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.
A
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