Having a lard time

I´ve become emotionally constipated again, after I had been having quite a nice time. The day before I went to the Chilean Patagonian national park.

Whilst wandering in the wrong direction looking completely terrified I got adopted by a Chilean family here on their vaccionaes. I really liked sharing the beautiful views with companions, plus they shared their Pringles. And the Mum gave me her scarf as a gift! But as the saying goes, presents come before 23 hours barely speaking to another soul, which to me is the emotional equivalent of eating lard for a week. I now can´t express myself, not even to the air stewardess asking what I want to drink. I had to turn `naranja' into a cough and stay dry mouthed without my orange juice. The bus driver earlier also thought I was French, when I not only forgot the Spanish for 3pm, but the English too. Trois! 

It then turned out just now that I was on the wrong plane, I have no idea which one my luggage is on, and i can´t even cry about it. My sadness is stuck hard inside me and my tear ducts are as unrelenting as the barren pampla plains of Argentina. 

Maybe the woman sitting next to me, whom I just called Signor after taking an hour to pluck up the courage to ask if she could move so I could go to the loo, will stab me and I can let some emotion out. She seems to be busy reading her book but I´ll do some elbow jostling and see..