pisco was better despite the inter-country Pisco grudge-match. Oh! News flash #2: I mentioned I think I ordered too much food and he raced back and cancelled the next course. “We don’t force people to eat here,” he said with an easy smile. Oh God, I love this country. It's the first time in a while I haven't been relentlessly up-sold.)

I know what you’re wondering: What am I going to find in a country with just 16 million people and a meager $170 billion GDP that can compare to China or India? Two answers: The first is I’m principally here for Endeavor’s International Selection Panel in Patagonia, where the amazing non-profit that advocates high-impact entrepreneurship in the emerging world is doing the final vetting of some 23 candidates throughout South America. Endeavor has been a huge supporter of this book, and I’m a huge supporter of them.

But the second answer is more important: Country size matters, but it isn’t everything. Sure billions of people racing towards a middle class represents growth that can’t be ignored. But it’s not everything. Remember: The country that came closest to replicating the returns and ethos of Silicon Valley isn’t big ol’ India, it’s tiny Israel. And OK, there are a million caveats to that statement that I’m currently hashing through as I try to write 30,000 words of my new book on emerging markets before the end of the year—but it’s still a point to be made.

After all, there’s no reason a fifty-mile stretch between San Francisco and San Jose should have given rise to such a disproportionate number of the world’s high tech giants. If high-growth entrepreneurship made logical sense my job might be a lot easier, but it’d certainly be a lot more boring.

(News flash #3: I don't have a local sim card yet, so I asked my pal the waiter to call the hotel driver. He had told me to allot 15 minutes, but got there in record time. As I tried to chug my last delicous pisco sour, the waiter leaned in and whispered "You can take the glass as a souvenir. Then, when I accidentally WAY over paid the car thanks to jet lag, currency confusion and said pisco sours, he gave me back the excess, insisting "Only 2,000." That's like four dollars if my math is right. God bless this non-fleecing country.)