10 October 2010

I'd swear that there is no way that I ever sleep in places where I am sitting relatively upright (i.e. planes, buses and cars). While this time I've gone for the "cama" (bed) seat, it is still far too upright for me to think it possible to sleep. There's a lot more room than my "semi cama" seat from my last bus experience, and yes, this one definitely lays back a fair bit further, but sleep doesn't seem possible. So despite the bus leaving at nearly 11PM (it arrived late from the North), and the fact that I'm feeling quite tired, I settle in to watch the movie that is playing (it was obviously memorable – I have no recollection of what it was). When it finishes, I close my eyes, hoping for sleep, but really not expecting anything more than just to rest them.

I'm not sure that I remember a feeling of waking up at any stage, yet it feels like barely any time has passed since the movie finished and yet the sun is coming up! It's rather pleasing to have passed a good number of hours in the middle of a 12 hour bus trip without being conscious of the boredom. At least this time on the ride into Santiago, I can see the scenery for a couple of hours before we get to the terminal at 10.30AM, although to be honest, it isn't that great, nor is it bad. Just so so. I'm afraid I pass the time with nothing much more cultural than playing chess on my mobile phone (I can win at beginner level, but am thoroughly whipped at novice, intermediate and expert levels) and listening to some music.

Arrival into the bus terminal at Santiago occurs precisely 10 minutes after the connecting bus I was aiming for has departed. It's been expected, given we left nearly half an hour after we were scheduled, but nonetheless a bit disappointing. As it turns out, it wouldn't have mattered anyway, as I'm damned if I can find the offices of the company I'm looking for, despite three laps of the terminus. Eventually I resort to the asking at the tourist information office, who kindly point over my shoulder at a counter for international destinations. While it isn't with the company I was looking for, it's with my amigos at Tur Bus, so it'll do.

The counter is clearly labeled "International", and at the end of a row of counters clearly labeled "National". There's a huge queue of people in what appears to be the line for the National buses, so I take a chance and stand off to the side and in front of the International counter. The lady there looks up and I give her my best "enquiring" look, shrug my shoulders and point to the rest of the queue. She shrugs her shoulders as well, which I boldly interpret to mean "I have no idea whether you should stand in the line, but in the meantime, yeah sure, I'll sell you a ticket."

I plunge forward and begin the tricky business of explaining what I'm after. Yep, no problem, I can have a one-way ticket to Mendoza, leaving at 1.30PM. At this point, a rather haughty lady, perhaps in her 60's or so, arrives at the window next to me and begins talking to the lady. She is clearly indignant that the crazy gringo has just pushed his way to the front of the queue which she was otherwise at the front of. The sales lady smiles an apology and looks to the side of me, which I take as suggesting that perhaps I should just stand aside for a few minutes, and then she'll get back to me. No problem – I feel a bit guilty for having pushed in, but then I remind myself that the desk is International, and the other lady is buying a ticket to Valparaiso (definitely a National destination). Ha! I'm not the fool in all of this, but then again, she's the one being served right now…

After she departs, it's back to me, and a short time later, I have my ticket, and only about 2 hours to wait. I make full use of the bathrooms - you pay for just about every public bathroom here in Chile, and while that often guarantees some level of service and cleanliness, it isn't always so. Fortunately today is a good day. Despite being somewhat sleep-deprived, a splash of cold water on my face and neck, a change of shirt and being able to brush my teeth, and I only feel moderately second-hand. Some sugar-laden pastries and an orange juice later, I feel a little bit better again.

I couldn't be happier with my ticket for the bus. It's the row at the front of the bus behind the driver, but on the opposite side of the bus. I settle in, and more and more people board, yet no-one is sitting beside me. Excellent, as there is heaps of leg room, so it's looking like I might have a comfortable trip. One more lady gets on, and yep, she's moving to the seats behind me. All of a sudden, and handbag lands in the seat beside me, which is a bit strange, as it's come from the seat behind. I look around and it seems that the couple sitting behind me are about to be displaced by the lady who just got on. It looks rather like they have booked separated seats. Then she goes for the puppy dog eyes… Would I mind swapping seats with the other of them so that they can be together? What do you say? No, and then have to sit next to one of them in a grump for the entire trip? I roll my eyes, accede to the request, and move from my excellent seat… The two of them settle in and make themselves comfortable… And to add to the excitement, the guy commences sneezing about 15 minutes into the trip, followed by blowing his nose (loudly), which continues for the rest of the trip. Excellent. He has a cold and is now sharing that with the rest of us.

The road up into the mountains begins in straightforward fashion through the valleys and farmlands around Santiago, however before too long, we begin to climb and the road gets windier. It seems that suddenly we're into tight valleys, ravines and towering hills/mountains all around us. Again, it is starkly beautiful. The mountains here are somewhat different to those I've seen in the north. These ones often have sharp, jagged peaks and there is still snow dusted on them. Then the climb begins.

I'd read about this section of road with some enthusiasm. The writer recorded how he had been sick on the seemingly endless switch-backs (corner number 23, from memory), that he'd hurled into his backpack, which had in turn leaked onto his pants, and then he'd had to wait for some period of time before getting to the customs/border control point and being able to change. Any road with the capacity to make someone (who I assume was a seasoned traveler) that ill, not to mention one that has numbered curves reaching into the 30's, must be something to see.

I was not disappointed. My photo's don't do it justice. A relentless series of climbing switchbacks, the shortest of which are maybe only 100m apart, are extraordinary. You feel as though you are endlessly swaying from side to side as the bus swings backwards and forwards as it climbs. It looks as though a whole series of number 8's have been laid (overlapping) on top of each other and that you are looking at it from a 45 degree angle from the side. Another piece of road to add to my list of places to ride the motorbike. I reckon I could spend all day just going up and down here.

Topping it off was the sight of a couple of bicycle riders panting their way up the hill, getting some series altitude and climbing training into themselves! They must be serious riders, as it's hard to imagine the average person being able to put themselves through the altitude and length of the climb. The human body is an amazing thing in that which it can be trained to do.

We arrive at border control and it's fair to say I'm a little nervous. Sure, I've got a nice, shiny new passport, but my other bits and pieces are not the most official looking bits of paper – they look like crappy photocopies now, and I've prepared my speech in Spanish about everything, so as long as they don't ask difficult questions, I hope all goes well. I'm third in the queue, hoping to get it over and done with early…

I honestly don't know why anyone has bothered with all of the paperwork I've been given over the last few months and told that it was absolutely essential that I carry it at all times! Emigration/immigration consisted of handing my passport and emigration card (the new one that I was given when I got on the bus) over at one desk, getting them cursorily examined and stamped by Chile, then waiting 10 seconds while some numbers were thumped into the computer, moving 1.5m to the right, handing the same documents over to Argentina, getting the same 25 seconds of treatment, then it was done. No interest in seeing my old tourist visa or any of my other papers. All over and done with inside 1 minute. When that is complete, I'm ushered off to an area to the side of the building behind a railing, but that isn't so interesting, so it's off to find another bathroom. This one requires the user to decide how much money it's worth paying – I have to say I prefer the fixed price ones (usually around A$0.50), rather than handing over a similar amount and feeling like a cheapskate… Back to the queuing area and it seems all of the bags are coming off the bus and going through an x-ray machine. I enquire as to whether I need to get my bag and put it through myself, but no, it appears that isn't necessary. The bus operators do that for us. Fair enough.

Eventually, we're all ready and we climb back on board the bus, which pulls out of the shed and then parks up again. Taking the opportunity, I get out and take some pictures of my second visit to Argentina. The scenery is stunning. Towering mountains and deep valleys. I kindly elderly lady tries to tell me something about the mountains, but I'm afraid I can't understand a lot of what she is saying. I get to safer ground when she asks me from what country I come from. I smile and tell her that I'm from Copiapo, Chile. While I think it is very funny, she doesn't seem to get it, so I revert to reality and explain I'm from Australia. That seems to make more sense to her and then we leave each other in peace.

We're eventually off again. The lady sitting beside me has bought herself a big greasy hamburger and some other unidentifiable treats and despite being offered one her treats, I decline. Thanks, but no thanks. The road into Argentina is downhill, and there are a surprising amount of buildings along the road. There's a small thermal spring, a number of small ski runs, and plenty of accommodation options, rather than having to go the next few hours down to Mendoza, if the passport stamp was all that is required.

The road drops down and out of the mountains quite quickly once you are in to Argentina, plus given it was getting dark, means there isn't much to write about. Mendoza is sort-of at the foothills of the Andes (you can see the mountains quite easily, but it isn't really at the base of them), and with lots of vineyards around. I'd been given the word that it is very beautiful here, but although it is hard to see given the light, I don't get the feeling it is super beautiful… We'll see what tomorrow brings.

The bus terminus at Mendoza is a scene of chaos and mayhem, with people everywhere. I'm very surprised. My first mission is to obtain a return ticket to Santiago for the morning. I have decided to try with another bus company (a Lonely Planet recommended one), and sure enough, their office is right in front of where we get off the bus. Having reclaimed my bag, and been directly asked for a tip for getting it back (that doesn't happen in Chile with Tur Bus, and it comes as a bit of surprise), off I go. Given that I don't have to be back in Santiago before mid morning on Tuesday for the bus back to Copiapo, I'm hoping for a late afternoon bus. It appears that I'm a bit unfortunate in having run into a large number of Chileno's who've decided to come to Mendoza for the long weekend, and they are all catching the buses that I wanted in the afternoon, so all that is left to me is a 9AM bus, which I decline. Despite searching all of the other bus companies in the terminal, none can offer anything later than 9AM, so back I go and sheepishly ask for that 9AM bus that I recently declined. No problems, says the rather smug ticket seller…

I've made an accommodation booking for tonight at an apartment in Avenida "Alem". I was counting on being able to get some local currency at the bus terminal such that I could catch a taxi once I got here, but unfortunately both machines are devoid of cash, which causes angst to me, as well as the queue's of other people waiting behind me. It would've been nice if the others coming out of the little booth could've mentioned that… I explain to the girl behind me that it has no money, to which she thanks me for the info, then proceeds inside to try her luck anyway. Suit yourself I think to myself…

There is also no person manning the tourist information counter, which is a bummer, so I've got no real orientation information for where to go for Avenida Alem (which is rumoured to be within walking distance), no cash for catching a taxi, and I'm tired. I head out of the terminus, expecting to find the place rather like Chile, which has a bank on just about every corner along with an ATM, however here might be a little different. I walk for half a dozen blocks, worrying a little about where the hell I might be going, before I spy a Sheraton Hotel sticking out above the surrounding buildings. Deciding that there must be some sort of advice I can get from there, not to mention the chance of an ATM and a taxi, I head in that direction. As I get closer, yep, I'm in luck. The streets are getting busy, there's restaurants and shops around. Looking good, except that there still aren't any banks to be found. I walk a little further, find a very busy looking street, a pedestrian plaza lined with restaurants, and just when it looks like I'll have to ask someone where they keep their banks, I find one. And boy, what a find. I enter into a small room filled with about 8 ATM's. The choice is overwhelming. It turns out to be lucky there are that many, because the first 5 that I try have no cash left in them. There must be one hell of a party going on here this weekend, given the amount of cash no longer in the ATM's! Eventually, I find one that is working. The next question is how much money do I want? I have a sinking feeling when I realize I have no idea of the exchange rate between Australian dollars and Argentinian pesos. The I take a bit of a punt from the choices available to me that 500 pesos might be an OK amount, however given that if they were Chilean pesos, I'd have about A$1 on my hands, I'm a little worried.

After leaving the bank with a fist-full of dollars, I try to hail a taxi with no luck. They are all heading in the other direction and full of people. I head to what looks to be a slightly less blocked side street and try again. Success within two minutes and I climb in the back. I pull out my accommodation reservation piece of paper and show the driver. Avenida Alem, por favor. He turns and looks at me and says What? (in Spanish). Avenida Alem, I reply, and point out the address again. THIS is Avenida Alem, he says. No way, I reply. Yep, he says, what number? When I tell him, he points over his shoulder and says, That would be it right there. He then points at his meter and says that I owe him the flag fall amount – about 1.5 pesos. I'm deeply embarrassed to have to explain I have a little problem in that I've just been to the bank and the smallest note I have is a 20 pesos note. Get out of my taxi, he says…

The Apartments are located through a doorway and behind another building, so it wasn't particularly obvious where to go, but I eventually find my way. I'm greeted at the very hip and cool reception area by a very hip and cool Jorge, who gives me the run-down, in Spanish, which I can pretty much follow. It's a funny thing – some people I have much less trouble with than others. Anyway, I give him my usual chat and it all goes quite well. He recommends an area to go for a walk, where there might be some music and dancing, and also a restaurant. Perfecto. My room is excellent and despite the tiny shower, it offers plenty of hot water and a desperately needed shower is just the thing to freshen up.

I head off towards the restaurant. I have six or so blocks to go, and across the town centre plaza. I immediately like this part of Mendoza, at least on a Saturday night. The buildings are beautiful, lots of plane trees in the streets and there are NO DOGS roaming the streets. After Copiapo, that's a blessed relief. Despite it being around 11PM, there's an abundance of people out and about, and the whole place has a very nice vibe to it. I find the plaza with live music and dancing, and it is packed. I'll come back after dinner. One thing to note for other first-timers to Mendoza – watch out for the drains. They're deep, and you could easily lose a small child in them!

The recommended restaurant is also excellent – I dine on the footpath tables and enjoy the nice, warm evening air, and I enjoy a nice Argentinian malbec that was recommended by the waiter. The self-service salad bar is also excellent – the best one I've come across in South America (ooooh, I'm so widely travelled, aren't I – tee hee hee!). The musicians trawling the streets and looking for tips are also excellent. It's just a shame I don't have any smaller money to pass over (it seems to be the done thing here to cough up little bits of cash fairly often to the buskers and even the occasional beggars, so carrying plenty of coins is the go).

After dinner, I head back through the little plaza and watch some of the traditional dancing – the girls and boys are all dolled up in traditional clothes, and it's just fantastic to watch and listen to. It's just a shame I'm feeling so tired and given the early start in the morning, I feel a need to get to bed. Lights out, head down, and I'm out in no time at all…

Adios.

9 October 2010

It's Saturday, on a long weekend, and I'm working in the office, by myself. Long, deep sigh… Still, I can get a whole heap of work done over the next few days. It'll be good to get a few of those nagging little jobs out of the way with some clear time to get to them.

By the end of the day, I'm feeling quite pleased with the world again. I've had a good and productive day, got a whole bunch of administrivia out of the way, and the next few days are looking good. I walk back to the foyer of my apartment building and smile a hello (Hola!) to the security guard when he looks up. He moves up and out of his chair with lightning speed, which surprises the bejeebers out of me. He whips around, reaches into the mailboxes, and turns to me, beaming, with an envelope in his hand. Surely it can't be… But it is. The little white envelope has stamped on it words to the effect of "Australian Embassy". It's my passport…

It's about 7PM, Saturday night. What to do? Strictly speaking, I need to be out of the country on Tuesday, otherwise I'll be fined and who knows what else? Deported? How much will the fine be? No straight answers are possible at this time of the weekend. It is unlikely to be possible to get the motorbike organized in time to be able to leave on Tuesday, as it seems Lizette has lost her ID card, which is an essential part of the process in organizing the paperwork (rather similar to losing one's passport). I think about hiring a car, but Alexis suggests that even that might take a few days to get organized, given the extra day off on Monday. Organising a plane ticket on Tuesday might be a bit tricky as well. Not much else for it, I'm afraid. Looks like Tur Bus (or similar) is it.

I search the internet and find some hope in that there is a bus company that runs from La Serena to Mendoza, although I am unable to find out when it is actually travelling. Bummer. The next best option seems to be to get myself to Santiago, get on a bus to Mendoza, spend a night, then come back to Santiago and then on to Copiapo. It'll mean I miss working on Tuesday, but given I worked Saturday, that'll cancel itself out. Oh well, let's do it and see what happens. Another adventure, coming right up! It's 8.30PM now and the bus leaves at 10.30PM. Best I get a wriggle on, book a ticket, get packed, and get back to the bus station.

So much for my quiet weekend of working. Chaos and mayhem, again.

Bye.

8 October 2010

Well, this week was supposed to be the week my new passport arrived to Copiapo, but somehow things went a little awry and it just didn't make it. I know that it was in Santiago on Tuesday, because I got an email saying it was there, and would I like to pop in and pick it up? No, I wouldn't, thanks very much. I live 800km to the north of Santiago, so I can't just pop in and get it. I'd also been very specific with the man who interviewed me for the new passport, and we agreed that it would be sent in the registered mail immediately it arrived in Santiago. Obviously this did not happen.

So, it seems like it should be in the post on Wednesday. In my naïve little world, I expected that would mean it would arrive into Copiapo on Thursday (overnight delivery). I'd then be able to go through the process of getting all of the right insurances and papers for the motorbike to be able to ride it over the Andes and into Argentina for the coming long weekend (yep, another one – I love Chile!), returning on Monday through La Serena to the south. All it needed to come together was the one little blue booklet…

Having agreed with myself that this was how everything would turn out, it was a little disappointing to find that it hadn't turned up by Thursday afternoon. The security guys in the apartment would just shake their heads every time I walked in to the foyer to ask if it had arrived yet? No, nada. I finally managed to get through to the Embassy and discuss where and how they sent it, all of which questions seemed to surprise them. No, we just sent it in the normal mail (but registered), and if you ring back tomorrow, we'll try to find the tracking number for you. Great. Thanks for your further assistance.

Friday morning (today), I finally get through to the Embassy and they give me the tracking number. I've been trying to call you all morning, says the Embassy henchman. You'll find a heap of missed calls on your phone. Great, thanks for your efforts, I reply. I check my phones (both of them) – nothing. No missed calls… I try to locate the envelope with the tracking number, but it appears to be saying that it is in a clearing centre in Santiago. This seems very unlikely – it's been in the system for two days and still hasn't left Santiago? No chance. The postal system is more efficient than that! Lizette offers to take the number to the post office and check from there, but on her return, she has the same answer. Nope, it's in Santiago. Correos suggest that they will deliver it on Wednesday. Great. One week to send a letter from Santiago to Copiapo. It beggars belief. If it wasn't already a debacle, the whole "lost passport" thing is now officially a shemozzle. It'll arrive in Copiapo the day after my tourist visa expires. Perfect.

After a bunch of deep breaths, I decide to just give up. I can't fight it any more. The big sign that I wear, visible only to Chileans, which says "Yes please. Take advantage of my good nature. Go out of your way to annoy and frustrate me. In fact, I want you to screw me around. I insist on it!" must be written with big flashing neon lights. I have been frustrated, but now I'm beaten.

To make the best of the situation (make lemonade from lemons, as my mate Mikey says), I think I'll to work through the weekend and when the passport arrives, get the paperwork sorted out and just head off into the hills in the middle of next week and basically be a hermit for a few days. Maybe I can find a hill to sit on in the lotus position (if only my legs would bend that far) and watch the day go by?

By the end of the day, I don't love Chile quite so much.

Saludos,

Andrew

26 September 2010

Not much to report from today really. I slept in (hooray), made my way to the Tur Bus office in Vina del Mar, ate some cheese empanadas for breakfast, caught the bus back to Santiago, had a late lunch and flew back to Copiapo.

The highlight was the taxi trip to the airport, where the driver steadfastly refused to have anything to do with the toll roads. It took a heap longer, but in the end, the cost somehow managed to come to exactly the same amount as when the taxi drivers take me via the toll roads. Go figure… Still, I got to see a bit more of the "gritty" side of Santiago than I'd seen before. Not exactly frightening, but certainly somewhat poorer than the main areas I've seen. I'm certainly not talking slums and tin shanties, or anything like that, but it was certainly a reminder (not that I needed one) that Chile isn't yet a first-world country.

Oh, and I managed to complete the trip without losing anything…

Chao,

A

25 September 2010

Hello yet again,

Today I'm off to see what Valparaiso is about and see why everyone here raves about it. I plan to stay overnight, and head back to Santiago in time to catch the afternoon flight home to Copiapo. It's a bit of a whirlwind trip, however I'm taking the view that it will be just a scouting trip and see whether it is all it is cracked up to be, leaving me free to decide whether a further trip is worthwhile in the future, or just see something else.

For those that don't know (i.e. pretty much any non-Chileno?), Valparaiso is a UNESCO heritage-listed city. Exactly what that is supposed to mean, I have to admit not actually knowing, however for me, the descriptions of things like "photographers dream", "cobbled streets", "15 ascensors that rattle you up the hills", "patchwork of colours" and so on, all mean that surely there is something worth seeing there. As is also typical in many of the interesting parts of Chile, there is mention of the famous Chilean poet Pablo Neruda, who apparently wrote some interesting poetry about the city, and any city that has decent prose written about it must surely be worth a visit.

So, how to get there? From Santiago, my preferred bus company runs buses every half hour, and taking about an hour and a half to get there, all for the princely sum of about A$15 return. Bargain. I therefore front up at Tur Bus HQ at around 10AM, pays me money, boards me bus, and off we go. The route from Santiago runs through the Valle de Casablanca, which as you might realize, is the Casablanca Valley. It's a well known centre of wine production, so I'm looking forward to seeing what the vineyards look like.
The road to Valparaiso is, for much of the distance a toll road, which means it is pretty well made and we zip along, pausing to stop at the toll booths. The scenery here for the first part of the trip is not super-inspiring. Yeah, there's reasonably sized hills around, but I'm reminded again that this area is still reasonably arid, given the large numbers of cacti scatted amongst the other (no doubt) thorny vegetation. There's at least one tunnel of reasonable length through a hill, which breaks the journey up a bit…

When the word "valley" is used anywhere in the world, I immediately get an image in my mind of what the place will look like. I guess it comes from growing up in the "high country" in Victoria. For me, it's interlocking hills, spurs, ridgelines and gullies that have an overall kind of "V" shape, and likely feature a river running along the bottom of the "V". I know that it is completely unrealistic to expect it to be that way, but I can't help it. And every time I visit somewhere for the first time that features the name "Valley", I'm usually a bit disappointed that it doesn't live up to something that approximates my mental picture. Much the same thing happened here in the Casablanca Valley. Sure, it's very basically valley-shaped, in that there are higher hills and a lower bit in between, but for the most part, it is a very broad and open kind of valley. It's also not as green as I'd expected, although obviously enough once you hit grape vines, then it's fairly green! The vines themselves are much more advanced than I thought they'd be, many with trunks/stems of around 10cm or so in thickness, which for me, means that they must have a fair amount of age to them. I have to keep reminding myself that viticulture here is not just a modern phenomenon, that it has been well established here for much more than 100 years.

Closer to the coast, there is a strange mixture of palm and gum trees growing in various places. I still can't help but marvel that if I frame my view of the country in a certain way, then I could be in many parts of Australia. There are many varieties of eucalypts here…

The city of Valparaiso sort of snuck-up on me, so I'm not really sure whether I'd dozed off a little or not. Suddenly we were there, driving through the town and the bus was pulling into the station. There is a Plaza of sorts across the road from the station, and being Saturday, there is the usual market type things going on, with people selling hand-crafted stuff, food and so on. I wander around briefly, but I'm afraid it all starts to look the same after a while (I can buy similar stuff in Copiapo, for example). It's also not what I'm here for.
The city has a relatively flat waterfront area, then it is built up onto the surrounding hills. I guess to describe it, it looks a little like a series of terraces stepping up the hills, but that doesn't really do it justice. Each house / building is sort of stacked up one behind the other, each overlooking the lower one, all the way up the hills. There are many narrow stairways disappearing up between houses and it's all quite beautiful, despite being a bit more run-down than I'd imagined it would be. Perhaps I'm not in the best area?

I catch a collectivo that appears to be heading in the right kind of direction for the port area, and sure enough, when I get out, it is only a short walk to a dock area. There are the usual touts that one might expect, and given that I don't have any fixed plans for the day, I decide to take up the offer of a harbor cruise. I'm guided to a boat, climb in, sit down and wait to go. There's maybe half a dozen people in the boat, and judging by the stream of other boats coming and going, we'll be off shortly.

Hmmm, no such luck. After maybe 15 minutes of watching the action (the touts that sucked me in are rather amusing to watch go about their work), it dawns on me that this boat isn't going anywhere until it is full. I also understand why it is that nobody has taken my money from me for the trip. Some of the other punters are a bit restless with the delay and depart the ship, so suddenly, from being perhaps 2/3 full, we're back to half full again! Doh! Still, it's nice enough to sit in the warm sun and watch the mayhem all around, both on and off the water! We're also a captive audience for a series of hawkers, so before long, the lady with icy poles (I hope everyone can understand what they are, as I can't think of another word for them – flavoured ice blocks on a stick) is doing quite a roaring trade, watched jealously by the man selling peanuts who isn't doing so well…
Eventually the boat is full, or so I think. Five minutes more and we manage to pack another few in, and then FINALLY, after about 35 minutes of waiting, we're ready to go. Life jackets are handed out and we all have to wear them, much to the disappointment of some of the dolled-up ladies. All of the jackets require assistance and a little bit of knowledge to put on properly, so suffice to say, many of them aren't worn properly (including mine).

The little engine is finally coaxed to life and off we go. The reason nobody has taken my money yet, despite now being out in the harbor, becomes clear after another five minutes. We come to a halt maybe 50 metres around the end of the wharf, just out of view of our starting point. A whole bunch of rapid Spanish follows, largely from the "Captain" (who has one of those voices that sounds like he's been gargling razor blades for most of his life). He's a very entertaining chap, and the whole thing is quite comical. It is difficult for me to understand, but I think he is trying to "extort" additional money out of us for the trip. The original deal was something like CH$1,500-2,000 (I can't recall the exact number) for a half hour tour, but I think the offer is now for 1 hour at CH$2,500. There appears to be much mirth from my co-passengers at this, but in the end, when the crew pass through the crowd, everyone seems to be coughing up the extra dough, so without a lot of choice, I hand over the money. It's still a small amount, and the whole thing has been very funny to watch – a textbook kind of scam for tourists. I don't feel so bad about being (literally) taken for a ride, as there are plenty of Chileno's in the same boat (again, literally – joke intended).

Having extorted some extra cash from us, the tour commences with a ride across to some other fishing boats moored along another wharf. On the way, at least the young lad from the crew who is doing the talking for the tour is actually talking. With the breeze whistling through my ears and the noise of the motor, I find it hard to follow him, but no big deal – I look in the direction he's looking in and can see what he's on about well enough. When we arrive at the fishing boats, one of the other crew (I'll refer to him as the Second Mate) jumps off our boat and onto the other one and then disappears inside and the comedy part of the tour begins.
There is a whole bunch of shouting, but given that no-one else appears, it seems likely that Second Mate is just calling for the occupants, rather than fighting or arguing with someone. Eventually, he reappears, but only just in time, as our "Captain" has just commenced the process of motoring away. Another few seconds and Second Mate would be walking home… We cruise a little further and find another target for boarding and yelling by Second Mate. This time, success, as a couple of fat, dirty and half dressed crew appear from the other side of the boat. While I'm sure the Chileno's could understand what was going on, I had no flipping idea, so despite feeling like I was in the middle of a farce, at least it was a funny farce.

Again, our Second Mate jumps back aboard just as the Captain is motoring away. I'm sure this is a family operation… This time, we're off into the harbor and looking further back over town. Despite the comedy, it's still a lovely vantage point for the town. It's also a base for at least a part of the Chilean navy (the Armada), so there's a few warships here, but also a very large and beautiful white sailing ship (four masts), which I think I recollect having seen somewhere before. I think it's a training ship. No matter, it is beautiful.

As we're tootling around, it becomes apparent that the crew are starting to take a little more notice of what is going on with the motor at the back of the boat. Now, it's fair to say that the boat isn't the newest of vessels in the ocean. In fact, it's a crappy old wooden thing, with many "agricultural" type of repairs having been made on it (the Captain has to hold on to the throttle lever mount so that when he uses it, it doesn't fall off the "dashboard"). It gets a little more worrying for everyone when Second Mate asks everyone to move aside from the inspection hatch on the floor at the back of the boat and he lifts it up to reveal about 15cm of water under the floor of the boat (in a 20-25cm high space). Again, for me, it's not so much of a worry. I think it's called the "bilge" and boats have bilge pumps for pumping out this water, right? Well, perhaps most boats do, but the reason for the attention at the back has become clear. The bilge pump/s aren't working. We spend five minutes floating while they try and sort it out, but no luck. Hmmmm.

We set off again, but this time, everyone is asked to move as far forward in the boat as possible (or perhaps "herded" is a better word). There's the odd worried look, but also plenty of smiles as we realize how it is becoming more and more comical. But wait, there's more!

After another five minutes or so (now perhaps 35 minutes into the "cruise"), with plenty of tinkering while we're moving, there's another announcement. I have the same lack of understanding of the words as previously, but it's very clear as to what's going on. We're being told that, surprisingly, there's a problem, and we'll be returning to port a little earlier than planned. We putter into the dock after about 45 minutes of cruise, and again, no big surprise, we're not offered any kind of refund. I make my way up the stairs and away from the area in search of some lunch, as it's now after 2pm and I'm a bit puckish. If I wasn't so hungry, it would've been interesting to see whether they went off to repair the boat, or just lined up for another bunch of suckers… My money would be on lining up again. It looked well rehearsed!

One good thing out of it was that I'd managed to see a funicular (ascensor) running up the hill near the port, and what looked very much like a restaurant perched next to it, so I walked in that direction, hoping to get lucky. The funicular is very old and looks rather rickety, but nonetheless, we make a smooth trip to the top. Again, we don't pay to get on it, we pay when we get off. Seems a bit backwards, but obviously it works well enough!

The view from the top of the hill is excellent, and yes, it is definitely a restaurant next to it. I decide to take a moment to scout around a bit further and am glad that I do, as there is another restaurant maybe 50m down the street that looks a lot nicer, and has beautiful outdoor balcony that looks over the harbor and city. I'm sold. No surprises in that there is truckloads of fish starring on the menu, but their salads looks pretty good, so I'm up for one of them, and indeed, it turns out to be excellent! A really good variety of things.

After lunch, there's a walk down the hill (not quite cobbled streets, but amongst all of the old buildings, it's a beautiful walk). At the bottom, it seems to be a part of the local buses route, which I brave for the first time in Chile. It's a wild and bumpy ride, and yet again, there isn't any great interest in taking my cash by the driver. I sit down, study the signs and eventually conclude how much it is and have to pester him to give him the money. I idly wonder whether I could get away with not paying at all…

Back into the centre of town, I get off at the Plaza and go in search of further information. I'd like to take another bus (now that I feel like I've got the hang of them) and go to Vina del Mar, which is to the north. It turns out the two are basically connected, with no real break in the buildings, although Vina is much newer and there is definitely a stylistic difference.

I get off once the bus turns away from the coast and appears to be heading inland, so it's a bit of a walk back to the coast and the next bus, further north to Renaca, which has a long, gently curving beach and feels very much like a holiday town (lots of ice cream shops and restaurants just back from the beach). Despite it now being a bit cool, it is easy to imagine a beach full of people in summer.

Back to Vina and hooray, they have a Starbucks. It's got quite cold now, about 8 degrees according to a digital sign on the side of a building. There are heaps of nice-looking restaurants scattered around, so it's a difficult choice as to what to go for, but in the end, a fancy looking Italian restaurant wins the day and it's not so expensive after all, and the food is excellent. I'm very happy, and very tired, looking forward to a sleep in…

So, pretty much, that's my impressions of Valparaiso, Vina and Renaca. Only really a tiny little taste of what was on offer, but there was enough for me to want to go back at some point in time, so that's a good sign. I look forward to it, but won't be in any rush to take the cheap harbor cruise…

Chao,

A

24 September 2010

G'day.

Forewarned with the knowledge gained during my miserable experience with the Embassy in Santiago last time, I arrive this time with what I feel is realistic optimism, rather than the naive optimism of previously.  I expect to be rebuffed in the first instance, just because they can, and then I'll just sort out the problem and then it will be all over.  I expect it'll still take a few hours, but I'll still be done before lunch!

Following on from the Embassy, my plans to catch up with Barbara (my lawyer) to discuss my visa fell in a bit of a hole when she revealed she was out of Santiago on Friday, but if I was here on Monday, I should pop in.  Bummer.

Out from the airport, off to the Embassy in the taxi and let's see what happens.  Deep breath as I walk through the revolving door and into the foyer.  Aaah, perfect.  Nobody waiting at the front desk.  I even get the same lady as last time, although she greets my smile with complete indifference and a lack of "Hmmm, maybe I've seen you before...".  Yeah, I know they must see a heap of people through the door, but I flatter myself that I'm rather more memorable than the average Chilean.  But obviously not.

I'm issued with my tag, then it's in to the elevator.  The security guard ever so helpfully points me to an elevator going completely in the wrong direction, despite the one that I wanted opening right behind me.  I can't help but smile!

The chica at the front desk inside the Embassy greets me by name!  How surprising is that!  I get to take a seat and watch the BBC world news for 5 minutes while waiting for an operative to interview me.  To my relief, it isn't the lady who did me over last time, but an enthusiastic gent who couldn't have been more helpful and happy.  We went through the entire interview process again, and I explained my roadblocks last time, as well as addressing all of the concerns that were raised.  In his enthusiasm to get me processed, he concluded that yep, everything was in order and I could go about my business.  Unfortunately when I asked about the little blank section on one part, it seems that yes, you do actually have to fill that bit out too.  Lucky you spotted it, he said...  So close...

Still, after an hour (or thereabouts), complete with multiple copies of things being made, the forms are completed to the satisfaction of both of us, and I'm free to go to the front desk and hand over a truckload of cash for the application fee.  Yes, I actually would like a receipt, thanks very much.

Given that today is a Friday, don't count on anything happening.  It's take about two weeks for the passport to arrive.  At my signs of agitation regarding my need to exit Chile by the 14th, I'm reassured that they say two weeks just to be sure.  It should be there within that time.  They promise that they'll send it to me in Copiapo once it arrives.  Hooray - I'll be a complete person again (i.e. I'll have identification, so therefore I'll be 'real').

Out into the wild world, it's time for a celebratory chai latte, and then the search for lunch.  There is an excellent vegetarian restaurant a few streets from the Plaza de Armas in the Centro area of Santiago, so I head there (yum), followed by a couple of hours of pottering away on the computer for the afternoon.  A delicious pizza for dinner from just near where I'm staying, and it's off to bed in readiness for Valparaiso tomorrow.

A successful day.

Byeee!

22 September 2010

Hola,

I've finally received the last bit of information for my new passport today, so it's looking like I'll be off to Santiago again for yet another close encounter of the Australian Government kind.  Fingers crossed this one goes better than the last, as I need to be out of the country by the middle of October.  Seeing as that is only 3 weeks from now, I'm in deep doo-doo if there's some new problem that is dreamed up.

It's all a bit rushed to go tomorrow, so I think I'll head down on Friday.  That way, I can slip in a little bit of a weekend there and go and do something interesting.  I reckon Valparaiso and Vina del Mar sound like they might be worth checking out.  Only an hour or so from Santiago, on the coast, UNESCO heritage-listed (Valpariaso), and not in prime tourist season.

Excellent, Smithers...

Chao,

A

21 September 2010

Back into the office today and I'm not feeling the sharpest (a little tired...). It's time to deal with the computer and try to make it work properly again. It's not a big problem, as the IT boffins back in Perth were clever enough to recognize the possibility of needing to do this, so they'd set it up with the ability to be restored. My part of the deal was to do regular backups while I am here in Chile, so that in the event something goes pear-shaped, I'll be able to restore everything and the world will be right again. Of course, there's always tomorrow to do that sort of thing, so you guessed it, I hadn't done a backup.

When I arrived at the office, I had two things to do. Finish copying off my travel photo's and copy off my email archives. Then, I'd be ready to restore. BUT, as I mentioned, I wasn't exactly feeling the sharpest, so I launched in to the restoring program. 10 seconds into the process, and I have a sickening realization. Emails and photo's are still on the computer and are about to be wiped out. I frantically press buttons to try and stop what is happening, and fortunately, the computer stops erasing. Unfortunately, it has erased enough such that it now works less well than before. Oh dear.

I'm rather ashamed to admit that I've been in a similar circumstance to this before, so I knew what to do. Pull the computer apart and remove the disk drive. Off to the local computer shop, buy a case to put the disk drive in such that I can connect it to another computer. Download every single file with a .jpg and .pst extension (those for pictures and email archives). Spend the next week at home of an evening sorting through the dross that computers generate while looking for my pictures and emails.

In the end, the computer is rebuilt and I'm back to where I was at the end of May. Nearly four months worth of emails gone, but at least I've got a working computer again. I spend the next few days reloading all of the additional software that is needed, and then what do I do? Yep, make a back-up. It seems there is no time like the present for that sort of thing!

Lesson learnt!

Regards,

Andrew

20 September 2010

Hola Any and All,

Picture this situation;

You're driving somewhere – anywhere – first thing in the morning. You've had an early start and the sun is just coming up over the horizon. It's going to be a beautiful day, as there is barely a cloud in the sky. Off to the side of the road, perhaps 200m or so, you can see someone who is obviously parked up for the night and appears that they are asleep in their sleeping bag on the ground beside their vehicle.

OK, so you have a mental picture. The next thing thing you do tells you something about the type of person you are. Do you;

1. Smile to yourself, thinking something along the lines of "Wow, I wish I could do something like that. Travelling around that free and easy looks great!", OR
2. 'Tut tut' scornfully to yourself and/or your passengers, thinking something along the lines of "Tight-arse, surely he/she could afford to stay somewhere properly!", "Bloody hippy!", or similar, OR
3. Think "Excellent, I'll just get on the horn of the car/truck/bus/whatever and give it a really long blast as I drive past! That'll be REALLY funny!"

The truck driver who, at 6.30AM decided to chose option C, scared the bejeebers out of me, fast asleep as I was in my swag. I'm sure it was very entertaining to him when the top flap of the swag was thrown back and the figure inside sat up hurriedly, dazed and confused about what all the tooting was for. It definitely took a few moments to understand that there was nothing wrong. Personally, I think that the choice of option C says that you're a self-centred bastard, but I recognize that opinion might be divided over that. Myself, I'd probably swing between options 1 and 2, depending on the circumstances.

Still, as ever, there's a silver lining to every cloud. It meant that I got to see another desert sunrise, and this one was again beautiful. The highlight for me was the small silver streak of vapour trail from a north-bound jet that was back-lit by the orange sunrise.

Breakfast over and done with, everything packed up, and I'm on the road before 8AM. My camp site turns out to be quite serendipitously chosen, as after only a few kilometers, the road winds down from the plateau and into the valley. As per normal, it's a blast through the curves, pretending I'm a boy racer, and hoping to catch the bus way off in front of me. The reality is that I'm probably not going much faster than every other car on the road, but the dream is good fun!

I am definitely going faster than the bus however, and before long, I get to overtake it. It's a small thrill, but one that doesn't happen too often, so I enjoy it while it lasts. I also get to enjoy the sound of the V-twin motor being cranked open – I don't think I'll get tired of listening to that any time soon!

After my brief bit of excitement, I settle back in to my normal routine. Try and keep the bike at about 100kph, keep on the right hand side of the road, and enjoy the scenery. It therefore comes as a bit of a surprise to get a little whack on the back of the helmet. I look around, somewhat startled, as I'm pretty sure I don't have any passengers with my trying to tell me something. Fortunately, I'm heading in the right direction and the sun is in the right place such that I can easily see my shadow, and I realize what the problem is. The extra length of strap on the tie-downs for my swag has come loose, much like the other one did when I was coming into Calama the other day. It's now flapping around in the breeze behind me and has obviously been what's hit me on the back of the head. I find the first available spot to pull over and fix the problem, and as the bus goes roaring past, I can imagine them thinking about tortoises and hares…

The rest of the road into Chanaral is again beautiful. The morning sun is highlighting the dyke swarm through the granites again, and they are still spectacular…

Refueling at Chanaral again results in enthusiastic filling of the tank, right to the top, by the attendant. I'll have to learn how to say "That'll do, buddy." The words I know that I thought meant exactly that seem to have had no effect on several attendants now. Maybe it's my accent?

South of Chanaral, the outcropping granites near the road are described by the Lonely Planet as "…other worldly…" which is definitely the case, although perhaps not quite as spectacular as they describe. Today, with scattered flowers of the Desierto Florida happening, it's definitely beautiful, as I stop for a stretch at one point.

The wind is another thing. From the southwest, it's again of perhaps moderate strength and rather cold, and I again ponder the reasons for not having rows of wind turbines here to harness that energy. There is a lot of talk and protest at the moment about plans to build a new "thermoelectric plant" somewhere on the coast here. I'd initially assumed that meant "geothermal" energy would be used, but it appears that a coal-fired station is what is planned. It seems crazy to me, given the amount of wind here, which seems to be not too far short of constant, although I realize that I have only had a limited snapshot of a year. On the off-chance I've not mentioned it before, I'm a bit of a wind turbine fan. I reckon they're spectacular!

Past Caldera and I'm on the home stretch. Only 60 or so k's to go, and I'm very much looking forward to getting home and getting off the bike! The road has turned inland and as a consequence the temperature begins to rise as I move further from the coast. I can't say I'm too unhappy about that, but it does necessitate another stop to remove several layers before I cook myself!

I pull in to Copiapo at about 11AM and decide to try my luck and see if Alexis is staying at the company guest house. If he's there, I'm going to go and wash the bike here and now. If I go home first, I have to unpack it and I reckon there's no way known I'm going to get back on it today, which means it'll be a while before it gets cleaned. As luck would have it, he's there, and as the gate rumbles open, I realize that he may have had a late night and still have been sleeping when I called.

Given the rude awakening, he's extraordinarily cheerful and helpful, and in no time at all, I've got the pressure cleaner going and the bike is restored to its pre-trip glory. The cleaner comes in useful for trying to get all of the fine dust off the swag too!

Getting back on the bike for the last few kilometers is a bit of a challenge, but before too long, I rumble into the Batcave, park the bike and head for my apartment. Blessed relief at being 'home' over-rules the need to unpack everything, and a long, hot shower is just the thing, followed by clean clothes! I really enjoy camping, but I also enjoy that feeling of getting home, getting clean and then just relaxing. Bliss.

It's bliss that is short-lived however, as Alexis calls to say that Lizette is having a BBQ lunch at her house. I arrive late, having enjoyed my bliss a bit more than I ought to, as it's somewhat possible that I dozed off for a little bit, given the time seems to have magically disappeared. The BBQ is because Lizette has had her little sister staying with her for the weekend, and now her parents are here to collect "mini-Lizette" (Paola – I hope I haven't got that wrong).

As they're leaving, Mauricio takes Paola for a quick ride on his bike through the streets. I offer to take her for a ride "on the big bike", but despite her enthusiasm, the whole idea is met with a distinct lack of enthusiasm from the "other parties", so it's not to be!

After they've gone, there is some discussion about going to see something going on at the Parque El Pretil here in Copiapo. I gather it to be some kind of park (der!) in one of the side parts of town, somewhat close to where Lizette is looking to buy a house. Alexis has told me a few times that there is some kind of zoo there. As we get closer, the traffic increases and before too long, we're in Copiapo's version of a traffic jam – not going anywhere in a hurry. It feels like the entire population of town is here and driving around, not to mention what feels like thousands upon thousands of pedestrians.

The police battle manfully at intersections to keep the traffic moving, but the narrow streets don't do anyone any favours. We eventually park in the driveway of a small corner shop. It seems the proprietor doesn't mind us doing that, and that he may also know Mauricio, but it also appears he is definitely looking for some cash for allowing us to park there. Mauricio sorts him out as the rest of us wander off towards the park entrance.
The park is much bigger than I imagine and there's a big concert going on. There are a number of acts coming out and performing a few songs, and a few of them are apparently quite famous in Chile, including one opera singing type. The best one is, predictably, later on. He is a type of folk singer and is very good – Alexis is also a fan and we're not allowed to go anywhere until he finishes his set! We then wander the grounds of the park, and the whole place has very much a country circus kind of feel to it, with food stalls, little arcades with things for sale, games and the like – good fun, but I'm feeling rather tired from my big few days and therefore don't enjoy it as much as I normally would.

When I finally settle into bed, I remember letting out a contented sigh and thinking that I've had a pretty big weekend, and that's the last conscious thought I have for the rest of the night.

Adios!

A

19 September 2010

Hola

Well, Cristobal was true to his word, he didn't drive the 4WD in and out of the yard last night. In fact, I heard very little, and am surprised when I wake up this morning to find that there are two 4WD's parked in the yard, given that there were none when I went to be last night. Maybe they DID drive in and out all night? I guess it doesn't matter. I was obviously so tired that I didn't hear a thing. I'm leaving San Pedro some time this morning, but first things first – a shower and some breakfast.

Given how much I enjoyed breakfast yesterday, I decide to head back to the Coyote Café rather than tucking into more muesli and bran. I think I'll just save that for mornings of camping in the desert. I wander on back there, but today I don't seem to be able to find it. I walk up and down the streets where I think it is, but nothing. Hmmm. Not such what to make of that. Surely it hasn't disappeared. Eventually I find the reason for my confusion. Quite obviously it is shut – looks like people aren't opening up on Sunday morning until much later, but the big sign I remember on the front of the shop is actually much smaller than I thought. No big deal, I'll just go somewhere else. The place I choose is a breakfast buffet at one of the minor local hotels, although it has a very big plus going for it, in that it is actually open. I cough up my few dollars it will cost and head through. Yes, the word buffet sounded a little more grand than what is presented, but it is sufficient, and I have no reason to linger. I try the shop selling empanadas like I had yesterday, but while open, the empanadas are not due for another three quarters of an hour or so.

Back to the house then, and pack everything up. Because I potter around randomly, it takes a good hour to get ready, but finally I'm ready to go. Most of the gang aren't awake yet, so I slip away, leaving them in peace to their day. They all plan to stay for today and head back to Antofagasta tomorrow.
First thing again is the need for fuel, and I make my way to the station expecting long queues, so I'm surprised to find the place empty, and the attendant sitting there looking very bored. I try to chat about the lack of people there, but clearly I'm getting something wrong with my accent/pronunciation, as he gives me blank looks at just about everything I say. On the opposite side of the coin, I can barely understand anything he is saying! One-all.

I head out of town towards the northwest and the mining town of Calama. It's been high on my list of places to see, due to the report given on it by the Lonely Planet guide, which said something along the lines of "… there's no other way of putting it. Calama is a shit-hole." Not exactly a glowing recommendation, however surely that becomes a tourist attraction in its own right, so I was looking forward to seeing how bad it actually is. Calama is the town associated with the Chuquicamata copper mine, perhaps the biggest individual producer of copper in the world and a deposit that most geologists will have heard of. Not that I expect to be able to see anything much there, but I'm looking forward to riding past it.

As I head up the hill out of town, I have a little panic when I see two caribinieri standing on the road and appearing to wave at me. I look down at the speedo to see if I'm inadvertently speeding, but no, I'm behaving for once! I slow down, but as I approach, the waving increases, and it seems that they are waving me through and have more interest in the car behind me. Phew, although I have no reason to be concerned by anything, other than the difficulty of trying to explain everything. Rumour is that if you try that (as a foreigner), they'll get bored and tell you to get go away and leave them in peace!

So, off I go. Around the next corner, and I can completely understand all of the talk about the Valle de Luna here. The rock formations that the road runs between are amazing and completely in line with the sci fi presentations of alien planet surfaces. As the road climbs, it reaches a lookout over a part of the Valle. Still spectacular, and a consider briefly taking the detour to go there, but in the end decide not to. There are so many things here that I didn't manage to see this time, then having the Valle added to that list won't hurt at all. I take some photo's and soak up the view, then it's back and on the road. The road continues to climb and with only a few descents, manages to top out again at something like 3500m. Every time I think about it, I shake my head in wonder. The atmosphere doesn't feel inherently different to me than being at sea level (I'd expected it to feel thin), yet the temperature variation with a bit of altitude is quite dramatic. I appreciate a little more the grape growers of the world who spruik about how the grapes are different when grown at different altitudes.

As I approach Calama, the vista opens out more and it becomes very hard to judge distances. Just how far are those mountains on the other side of the salt lake? I can see some mining operations on the side of the hill at one point, but seeing as it is still a good 20k's to Calama, I can't guess what they might be. It turns out later that it is Chuqui (pronounced like Choo-ki) and I can see a long way!

As I'm riding along minding my own business, there suddenly comes a thump at the back end of the bike and the rear end pulls down momentarily. I wonder what on earth it might be. Was I not paying attention and rode over something? More likely, did something break? I gently apply the brakes, half expecting that the broken thing will result in some kind of accident if I brake too hard, however everything feels normal. Very strange. I pull up and climb off and walk to the back of the bike, where everything becomes clear. One of the straps holding my swag down has come loose from where I had tied it, and while it's been flapping around, it has got caught up in the rear wheel. It has wound itself around the axle until it pulled tight, hence the pulling down of the rear end of the bike, but before it could cause the wheel to lock up (very dangerous), the strap has fortunately snapped. I have a think about what might have happened if it hadn't snapped, and breathe a sigh of relief. Untangling the mess around the axle doesn't take long and I re-tie the straps, making sure the other is secure, and I'm underway again.

It's only a few k's into Calama. One of the first signs I see is an indicator to Chuqui, which looks like it will by-pass the town. Being someone who doesn't like to judge books by their covers, I hesitate over whether to take it, but in the end I decide to, for no good reason that I could describe. The road runs around the outskirts of the town and the more I travel along it, the more pleased I am that I have chosen to go around the town. There's no other way to describe it, Calama looks like a shit-hole. It sits out in the flats away from the hills, the houses are all packed in tightly together, large clumps of them look to be made in exactly the same style, and the whole place has a wind-swept, desolate kind of look to it. Definitely a mining town, and although I'm sure you could live there and have a great time, it still looks bloody awful! If I ever get the opportunity to live there, I think it will be time to look for another job!

At the next corner, I turn to the north and head for Chuqui. There used to be a town at the mine – technically speaking, it's still there, but appears pretty much uninhabited. I believe that is why Calama exists – they moved everyone out of Chuqui and into Calama. As it turns out, today the place is effectively deserted, with the only humans I see being the attendants at the local Copec gas station. I've forgotten to mention that yesterday was the celebration day for the Chilean Bicentenary of independence, so huge fiesta's went on. It seems the company here has given everyone the day off.

Given there is nothing to see, on I press. Chuqui and Calama are my decision points. I can head southwest directly back to Antofagasta, or I can head to the west to Tocapilla on the coast. I toss a mental coin, and decide on Tocapilla. The road out of Chuqui winds its way up and down through a series of hills, and then once you get out of those, the road extends off to the horizon in front of me. Following the road are a series of the massive "rocket men" electricity towers that bring power in from the coast. I repeat, a series of them. There isn't just one power line coming in here. The power demands of this place must be enormous.
I can't begin to adequately describe how boring this section of road out to Ruta 5 is, other than to say if you ever have the chance to travel it, make sure it is with someone else, and they are driving. Take the opportunity to have a little siesta. When you wake, you'll not have missed very much. West of Ruta 5, the road improves slightly, with a couple of curves in it. At one stage, I stop at a rail crossing to stretch my legs and back and wait for the little train that I'd seen puttering along. The wind is again ripping across the plain, but I get the chance to wave to the train driver and have a bit of a giggle to myself about that. It seems like it might not be the done thing here in Chile however, as the driver does nothing but glare/stare at me from his cabin, rather than wave back, or smile, or anything like that. Either that, or he doesn't like his job. While I'm waiting, four of the unluckiest vehicles in Chile pull up and have to wait for him to pass. It's amazing – I've virtually not seen any cars all morning, yet I stop for five minutes here and there's cars and trucks everywhere. Go figure.

From here, the road gets really interesting as I ride down through the gorge into Tocapilla. I think very seriously about spending the rest of the day riding up and down the road. Fantastically winding bitumen, all in brilliant condition. It's a bit nerve wracking wanting to go faster for the first time you travel the road. An errant patch of gravel in the wrong part of the corner, and your day would very quickly go horribly wrong, and that thought tempers my enthusiasm. Now that I've been down it and there aren't any gravel patches, now we could have some fun. The reality of getting back to Copiapo at a reasonable hour tomorrow rules that out however, as does my rumbly tummy, which has recently become unreasonably strident in its calls for lunch. I manage to find an interesting looking restaurant overlooking the ocean. Somehow during the ordering process, I seem to get the menu of the day involved, which involves limited choices, rather than being able to pick something from the proper menu. The trade-off is that it is cheap. Three courses (soup, main and dessert), plus a drink, for about A$10. Bargain.

Tocapilla reminds me a little of Chanaral, but looks much nicer. Sure, it is also a mining port, but it seems much better managed and is nowhere near as dirty, although definitely not perfect. I'm not sure what to expect from the road to the south, but initial impressions are that it is in good condition, to the point where I am completely surprised to find inter-city buses plying the route here. As per further to the south, the road runs along the narrow strip of land between the ocean and the coastal hills, and generally speaking is very scenic to the point that I am disappointed further to the south when the hills drop away and the road moves further from the coast, and as a consequence, becomes rather boring.

The "highlight" of this section of road down to Antofagasta comes as a complete surprise and the memory of which is something that will be with me forever. After much lunch time drink – a Coke – the caffeine has worked its diuretic magic on me and I'm pretty interested in stopping for a little break. I spy a roadside stop ahead of me and think I'll just pull in there and do my thing in the gaps between cars. As I pull in, I see the reason for the stopping place is an old cemetery on the other side of the road. It piques my curiosity, as it is in the middle of nowhere and there are no signs around indicating what it is about. At first glance, everything looks to be made from wrought iron, however closer inspection shows most things to be made of wood. Not being averse to wandering in cemeteries and reading gravestones, I enter and start looking for "headstones" to read. After a few moments, I have a very unpleasant realization. ALL of the graves that I can see are small. Some are marked with simple mounds of dirt and small crosses, while others have wooden structures built around them that are reminiscent of babies cots. I walk gently between the graves, looking for headstones. Most are in wood and relatively few are easy to read. Yep, almost all are of young children under ten years of age, and the majority appear to have died between around 1910 to 1920. I feel an extreme sadness at what must have taken place in this area – there are hundreds of graves and to have had this many children die over that period of time – it just beggars belief. I eventually find some graves of adults down at the back end of the cemetery, including the large crypt of an obviously wealthy family. Disturbingly, some of the doors have been broken off and who knows what has happened to the contents – I don't look… I continue to walk further around and the same pattern is everywhere I look. There are two things that brighten my view of this very sad place. The first, is that every grave appears to have a flower of some sort on it – not fresh by any means, but still there. The other is that some of the graves, despite being very old, have relatively modern "gifts" left there – little teddy bears, Hot Wheels cars and the like. I'm somewhat pleased to find that the "residents" haven't been completely forgotten, which is not the sort of feeling I would normally have within a cemetery – they mostly seem a great waste of time and land, to be honest. I think it is the fact that it is basically a children's cemetery that has gotten to me. It takes me five minutes or so to compose myself again before getting back on the bike and heading south again. As a post-script, there is very little information available about the cemetery on the internet, however there is a heritage preservation society in the area that mentions it briefly in an article, but no real information about WHY the there were so many deaths. Disease and malnutrition I imagine…

The only other highlight between here and Antofagasta was my stopping at another railroad crossing for a break in the journey. The road was very busy and the sight of a motorcycle riding gringo was clearly of interest to most, who chose to stare curiously at me (and I now appreciate how zoo animals feel). The most curious were the carload of ladies, ranging in age through daughter, mother and grandmother. Grandma appeared most excited when I waved hello – her window came down and a stream of Spanish pleasantries followed, none of which I could follow. I caused further excitement by stepping over to the car to say hello and shake her hand… I stopped short of kissing it, although the idea of doing that and giving her a wink did cross my mind!

Antofagasta is beautifully located, being on the sloping land between the beach and the coastal hills. It is effectively on big terraced arrangement going away from the coast. That's not to say the city is beautiful – I wasn't there long enough to see that. Just long enough to get fuel and head out of town. Refueling was an interesting experience. The lad kept adding more fuel to the tank in order to get the cost to a round number, despite having move his feet so that the fuel from the overflow pipe didn't flow over his shoes. You can stop now mate, it's full.

Despite it being late in the day, I headed out of Antofagasta and back to Ruta 5, hoping to cover another few hours before stopping for the night. The city is about 6 hours drive north of Copiapo, and of course that means longer for me, given I stop for photo's and breaks fairly often. I was keen not to have to spend all day getting back home tomorrow, hence pressing on now. I stop for my first break at the turnoff for Paranal Observatory just as the sun sets below the horizon and darkness comes on quickly. Rather than heading back down the Paranal Road in the dark, I decide to stick to Ruta 5 this time. I barrel along as per normal, getting colder as the altitude increases. I eventually have to stop and rummage for more clothes. I'm now wearing a t-shirt, my Cats footy jumper, a denim work short, a tracksuit jumper and my thick motorbike jacket, as well as my scarf, and that manages to keep the cold out, but only just. I'm not toasty and warm, but not cold, so that's OK. I've also resorted to wearing two sets of gloves, so while I can only just operate the clutch and brake, at least I can feel the ends of my fingers. Surprisingly, my toes aren't cold – good boots I guess…

Nearing 10PM, I finally pull in to get fuel at Agua Verde, a lonely fuel station in the middle of nothing else. The bike is still brilliant – I've got just under 20km/L since Antofagasta. Awesome, and the truck driving lad who gets out to chat seems to think so as well. He seems very thrilled to have seen one of these bikes in real life, and is very interested in what I'm up to and where I've been. We depart with vigorous handshakes. I feel like a minor celebrity!

Further south I continue, past the turnoff to Taltal. It seems like an age since I was here, but it was only a couple of days ago. I stop at a truck stop for something to eat, startling the occupants running the show. Nonetheless, they cope admirably with my interruption and in short order produce my dinner, along with a large mug of hot tea, which is just the ticket!

It's now quite late and I'm feeling tired. The idea of riding all the way into Copiapo is in the back of my mind, however it is still a good three hours or more away and just a bit too far. No matter, I'll just camp again, but I'll have to find somewhere away from the highway. I spy a couple of possible roads, but all end up very quickly with lots of loose gravel. As per previously, taking a spill at this time of night doesn't interest me, so I look for something a bit safer. Eventually, I find something that looks, in the dark, like a gravel pit. I manage to get about 200m off the highway, secure the bike, roll out the swag, and climb in. The moon is a bit brighter than I'd like, but I think I'm far enough from the road that I'd be hard to see, particularly given the bike is mostly black. I climb into the swag and am unconscious in no time at all.

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