San Pedro, first evening

The wind was blowing very hard when the tour bus made its first stop that afternoon to look over the landscape. More brown desert. The tour guide, Jaime, explained the geology, and the name. Valle de Muerte could be a corruption of an indian word, a Spanish missionary's name, or just the name given to a barren wasteland by the first Europeans to arrive and die here.

When the bus could not go any further, which was a surprise considering what we'd already driven through, we got out and walked down a long dirt ramp. You could call it a road if you were an optimist. The wind blew really hard until we hit the valley floor. Very North American west looking, red rocks, steep cliffs, sand. People were sand boarding on a large dune. That looked fun and I'm sad we did not get a chance to try it.

Al and I met a Polish doctor, Janik, traveling around on his vacation. Why do Europeans get such long vacations? Not fair one bit. But to balance things out a little, some drunken guys way up in Arica had sicced their dog on him. Now he was giving himself a course of rabies injections while on holiday. I guess I'd prefer the shorter vacation. He was a friendly guy.

Back on the bus and we headed for the Valle de La Luna. We saw a rock outcropping, the three Marys, and chipped a taste of salt off a the wall of a former mine. Tasted like salt.

Finally, as sunset neared, we climbed to the top of a very large sand dune called the amphitheater. Jaime had told us the sunset is not the most spectacular thing, but the changing colors of the landscape to the east as shadow climbed the Andes. It was spectacular. The wind had even died down just a little bit so we could see it without hunkering down and squinting.

When the sun had set, we galloped down a very steep sand hill on the back side of our vantage point. That was the funnest [sic] thing we did all day.

Back to San Pedro and out to dinner. We had our first paradilla, or "mountain of meat" as I call it. Several animals gave their lives for us to sample all of them. A couple of steaks, pork chops, sausage, "black" sausage, and chicken piled high on a plate with candle underneath to keep em warm. It was tasty and we were able to finish most of it. I hope the rest went to some of the many dogs wandering the streets of town.

We lingered after dinner, drinking pisco and wine and listening to the band play. I loved the sound. Something about latin folk music that moves me. The oldest of three band members came around and I asked if I could buy a CD. It was outrageously expensive, something like $25 US, but whatever. I bought it. I was having a very pleasant evening. After all, what will I remember next year... that I saved $25 or that I have this excellent music? I choose the music.

He let me play his little guitar, I forget what it's called, but its low string is in the middle, with strings doubled up on either side. He said the instrument is "six hundreds years old." That seems unlikely since the Spanish did not arrive here until the 1500s and the body is made of an armadillo's shell. I don't think they have many armadillos in Spain, but I could be wrong. I don't care though, it was a neat little thing and fun to pluck on for a few minutes.

I had such a good time that I did my currency conversion wrong and ended up tipping the waiter the equivalent of $10 US, something like 30% of the bill. After we left he poked his head out the door and yelled thanks. It was a very good night. We walked back to Quinta Adela and were happy.