Chile, wrapping it up, part 1

If I don't ever finish this, then I won't ever finish it. We've already been home for almost three months and I can't even tote up the last few days of our excellent summer vacation. Real life tends to be distracting. It almost seems like a waste to even bother anymore, but I want to. Now it's been long enough that I remember only fragments, best to get it down before I lose any more and only "remember" what's in the pictures.

La Serena

17 hours on a bus. Very plush bus. Top floor. That Ashton Kucher Coast Guard movie. "iMusculos no flotar!" said the tough pool training guy. I was impressed with myself that I was now fluent in Spanish and that was really funny.
We arrived midday I think in La Serena, took a cab to the hotel. Very quaint, like European, small rooms, a monster gas heater like my grandparents had, little old man to give me the stinkeye when we walked in, and talk sweetly to Allison. He seemed like a good old guy. The room was pretty nice, didn't have to step outside to the bathroom. Hot water. Heater. Big windows with shutters on the second floor.
We didn't really have a plan for La Serena. We walked around and went to visit the Japanese Garden, a friendship gesture from La Serena's sister city in Japan. And it was perfect. Seriously a garden like you see in the Japan movies with a pond and bridges and pagoda and waterfall and sand garden and swans and giant goldfish and ... everything. No samurai, but you can pretend.
This was the most multicultural thing I'd seen since we'd been here. Surreal a little, at the end of this grubby soccer field and diapidated graffitie'd monument to something, across the highway from the big home improvement place, you stepped through a bamboo gate in a wall, and ... Japan. Pretty cool.
After the garden, we saw a church, some teenagers yelled "Gringo!" at me in the square, we fought with the Internet for a few minutes, Allison bought some books. Somewhere we ate lunch. It was warmer than we'd expected. We went to a couple of museums, I walked into someone's office, he scowled at me, to a former president's house that looked just like a museum house in Savannah. There was some art, including Chilean comics, very good. Maybe we napped. We got dinner, after walking around for a while. We saw a pack of dogs all after one bitch in heat (HA!) on the pedestrian mall. I went into the electronics store and bought a new card for my camera. I made a non-tourist transaction in another language. I rule.
I felt a little bit nervous in the street. It was an awkward feeling. I really stood out. Probably just me.
In the morning we went on a trip up the Elqui Valley, where they make pisco. It was Allison's turn to not feel well. We stopped at a dam. The guide pointed out the new village built to replace the old village that was now under the lake. I'm sorry to have forgotten the guide's name. We toured Capel, a big industrial pisco factory. Allison stayed off the tour because the cellar smelled like old grape wine. They showed us a movie, smiling blond girls, grapes, sunshine. Eventually I tasted some kind of Christmas chocolate milk and brandy concoction. It was better than I expected.
We ate at a solar restaurant in some little town. The waiter wore an elaborate hairdo, lots of lip gloss, blush, and eyeliner. I don't know what the kids are getting up to these days in the Chilean mountain valleys. We were served some kind of Chilean desert delicacy, a dried peach in some kind of juice with grain. It was not to my taste. I pulled the peach out of the brine and it looked JUST LIKE the facesucker eggs from Alien.
On up the valley we stopped at Gabriela Mistral's house, post office, and school. She was very industrious and this little town has benefited a lot from her awesomeness. The very large "Inca Iris" flowers turned out to be poinsettias. I always thought poinsettias were just some genetically modified commercial flower, turns out not.
We went to Los Nichos vineyard. I stepped in dog shit. Behind a locked basement door and stairs we entered this sort of cavern where apparently the old man of the house had held days long drinking binges for he and his buddies. They rescued all the bones from the local cemetery after a flood and put them under the floor. It was all about death. My camera's "face recognition" feature kept picking out faces in the dark. Weird. We bought a bottle of their organic, made-and-bottled-by-hand pisco.
On the way back we stopped at a couple other little towns, very nice, small, bought an empanada in a bakery, some American girls were there on a college exchange and Allison talked to them, we saw a church made of wood (and again, why do I almost NEVER go in churches at home, but always do on trips abroad?).
Back in La Serena, we had another mountain of meat at "Bavaria," a German-themed Chilean restaurant. Kind of looked like a small Shoney's. We slept.
Morning a very quiet breakfast alone at the hotel, looking at the pictures of the old lady's husband. Turns out the old guy who had been at the desk was just some dude that liked to hang out, not the lady's husband. His photos were from Europe, she said sometime in the 80s maybe. More jam and toast and Nescafe for breakfast.
Taxi to bus terminal, bus an hour or so late, talked to the tall Germans who get something like 5 months of vacation a year. Socialists.
This was a regular bus to Santiago, daylight, only six hours or so. Somewhere in all this bus riding, we stopped at a terminal where a little dog danced on his hind legs while some girls gave him treats.

Santiago

There must have been a cab from the bus terminal. To our hotel in the afternoon. Hotel Bonaparte in Providencia RULES. While all of the places we'd stayed had been nice, it was very nice to now be in American-style luxe... automated glass doors! Chrome! Uniforms! Those little rolly carts for baggage! We got a suite after Allison had misunderstood something. We came out winners. Cable TV, hot hot shower, top corner room with great views, frigobar, couch. It was nice to stop traveling and just be on vacation. I think that was Sunday.
It was four days I think in Santiago. Providencia is super-nice. High-quality graffiti. We walked up to the main drag through trees and pretty buildings, past the Japanese Embassy (what is it with Japan now?). There was a Starbucks. We walked up and down looking for a nice place to eat, settled on La Giratorio, it looked Italian from the name and the neon colors. Comfort food. Turns out it was a revolving restaurant at the top of this very tall building. I sat down and noticed we were moving. I've never been to a revolving restaurant before. Nice views. The food was decent, the waiter crossed out "propina" and wrote "TIP" on the bill.
It was great to go home and lay on the couch and floor and watch cable tv in English. I am a product of my culture.
The next day I think was Monday. It rained. Everything was closed. We went to the mall. Clothes were nice, and cheap. Now I have an awesome "leather" jacket, very similar to the much missed jacket of the 1990s. And a sweater. Allison got some nice things.
Later we took the metro to visit with Allison's host family from when she lived here in 2000. The metro is fantastic, clean, stylish, efficient, very nice. Everyone complained though because apparently the micros, little buses, went further and were more convenient. The government had taken over transit. It looked successful to me, but I don't know how great the micros were.
Al was very excited to see her host mom. We bought flowers and beer and a bottle of wine. Arrived at the place, there's now a big supermarket underneath a bowling alley across the street. You used to be able to see the Andes from here. I saw Allison's old college room. There's a new bed, she said. Her host mom was sweet, I called her tia mama for some reason... I guess because I didn't know what else to call her. The place is very small, modest, not the kind of space you'd see for a family of four in North America. Very middle class there. The family arrived. Two brothers, now married, one baby. Both sons some kind of managers, both wives dentists. Claudio and Pancho (Pancho's not his real name, but that's what everybody called him and I can't remember his given name at the moment). All very kind, good people. I was happy that Allison had gotten to spend time with these people. Delicious dinner, learned "yoke" = joke. Almost sort of maybe kinda followed some of the conversation. Occasional English. Smiles and nods all around. Good time.
Everyone left eventually, after cards.Me and Al and Tia mama played more cards. Ocho Locos and Escoba, a fun game with a Spanish deck where 10, 11, and 12 cards are actually 8, 9, and 10 for the game. Difficult to master in Spanish after several beers. Eventually tia mama said, "you understand me?!" in English. In a very nice way. She is a sweet lady. I liked that game.

and now I'm out. got no more tonight. looks like this will stretch out for a few more days, but at least I'm a few days closer to getting us back home.

Last Day in San Pedro de Atacama

On our last day in San Pedro, we walked up the road to the Pukara de Quitor, an old Inca fort. It's where the locals made their last stand against the Spanish. The pukara is on a high hill northwest of the city and the natives were able to hold out there for some time. Eventually the Spanish took the fort. They cut off the heads of the resistance leaders, and cut out the tongues of any who would not learn Spanish. The place for a long time after was known as the "City of the Heads" for the heads displayed on pikes around the hill.

The place is still beautiful and has a panoramic view of the valley and desert all around. It's a steep walk through the old dwellings to the top, where we came across a guy playing the flute. We sat and listened to the music and looked at the scenery, very filling.

We returned to town, got some snacks, empanadas, cookies, did a little gift shopping and went to settle our bill with Quinta Adela. It turned out that we had miscalculated the cost and were short by $60. Allison ran to the local bank machine to get cash, they don't do credit cards at Quinta Adela. Neither machine was working. We were worried. They said fine, no problem, gave us a deposit slip and said just put the money in the bank whenever you can. We were shocked, to put it mildly.

The family posed with us for a photo and we were sad to be on our way. At 4:45 we boarded the double decker coche cama bus bound for La Serena, a 17 hour trip. The German family we'd been seeing off and on since Arica were also on the bus. That's what you get on the gringo trail, when everyone navigates from the same travel book.

getting back, more Chile recounting

It's been a rough few weeks, but hopefully I can finish up the tales of Chilean adventure soon. I'm a little afraid of wrapping it up, because then it's over.

After my nap following the trip to Tatio, we interviewed Señor Jaime and a couple of his grandkids for Allison's class. He sat and talked with us for half an hour, covering everything from the Spanish conquest to the dictatorship, and wrapping it all around his own and his family's life. He is from Antofagasta and when his and his wife's five kids grew up and went away, they renovated the family house in San Pedro to take in travellers and fill their empty nest.

Allison also got a couple of the grandkids to talk on tape. The boy was easy, the little girl, not so much. When her brother brought her to us, she was bawling. Eventually Allison was able to convince her there's no harm in talking on video and she snuffled and smiled and nodded for us.

Later we got lunch and bought some gifts. I think this was the day of the silent waitress. We walked into some place and the two women in there did not speak a word. One pointed at a table on the patio out back. It looked pretty nice. She came up and handed us menus. She stood silently. Eventually we just said what we wanted and she walked away. A German Shepherd dog came and went with a deflated soccer ball in his mouth. The woman came back with food and set it down. Later she came to clean the bathroom near us. We ate in total silence and left. This was weird. It was like we'd pissed her off by coming in her restaurant. No wonder nobody else was there. Of course, at this late date of remembering, this lunch may have happened the following day, but whatever. It was still weird and uncomfortable. It was the first and only time we felt unwelcome in San Pedro.

We were going out again, to see the stars this time, and it was going to be cold. I put on every piece of clothing I'd brought. This was a pair of cords under a pair of jeans. Two t-shirts, Two regular shirts, two sweaters, a pullover and a jacket, two pairs of socks and two hats. I was not going to be cold again.

We walked into town again to catch the bus to this guy's backyard observatory. Turned out our guide from Tatio, Eduardo the Argentinian, was also on this tour but as a tourist. A guy showed up at the office and started leading us away. He didn't say anything, we just followed him and got on another bus. I thought PLEASE let this ride not be very long. It wasn't. Just about 20 minutes later, if that, we pulled up into the yard of a house on the outskirts of San Pedro. Basically the suburbs. It was pitch black, a new moon, and we went inside the house.

This French guy and his wife host tourists and show them the sky from their several telescopes in the yard. We went inside and they asked whether we'd like hot chocolate or tea after our look at the heavens. Their house had a round common room in the middle with a dome and a hole in it. We sat around the room lit by one candle while he explained about the universe. This tour was all in Spanish, though he did switch to English occasionally for me and an Australian woman who didn't know what a "satellite" is. I followed some of it, basically the universe is big.

We went outside to the telescopes. I was happy to be wearing all of my clothes. We looked through the many telescopes. There were lots... LOTS of stars. He told us how many, but I forget. A lot. He was a real funny guy, in that funny worldly French guy way. Apparently the number one question he gets, while talking about the nature of stars and galaxies and constellations and astrononmy, is "where did you get your laser pointer?" His green laser pointer could pick out STARS. It was really awesome.

So he helped all of us take photos of Jupiter with our little digital cameras. We saw double galaxies, planets, the Milky Way, the Southern Cross, other constellations. He explained how all of it works, how the world rotates, how and why what we see here in the northern hemisphere can't be seen in the southern, and vice versa.

He showed us the Inca constellations, the llama, and I think an eyeball thing. The way you spot the Southern Cross, as opposed to all the other crosses made by stars, is that it's pointed to by the leg of the Incan llama in the Milky Way. There's also a dark spot in the Milky Way that's some kind of cloud. He talked about how we can't really describe or even conceive of the size of the universe, because conceiving of something requires us to think of it as finite. Something like that, it was really deep. He talked about how we were actually not looking at stars in space, but in time. Anyone on one of those many many planets out there looking at us would be seeing the dinosaurs because they are so far away. This trip was kind of blowing my mind.

Having seen all these stars in such a humongous universe... I really find it impossible to believe in a god who is extremely concerned that men have beards or whether gays can marry each other. I am absolutely positive that there's more complexity to everything than any fire and brimstone preacher of any faith can answer for.

We watched the stars for a while, then went inside for hot chocolate, then back home. The night was beautiful.

Tatio Geysers

The alarm went off at 3:30 a.m. I felt kinda sick, headache, mild hangover, that kind of thing. I figured I'd get over it quickly, since it was only three drinks.

We waited inside the locked gate, as advised by the señora. A guy drove up in a pickup and said the bus would be along shortly. Apparently North Americans are always on time so he had come to check on us. Others are not. I sat down on the couch outside. The sky was beautiful dark and full of stars.

The bus rolled up and we met our guide for the day, Eduardo the Argentinian. He used "vos." I'd never heard that before outside of Spanish class. We squeezed in to the bus' back row next to the large German and his girlfriend. It was very tight.

Eduardo explained that the Tatio Geysers were 100 kilometers (62 miles) away and it would take two hours to get there, so go ahead and have a nap. I pulled my hat down over my eyes and tried to sleep.

This has to be close to the worst bus ride I've ever been on. The bus rocked violently from side to side, like a boat in a hurricane. The rocking was when it was not bouncing like mad over rutted dirt tracks. I don't know which was worse. Two hours of this?! Every once in a while the driver would have to get out and check the wheels. Did he wonder if they were going to come off? The bus alternately swayed or vibrated, sometimes both, the windows were completely iced over, it was black black outside, and I scrunched next to Allison directly over the rear wheel. I kept looking at my watch thinking "I'm not going to be sick, only 1 hour (45 minutes, 40 minutes, 38 minutes, etc.) to go." Suddenly I went from freezing cold to very hot and sweaty. I grew up on a boat and have NEVER been motion sick in my life. I'll spare you the details.

Finally. FINALLY we stopped at the entrance to Tatio. FINALLY. I was happy and relieved to stand on earth. This was a bathroom and park entry fee stop. Al paid the fee. I went to the bathroom. Frozen pipes as usual. Sorry about that, next guy in line.

I felt a little bit better. We rode on down to the geysers. The sun was coming up. Eduardo put some milk into a bubbling pool to warm up as he explained the geography of the area. Magma heats a rock surface that heats the water that then bubbles up or spouts from the ground under our feet. There were volcanoes all around. Chile has something like 40% of the world's active volcanoes.

It was freezing. No, sorry, well below freezing. Minus 15 Celsius. That's 5 degrees Fahrenheit. I was not dressed for it. Allison made mommy eyes at me, worrying. I made some mate de coca, got on the bus to warm up for a few minutes, and felt a little more better. Mate makes a headache go away. That was nice. I wish we could have brought some coca leaves back with us, but don't think the government would have been too happy about that.


The geysers are beautiful. Again, there are no railings and paths in Chilean national parks. Eduardo just said, "don't get closer than three meters" and told us about the French guy who lost all his skin when he fell in. Thank you Chile for not making all of your beautiful places idiot-proof. The world could use fewer idiots. One safety concession they had made was to spell out "NO" with an arrow next to the big geyser. This was after the French guy incident. I think he died.

We had pretty much free reign to walk wherever we wanted. Bubbling algae pools, frosted grass rising from boiling water, hot steam everywhere, sunrise over the mountains ringing us in. It was worth it, but I would have preferred to teleport in.

Eduardo was sipping his own mate through an elaborate metal straw from the coolest silver cup I've ever seen. He asked if I'd like to try it and I did. It tasted like tobacco. Not really my cup of tea (HA!). He said he loved the stuff and could never keep enough in the house. Maybe he got in trouble for drinking it all as a kid or something. I'm still working on my Spanish. Allison said I should be flattered, sharing mate is a social custom for friends in this part of the world. So I was flattered.

We did not get in the "swimming pool," a large thermal bath made by workers when they used to mine sulfites here. It was just too cold. Some people did, while others gawked, and said it was really nice. Maybe next time, in summer.

Later we stopped at Machuca, a tiny Indian village. It has fifty total inhabitants, and ten in the winter. The government had built everyone here houses. At this point I felt like I could eat something and bought a sopapilla from the old woman frying them up. It was pretty good.Al tried the grilled llama. I had a bite and it was muy rico. Mmmm. Still freezing cold, I kept drinking the coca tea and shivering inside the small room where the lady was making food. She yelled at a German woman who took her picture. Ask first, and pay.

Polish doctor Janik happened to be here too, with another tour. He was leaving that evening from San Pedro and we exchanged addresses. Or I should say I gave him mine when he asked for it. Maybe we'll hear from him.

We peeked through the locked gate at Mahuca's church, roaming cats made friends with Allison, and we got back in hell bus, which was much less hellish now that it was light outside and the road was only terrible, a lot like Atlanta's roads but unpaved.

Eventually we made our way back to San Pedro. Allison went on a pharmacy hunt for some unexpectedly difficult to find necessities and I walked back to the room to take a nap.

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.

todos fotos

I've got all the photos from Chile up now. Check em out.
I'll finish up the writing just as soon as I can.
Enjoy.

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.

San Pedro de Atacama arrival

The long bus ride to San Pedro de Atacama was relatively uneventful. We had to get out once about halfway, after six hours of traveling, for a customs inspection. It was 4 a.m. and the "inspection" consisted of the guards unzipping our bags. Then we put them back on the bus and went on our merry way.

At 8:30 a.m. we stopped in Calama so they could clean out the toilet. Allison and I saw a stray dog dancing on his hind legs while begging for treats. Everyone is hustling here.

Soon after we got back on the bus, the driver's Gilligan came back and spoke to Allison. He asked if she'd like to come up front and take pictures. She modestly asked if everyone would get a turn. "No, just you." She was kind enough to take me along for the privilege.

The desert and highway at sunrise was pretty beautiful. It was one strip of asphalt through brown desert. I propped myself up in the stairwell, leaning against the door, while Al was installed in Giligan's seat. She chatted with the driver while I looked out the window and tried to catch words.

I was proud to make myself understood in Spanish when I asked about the "little churches" on the sides of the highways. The driver told us they are "animitas," memorials to people killed in accidents along the highway. There are a lot of accidents. Some of the animitas are built near the crumpled skeletons of the vehicles involved in the accidents. The driver told us many people over use and burn out their brakes on the long descents and at the bottom, crash. He showed us one where three kids had been killed when an out of control bus hit their truck. These memorials would make a great photo project.

At about 10 a.m., after a twelve hour bus ride, we arrived in San Pedro de Atacama. The town is the epicenter for the "gringo trail," extending from one end of Chile to the other. It's appropriate though, San Pedro sits within day trip distance of some of the most amazing landscapes I have ever seen. The town itself is all adobe desert pueblo, dirt streets, broken bottles and thorns top courtyard walls, very dry, and all the doors open.

We took a taxi over to our hotel. It's a little strange to be taking a taxi in a dirt road town maybe a half-mile across, but that's how it works.

At Hostal Quinta Adela, a woman maybe in her 40s greeted us and her father, Señor Jaime, came out to chat and make sure we were comfortable. They set up a breakfast table for us in the courtyard with bread, meat, orange marmalade and the ubiquitous instant coffee. Their cat came and sat with us. It was a perfect reception.

The Quinta Adela is a family hotel. Later we learned from Señor Jaime and his wife that they have five children and once all the kids grew up, they renovated the family home as a hotel and began taking in guests to fill their empty nest. They really did make us feel at home (for $60/night, but you gotta make a living too). We were very happy to be here.

We walked the 200 yards into the town center, got some lunch, and arranged our tours for the following days. That afternoon we'd see the Valles de Muerte and La Luna. The following day up to the Salar de Atacama and high lakes, then an early morning trip out to the Tatio Geysers, and finally a trip out to the Frenchman's house for stargazing. It would be a full several days.

Parque Lauca

After breakfast in the main dining room at Putre, our table separated from the students' by about a foot, we checked out and drove on up to the park. In the U.S. our national parks are huge commercial affairs, with "lodges," multiple well-paved roads, and plenty of safety rails and warning signs. In northern Chile, there's one road which you share with truckers and a ranger station where the toilets have frozen. The only signs are the ones that say, sort of pointlessly, the road's in bad shape. It's ALL backcountry up here.

The volcanic landscape was amazing, an ash and dirt plain covered with scrubby brush, large debris piles along valley floors, and swampy shallow high alpine lakes. By "high" I mean close to 15,000 feet.

At the park's western entrance we stopped and talked to the ranger for a few minutes. He lives in Arica and does eight days on and eight days off by himself at the station. He said he reads, listens to the radio, and looks at the night sky to entertain himself. That sounds like a great job. Except that the toilets were frozen.

I was excited to see the vizcachas, described as "prehistoric rabbits" by the Lonely Planet, so we walked around the short observation trail near the ranger station. This was the only improved trail we saw. Everything else looked like trackless wilderness.

The vizcachas were everywhere, but difficult to see in the rocks. They are the same color and pattern as the rocks where they sunbathed. They showed no fear of us coming right up to them, but not close enough to touch. Maybe we should have tried, but I'm not real keen on getting within touching/biting distance of wild animals.

We saw our first vicunas here too. They look like deer with very skinny necks, small heads, and no antlers.

We drove on up the road, oohing and ahhing at the scenery, until we came to another ranger station at Lago Chungara, 14,762 feet above sea level, at the foot of Volcan Parinacota, something over 20,000 feet and a perfect pyramid.

We bought our first handicrafts from one of the stalls set up at the parking area, a scarf for me, wall hanging, and something else. You gotta have gifts, and they were real pretty.

We chatted with the snack kiosk guy and paid for the use of his restroom. What a luxury. (If a toilet doesn't flush, it's pretty much just a bucket with waste in it, right?) I now truly appreciate our reliably flushable toilets here in the good old USA.

More mate de coca to warm up and help us breathe, then a stroll along the lake. It appeared that there'd been some information signs up here, but any text was long gone and just rusty signposts remained.

We had a few minutes of peace before the busloads of kids rolled up, along with their army escort (?!) and a guy in the bed of a pickup waving a flag and whooping. The kids swarmed the lake. We drove on.

A few minutes later we came up to the Bolivian border and turned around. It had cost $100 US each to get into Chile and we didn't want to go through customs and all again just for a stamp in the passports. Next time.

So we started the trip back to Arica. Down down down until we came to the "road" to the village of Parinacota. Roads here are dirt. In the US, you might not even call it a road, much less the one connection to the town. Next time we're renting a high clearance vehicle, although you'd be surprised where buses can actually go. We were.

Parinacota is a typical small village around a plaza and church. They were obviously ready for the tourists to show up. All the little kiosks were open, though the many separate ones seemed to be manned by only a few people. I guess in a town of maybe 100 you can pretty much trust anybody. More mate here, along with sopapilla and trying to keep everything from blowing away in the gritty wind. The plaza also has an elevated gazebo with a foosball table. I wonder how good they are at it.

I was excited to see the inside of the church, where I'd read they had beautiful murals and a table they have to keep tied down so it won't kill anybody. Anybody... else!

When I asked the guy about it, he said they were just about to unlock the church because... the bus loads of kids were about to arrive! Yay.

When it was unlocked I rushed in to get a couple photos before it was overrun, and it was totally worth it. The paintings are beautiful. The table, as promised, was tied down near the altar. It supposedly walked out one time and parked itself in front of a guy's house. The guy turned up dead in the morning. Since then they keep it tied here so nobody else winds up dead due to the End Table of Doom. This church had three skulls with flower garlands in a small room off the main sanctuary. There was no indication of who they belonged to and the video crew accompanying the students was hogging the church guy talking about the table so I did not find out.



Al joined the line of female students to use the outhouse here. I preferred to stop along the highway. She then got into a conversation with one of the army escorts, a big, cheerful, talkative and friendly guy. He didn't really explain why these students from Spain and Argentina on a cultural tour needed an army escort. Some kind of exercise? Just keeping an eye on them? I guess the students might be great targets for kidnapping, or maybe they're just kids and have a knack for getting in trouble. There were also carabineros and an ambulance accompanying the student group.

This guy had been all over the world with the Chilean army, and described Haiti as the worst place he'd ever seen. Sounds about right.

We decided to pass on the army guy's recommendation of a town about 20 miles further down the road, as the road to Parinacota had been a real struggle for our little car and my ass.

The trip back to Arica was uneventful, except we were finally able to spot the geoglyphs (petroglyphs?) along the hills near the city.

Arriving too early in Arica, we had several hours to kill before the Avis people came to the office at 8 p.m. to take the car off our hands. It was a Sunday and the street fair was going on. A stumbling drunk shouted gringo and slurred something indecipherable at me. While nearly everyone we met here was very kind, friendly, and helpful, this guy, others, and the general bad looks I'd get from some people gave me a whole different perspective on being in the hated minority. It's hard to be a tall, blond, white guy from North America!

We were nervous and tired, bored too since we'd gotten back earlier than expected. Not a lot goes on on a Winter Sunday afternoon in Arica. The street fair was lined with stalls selling a bunch of plastic crap and clothes made in China, same as home. We ate empanadas and drank warm cokes ("natural" means warm, fyi) at a food stall.
The fair also had trampolines and mini 4 wheelers for the kids to ride around the plaza on the media. We watched them for a while, and finally reached the Avis people. They could not come early, so we had to find something to do to entertain ourselves. The bar down the road worked fine.

A couple of old guys discussed the dictatorship at the table behind us. A drunk would occasionally get run off by the bar lady, then come back and sit by her and watch TV. Some kids juggled for change in the intersection while squeegee guys hustled on the opposite side. We drank a large bottle of Cristal beetween us. Drinking and watching the street is a great way to pass the time, and the toilet down the hall at this place was something to see.

Eventually it was 8 p.m. We walked back up the street to Avis, returned the car, and they were nice enough to drive us over to the bus station. Our bus left at 10 something for the 12 hour trip to San Pedro de Atacama. When we tried to board the driver told us we needed a special pass to get on the bus, in addition to our tickets. We walked back inside the terminal to purchase the 50 cent slip from a guy in a booth, and got on board.

The highway to Putre

We drove north from Arica and turned east when we came to Chile highway 11. It was a very leisurely five hour drive up to Putre, where we'd spend the night to acclimatize better for the high mountains. It's winter in Chile now, so there weren't a lot of other tourists on the road. We took our time getting there, as we didn't have anywhere particular to be and there was a lot to see along the way.

Arica is at sea level, Putre is about 10,000 feet, and Parque Lauca around 14,000. All this elevation change happens inside of about 100 miles, the width of Chile.
The drive started out through desert. We could tell we were getting further from the city as the layers of garbage along the sides of the road began to diminish.

We stopped and squinted at the hills to see the Lluta geoglyphs, large animal and human figures left behind by the natives 1,000 years ago, and promised by the book. We did not have any luck. The road headed up through more desert and dirt. The little car struggled to climb the steep inclines, sometimes giving real trouble when I attempted to pass a large truck. The highway is Bolivia's link to the coast, and the road was basically us in our tiny lil Peugeot and Bolivian big rigs either coming or going. I could floor the gas and have nothing happen, and I've never spent so much time in second and third gear.

At a small restaurant we stopped for water, and I admired the Homer Simpson bathroom sign. Ah, culture. They also told us we should see their petting zoo.

They had a bunch of bunnies, a few llamas, a formerly abused and now rescued donkey, some chickens and roosters, and some other critters. Most of them were going to become sandwiches at some point, but they sure were cute, and the guy who walked us through seemed kind enough. So the animals at least had a happy-ish if brief life.

This is one of the best things about traveling I think. The distance between North American city dwellers and our food especially is very great. It seems people in other cultures live a lot closer to the earth, not like granola hippy love the trees earth, but animal nature. Not only do they eat animals, but they kill them first. It's a little sad to think the cute bunny's going in a stew, but then what else are you going to eat in the desert? It's not like there's a Publix over the next sand dune. It seems like there's a lot less BS when you know where you stand in relation to other living things, and I like that.

On up the road, steep switchbacks, more large trucks, scenery. We stopped at the Restaurante Zapahuira for lunch, had our first mate de coca (tea made with coca leaves). I dumped sugar in mine like a good Georgia boy and it was pretty good, tasted like tea. No buzz though.

At Zapahuira, the truckers and restaurant people were watching E! on satellite television. The show was greatest celebrity oops or something. Britney with no panties, drunken Hasselhoff, everything about Paris Hilton. It was a little embarrassing to be the only Americans in the room. Greatest country on earth and this is what we export. Awesome.

I forget what we ate, but it was good. The food in Chile is very comfort-y. Did I say like British food, but tastes good, before? That's a pretty good description.

Moving along, we stopped at an Incan fortification off the road, a Pukara. Terraced and stacked stone walls on a hilltop. I started to head down another "road" but after large rocks started scraping the underside of the car, we turned around. The sign explaining what was down the track for some reason was further along and Allison translated... "corral." So I don't think we missed anything by skipping the ancient cattle pen or whatever.

Everything was red and brown, and the sky was very blue, with high clouds.

Finally we pulled over at the Putre overlook.


Then down a road to the town's greenish valley and our second choice lodging, the Hotel Vicuna, built as a miner's camp. We'd tried to get a room in town, but noone had answered the phone, which we'd eventually realize is pretty common.

The native lady (Aymara I think) at the desk admired Allison's flowery coat and told her about how much she liked to sew and showed off the very classy looking business suit she was wearing. She had made it herself.

Ten minutes after we arrived, there came three large tour buses full of Spanish and Argentinian teenagers on some kind of cultural tour. The hotel people told us we'd better hurry up and shower before the kids got into their rooms.

The room was nice enough, and when we got the space heater working it at least provided some placebo warmth against the mountain cold.

We walked through the beautiful cemetery, very small, old and new graves, mounds topped with crosses, flowers, old coffee cans, and bottles of liquor. There's always a soccer field next to the graveyard in these towns.

The town is about 200 yards from the hotel and we walked in to check it out. I saw some sheep coming backlit out of the sunset. "Neato! sheep!" like I'd never seen sheep before, and snapped a picture. They had little dangly yarn puffballs in their ears, I guess as a brand. Immediately after snapping that picture, I saw the shepherd on a horse at top of a little rise. It was a perfect silhouette, with sheep spilling out below him. I wanted that picture too. But he immediately went nuts. Screaming in Spanish about having to ask permission and pay him for the photo of his sheep. He scowled and cursed. Al and I were both shocked and kinda scared. I raised my hands and "sorry, sorry, sorry," kept walking. The lady walking in front of us looked back and smirked. Do not take photos of the natives. Or of their sheep. Ask first, even if you don't see them. Seriously.

The town was... a small moutain town. Plaster, or adobe, whatever they call it here, dry, dusty, vague animal smell, stray dogs, Seventh Day Adventist church, coupla gringo tourism hotels and restaurants.

We stopped in at Kuchui bar for a drink. Some European travelers showed up but kept to themselves. Then an older couple, the woman in a wheelchair. That would be very difficult in this area. We saw them again a few more times. Everywhere we went was pretty empty and we saw the same people over and over. It is the off season, after all.

Back to the hotel for the included dinner. Because of the students, they put us in the bar at the hotel. The closed bar. Then they shut the door. No music. Just me and Al staring at each other in an empty room. A little weird. People kept poking their heads in and apologizing for disturbing us. We say "No, no, come in, it's fine," but they'd have already left. The waiter was very effeminate, and had a lip piercing. That was unexpected.

The kids had taken over the two working Internet computers, so we just went to bed after dinner. Drums and flute played all night, sounding like it was right outside our little bungalow, but not. We couldn't figure out where it was coming from, and didn't want to walk the freezing 50 yards outside to the main building to find out. It was very cold, but many blankets were toasty.
Eventually we fell asleep.

Arica

We landed at the Arica airport about 11 p.m., got a shuttle and rode into the city in the dark. A few people got off at their homes, nothing fancy. Smaller than I imagined, but then what did I expect at a rural desert port town in the far north of Chile? Different is a better word.

Finally we made it to the Hotel El Paso, next to the casino, which unfortunately I did not get to play at because a strict no-gambling rule is in effect to promote marital bliss. The hotel is a series of low pink buildings around a pool and various flowered courtyards. Sort of Western style, it even had free computers in the lobby. It had been a very long day, so we changed into our PJs, drank a beer from the frigobar in the room, and went to sleep.

Allison informed me that I may not be able to flush toilet paper. For some reason, there are two kinds of tp available in Chile, flushable and un-flushable. I am a little baffled still as to why. At this place I flushed. No sign = it's getting flushed.

From our room's patio, we could see the very large Morro de Arica, where the Chilean army had defeated Peruvian and Bolivian forces in the War of the Pacific in 1880 and basically that's what made Chile Chile.

After breakfast (bread, meat slices, fruit, juice, instant coffee, pretty typical) we walked down the road into the town center. The city is right on the coast, very dusty, dry (LP says some people here have never seen rain), and kinda shabby.

Gustav Eiffel built a church entirely of steel here. Or he designed it and had it shipped and assembled here. It was pretty cool, colorful, with walls maybe 2 to 4 inches thick. They even had Jesus in a glass casket just inside the door.

We walked up to the top of the Morro, a giant dirt hill layered with garbage, sporting a big shrine to Virgin Mary under which two kids were making out while an old lady cleaned up around them, topped with a giant Chilean flag, circling vultures, and a museum in the battery. It was a long walk.

The museum was a pretty standard war museum, uniforms on mannequins, old bullets and rifles, and some details of the campaign. We mostly liked the view of the city, port, and ocean.

After the first family we asked to take our photo didn't understand that you have to push the button all the way, despite Allison's Spanish, we approached a couple of Carabineros. They're cops, but more national guard style, sort of an internal military force. These two guys were on dirt bikes and fooling around with an old cannon like twelve year olds.

They were really nice, especially to Allison, took our photo, traded addresses with us, told us to sit on their bikes for a photo. It was pretty cool. I can't think of any U.S. cop experience I've had that was as fun. But I guess if your job was "patrolling" an empty dirt parking lot on top of a big dirt hill, you might be interested in having a chat with whoever came up to talk to you.

We made our way down and into the city center for lunch. More Churrascos, and I exhibited my knack for ordering the girliest drink possible on the menu. The waitress smirked when I asked for the primavera (springtime), or whatever it was called. I wondered what the smirk was for until she brought my large pink drink with fruit skewers and umbrellas. Allison laughed at me too. So I like girl drinks, so what?

We were sitting at a table on the sidewalk enjoying our lunch and sweet cocktail when a bum came up and mumbled in Spanish. The answer is "no." He became very angry at continued no's and ended up spitting in no direction and then punching a plant on the rail. Then he wandered off and somehow made good friends with the guys a couple of tables over. Allison went to the toilet. A toothless grandma in a mickey mouse Christmas sweatshirt came up to me and asked for money, that was a no too. Her I might have given something had it not been for Punchy McSpitsalot earlier. The old lady left. Spitty came back, mumbling very angrily now. Allison said if we give you money will you go away. Smart. He agreed and she reached into her little change purse. Then the restaurant boss came out and chased him off. The guy made some shadow boxing motions, cursed some, spit on some teenage girls walking by, and stumbled along on his merry way. Whatever. But it put us off of our travel high for a while.

There wasn't much else to see, and after some more walking around, we got a taxi to the bus terminal, bought our tickets for San Pedro de Atacama two days away, and then headed back to the hotel.

Later on we had some drinks at the bar and Al chatted with the barman about futbol. He was one of many people she talked to who thought she must be from Spain. For dinner we went to a place along the ocean that we'd seen from the Morro. Pisco sours. Seafood (yay!). Handmade leather menus. A German family we'd seen at the hotel earlier showed up and sat near us. They were the first other gringos we'd seen, and we saw them all the way down to La Serena, for another week. I guess there's a reason they call it the "gringo trail." We were all navigating with the Lonely Planet so I guess it's not that much of a surprise.

I forget what exactly dinner was, but it was good, on a terrace overlooking the Pacific. Then we walked on the beach a while and got a taxi back to the hotel.

The next morning we checked out, rented a small car from Avis, Señor Peugeot, and drove east into the mountains.

Getting there

First I apologize for not writing while actually traveling. But then, I was traveling, and sitting in front of a computer typing is what I do at work so I wasn't very excited about sitting in front of a computer typing while on vacation.
If your life seemed to lose purpose, I am here now to provide a ray of hope. Now I'll start with the whole story, from memory, which is what I get to keep anyway.

Atlanta-Santiago
We left on July 4, took a taxi to the Garnett MARTA station where we were accosted by a guy who said he'd just gotten out of jail and really needed 75 cents. He did not believe that I did not have 75 cents, then approached somebody else. Another guy insisted that we jump the gate while he held them open. We declined. Lucky, because we'd have had to jump them at our destination too.
Train ride to the airport, usual U.S.A. security rigamarole, and onto the nearly empty plane for a 10 p.m. flight. I guess people don't travel to South American capitals much on Independence Day. We moved to an exit row.
Nine and a half hours later, after a terrible Sandra Bullock movie ("Premonition") and airplane sleep, we landed in Santiago, Chile at 7:30 a.m.
It costs $200 US for a visa to get into the country. Lucky we had cash. A couple of stamps and guards later and we were officially in Chile.
We had a whole day to kill before our next flight to the far north, so we checked our bag (one between us) and took a bus into Santiago centro.
There's graffiti everywhere, on everything. There are stray dogs everywhere, in packs and alone. People just ignore them and they mostly ignore the people. Some beg, but not in the city. None appeared dangerous, though many were old, mangy, and had obviously taken part in some heated exchanges with other dogs. Lots of people. Rain, winter weather. Smelled like pee (like many large cities).
We walked down the Alameda to the government plaza, where there was some kind of military ceremony going on. Horses, guys in fancy hats, lots of soldiers. The riot squads with water cannon tanks lurked nearby, and all the police vehicles were covered in chicken mesh to protect windows, tires, mirrors.
We walked around, visited the city museum, where they had the best dioramas ever, if not the most enlightening history exhibits.
We went to the Cafe Haiti for a coffee. It seemed like a Hooters, although I've never been to Hooters. Businessmen leaned on the coffee bar while women in very short, very tight skirts and hose served coffee and chatted them up. Apparently this was a more tame version of the Cafes con Piernas, or "cafes with legs," that are favorites of Chilean businessmen where women in bikinis serve coffee. Unfortunately we did not come across any of these.
We walked around the downtown for a while, eventually stopped at a place for lunch, where we had churrasco sandwiches. Sorta just like a roast beef sandwich. Chileans like mayonnaise. And Nescafe, the usual coffee in Chile. Instant. They also use very tiny, but elegantly displayed, napkins about the size of one square of toilet paper.
They spread sand on the floors to soak up the water.
Allison, being beautiful and fluent in Spanish, was very popular with the waiter. I don't think they see many gringas down there who sound like they're from Spain. It was interesting to be constantly referred to in the third person while I was sitting right there. Eventually I became better at listening and understanding Chilean Spanish and more comfortable speaking for myself, but I'm still hardly fluent. Maybe half-literate. Just eliminate the "s" from all words. That's Chilean Spanish in a nutshell.
Eventually we made our way back to the bus stop and then to the airport. Too early, we ended up sitting around at the airport for four hours. Should have found something else to do in the city, but we were excited and anxious to be on our way.
Finally our domestic flight began boarding. Cheap tickets, good. Two stops along the way, bad. It was more a series of take offs and landings than flying.
Eventually we made it to Arica at the far northern tip of the country, just about 10 miles from the Peruvian border, and were at the official start of the trip back south.

we're back!

At Lago Chungara
Originally uploaded by jasonaut

Production of hundreds of photos is imminent. Right after a nap. And some cable TV. In English.

busted

en arica de chile
Originally uploaded by jasonaut

sigh. you can't get away with anything anymore. actually these guys were really nice to us. Or maybe just to Allison, while I played the gringo.

hasta la vista

We're off to Chile in a couple of hours. Very exciting. I've never been below the equator. We will fly from Santiago to Arica at the northern end of the country and visit San Pedro de Atacama and La Serena on the way back to Santiago and our flight out. 14 hour bus rides!
I'm a little nervous as Allison says noone in Chile speaks English, not like Europe. So I'll pretty much hear Spanish only for the next couple of weeks. Except for tour guides and maybe the French astronomy guy, and Al maybe too if I'm lucky.
The bags are packed (too full, it's winter there you know), batteries charged, passports in hand, housesitter and taxi on their way. It's our first non-event related trip (wedding, work, race, family, etc.) in years and we're on our own. I'm excited for the opportunity to step a little ways out of my routine.
Now I'm going to fill up on some American TV. Happy Independence Day.