It's really hot, but the Bellas Artes neighborhood is cool.

There isn't much snow on the Chilean Andes in the middle of their Summer, but there was plenty on the wings last night in Toronto -- so much that they had to bring out the de-icing caterpillar trucks and spray the wing surfaces with a solution that would keep the ice away long enough for the plane to be able to take off.

That's better than the plane getting hit by lightning as happened to the Plotniks when they were landing in Puebla a few years ago, but is a bit disconcerting after a long layover and a five hour flight from SFO, with 10 more hours in the air to go.

The flight was fine, in fact it quite bearable. Air Canada personnel aren't as officious as American flight crews (nobody says "You can NOT stand there, Sir!"), but you pay for it because everything has to translated into three languages. All those idiotic messages about fastening your seatbelt and if the oxygen masks have to deploy and there's a Duty Free shopping zone in the rear of the plane -- in English, French and Spanish.

The flight was fine but the arrival at Santiago airport was agonizing. The reason was that a Boeing 777, while comfortable, is a huge plane. If you're on frequent flyer tickets they put you in the very back -- row 55.

This means you get off the plane last, which means everyone has already gotten to the new currency requirement line before you get there -- more than 200 people inching forward in the line to give the Chilean government $132 EACH! for the right to visit their country.

Of course, they do it to us because we also do it to them.

Then, you're last in line again at the Customs Queue, which today spread at least 300 people deep with exactly three customs agents working at the windows. It took three hours to get out of the airport.

But we're not done. After three broiling hours standing in line, which came after sixteen hours of flying, the guy who was supposed to pick up Plot and Duck never showed up, and his phone rung unanswered.

Plot and Duck found a cab who took them to the man's hostel, which was on a terribly ugly street in an falling apart old concrete block building, and when the girl showed Plot and Duck their room Plot said "Nuh. Uh. Sorry. We're leaving." Think the worst room you ever saw, blisteringly hot and the whole place under construction, not to add anything new, but because all the old shit is falling over.

Bad story ends there. The cabbie took the Plotniks to a great place in the Bellas Artes district: The Ciudad Vitoria Hotel. One look was all it took. And that's where they are now, for only a few bucks more than the impossible hotstel. But even after a shower Plottie is counting the minutes until the sun goes down so he can crash. He is crashing...now.