San Pedro, day 2

Before we left the following morning, the Señora of Quinta Adela fixed us breakfast in their kitchen. She told us about her family, five kids, one living with them, one with cancer, bunch of grandkids. This was the first time I tried the orange marmalade they always serve with breakfast here. It was delicious.

We waited outside the gate for our tour bus. When it arrived, a big jolly guy wearing a beat up ball cap and camoflauge pants jumped out and asked us if we were Americans. We said yes and he replied "I AM JUAN IGNACIO! I AM A REDNECK! TEXAS!"

I asked if he was from Texas, and he said yes, but I think he misunderstood me. This guy was not from Texas, but we later learned he is a HUGE fan of In Living Color. Remember that show? He apparently has all of the DVDs. We were first on the bus and got the seats right up front.

Juan Ignacio told his well practiced jokes, alternating English and Spanish. The old Spanish guy also on the tour wanted to stop for a coffee. He was told no. Juan had to explain to him that there were 17 other people on the bus who did not want to stop.

This day's tour was up to the Los Flamencos national park and Salar de Atacama, the great shallow salt lake where all the flamingos live. It's about 7,500 feet above sea level. It looks like the bottom of the ocean, which it may have been at one time, I don't remember. The salt formations, resemble coral and the ground is pretty much made of lithium.

The lithium is mined, and the mines use the water, and, like everywhere else, the environment is affected. In a negative way.

I learned that flamingos are not pink, but turn pink from all the little brine shrimp they eat in the lake. Chilean flamingos have black wingtips.

We drove on up to Lago Miscanti, way up high in the cordillera at 13,500 feet. There was snow on the ground and the lake was frozen. This place was completely beautiful. I love the mountains.

We turned around and had lunch at a small place on the way back down. A Chilean family, including a photographer (Rummy) and his reporter girlfriend, Rummy's mother and 14 year old niece who lives in France. Rummy gave us his card and told us to call him if we needed anything in Santiago. Good folks.

As we continued on our way, Juan Ignacio asked if anyone would like to sell their soul to the devil. If so, Satan would immediately transport us to a fabulous gold mine on top of a nearby hill. The two young boys on the tour volunteered. The driver put the bus in neutral and took the keys out of the ignition. The bus began to roll. Uphill. The young boys screamed.

Behind us the road went down back into the small town. We were definitely going uphill. I don't know how it works this way, but it does.

The Tropic of Capricorn was the next stop. Some PVC poles lashed together out in the desert. Next to it was the Inka Road. The Inkas used to run long distances across the desert from the coast up to their homes in the mountains of Peru. They'd run fish and other trade goods back and forth. Somehow they managed to make their "road" a pretty much dead straight line from one place to another. Apparently they were very good surveyors. In order to confuse their enemies, they arranged the rocks lining the road in such a way that it was only visible at a particular time of day. As the sun travels through the sky, the light on the stones changes and hides the path. The tour goes through at the right time and we were able to just make out a thin line from one horizon to the other. It is an amazing thing to see.

The old Spanish guy kept asking when we'd see the UFOs. Juan Ignacio said he sees them all the time. Look! There they are now! Everyone except old Spanish dude laughed.

There were at least two previous versions of the town of San Pedro de Atacama. Both were located in an oasis near the modern town. This is the place that the Spanish came when they arrived. At the oasis we saw the homes of the original inhabitants. One was a stone hut, and the other a cave dug into the stone cliff. These people lived their lives outside and only went into the cave to sleep. A smaller cave held their food and other supplies. We saw a 400 year old fig tree planted by the Spanish. I would have liked to have eaten one of those figs. Juan Ignacio pointed out the local medicinal and religious (i.e. hallucinogenic) plants.

Our last stop was the village of Toconao, very close to San Pedro. Gift shop! The old woman here had been in a book about Chile. She had a stack of hand woven ... everything, gloves, hats, sweaters, tapestries, socks, baby things... you name it. Out back we saw her loom and and everyone gawked at the young llama. The llama was not thrilled to have all the tourists pawing at it. But it did not spit.

The church here had a couple of the original saint dolls that the Spanish brought with them. The story goes that when the missionaries tried to get the indians to convert, the indians said they were happy with their own gods. Lucky for the missionaries, their dolls are posable. They raised the arms of the dolls to make them look angry and told the indians, "Look! The dolls are angry!" The indians bought it and became Catholics. Of course some good old reliable decapitations and cutting out of tongues may also have played a part in the 100% conversion success rate.

The church also had Jesus crucified in a small chapel. The eyes are made of black glass and he appears to be looking at you. They look alive. It's really creepy. The painting nearby of Jesus squeezing wine from a vine growing out of the bloody wound in his side helps the effect.

Nearly every house along the road and in Toconao flew a black flag. I asked Juan Ignacio what this was about. He explained that the mining companies are taking all of the water that the villages and villagers use to stay alive. So the people fly black flags in protest. He said to everyone, take a picture and go back home and put it on your blog. Here it is.

Back in San Pedro, I was able to check my email for the first time in several days. I found out then that my uncle is going to die of pancreatic cancer after all, despite surgery and hope. We ate dinner at a nice place. I drank three pisco sours, and one of the town dogs walked us home.
It was a sad night.