The hills, the brightly colored houses, the varying shades of the ocean, the smell of rain on the coast, the family, the micros, the stray dogs, the memorized routes to friends' houses, the dances, the latin time... are only a portion of what I am leaving behind. This is a city of poets, of romance, of emotion. This is a port of lost glory, a coast of eternal beauty. I love this place like a parent, a friend, a sister. I feel numb at the thought of leaving and I cannot fully comprehend that I'm going to return to the states, to that other life that must certainly have paused for six months while I was here.
But that's not the case and Valparaíso won't pause either. These places, communities, are the forces that march heedless through time; I am but a single woman passing through. In this time, Valparaíso has changed my life more than I can articulate and more than I would be comfortable sharing. Because it has altered me so essentially, permeated my life so subtly, if I took the time to pause, to consider, to record in writing exactly how much, I'm afraid that I wouldn't know who I am. Valpo has affected me, but I have had little or no effect on Valpo. I met a tiny portion of its populace, made a few connections, lost others, and have been accepted for the time. But I'm moving on and they're staying. And who's to say how many people will remember me in a month, a year, a decade... How many will be left? How many will I remember? Will I ever forget?
For better or for worse, I have been touched by this country and I don't think that the imprint will ever fully leave. I'm worried that I will never fully recover if I leave this place, if I leave these people, but I'm perhaps more terrified that I will. That I will forget, that they will forget, that I will revert back to whoever I was before I came here. Because I don't want that. I want to carry the memories and images and faces and scars that I gained here and hold them to me, close, forever. Because I hold them close to me now. And it's important that I do so, because if I let go, all the happiness, all the frustrations, all the laughter, all the tears fade away as if they had never happened. And I can't get them back if that happens. Because the situation will be different, the people will be different. And I will be disappointed with the reality, trying in vain to maintain the memory in the present.
I love this place, and I recognize this numbness as separation. I'm separating from this place, from this family, from these memories, and in doing so separating from myself. I'm leaving a part of myself here, perhaps in the hope that when I return, if I return, that part will have preserved Valpo's memory of me, and the same people will remember and be waiting for me still. This way I have the hope of returning, of finding them again, of reuniting with this part of me... Without this hope, I don't think I would get on that plane back to the States. Back to "home"... For a part of me.
Gracias por todo lo que me has dado. Gracias por las sonrisas, por los bailes, por las lágrimas. Gracias por abrir mi corazón a sentir este lugar, a entenderlo, a quererlo. Por mi parte, yo te juro que nunca voy a olvidar. Espero que me recuerdes; espero que me extrañes. Y si sea posible en el futuro que nos reunamos, espero que me esperes. Adios, mi corazón. Que te vaya increíble, Valparaíso.
31 July 2005
17 July 2005
Celebración de la Virgen del Carmen
La Tirana, Chile
We left our hotels late at night to catch the short bus ride from Iquique to La Tirana. Carrie was very excited to go because we were going to see a catholic celebration. I would have been happy to spend more time in Iquique (or sleeping), but she insisted, so we went.
After we arrived in the parking lot of La Tirana's festival, we made our way through a huge mass of stalls selling rosaries, crucifixes, Jesus candles and various other items. Capitalism meets Catholiciscm and the result was rather terrifying, so we made our way to the main celebration.
It was certainly large and easy to find - there were huge crowds and many different performances. Various groups of dancers with costumes ranging from traditional Chilean dresses to shiny circus attire to native American outfits. We were particularly confused by a small group of dancers whose costumes were based of off native American clothing local to North America, which seemed out of place in South America and especially at a Christian festival, but the dances were interesting. The dancing was occasionally interrupted by (or simply interspersed with) lengthy 'hail mary' chants (or the Spanish equivalent) and sporadic fireworks. On the whole, it was basically Carnival with some extra Catholicism.
And it was cold. We eventually huddled with most of the crowds into the few buildings nearby, where young groups of children in identical outfits (boyscouts from different regions, perhaps?) paraded through with large banners. After watching a few more of these, we headed back to Iquique for the night. It was an interesting experience, but not one that I would suggest to anyone other than the very devout or rather bored. Next up: Bolivia!
After we arrived in the parking lot of La Tirana's festival, we made our way through a huge mass of stalls selling rosaries, crucifixes, Jesus candles and various other items. Capitalism meets Catholiciscm and the result was rather terrifying, so we made our way to the main celebration.
It was certainly large and easy to find - there were huge crowds and many different performances. Various groups of dancers with costumes ranging from traditional Chilean dresses to shiny circus attire to native American outfits. We were particularly confused by a small group of dancers whose costumes were based of off native American clothing local to North America, which seemed out of place in South America and especially at a Christian festival, but the dances were interesting. The dancing was occasionally interrupted by (or simply interspersed with) lengthy 'hail mary' chants (or the Spanish equivalent) and sporadic fireworks. On the whole, it was basically Carnival with some extra Catholicism.
And it was cold. We eventually huddled with most of the crowds into the few buildings nearby, where young groups of children in identical outfits (boyscouts from different regions, perhaps?) paraded through with large banners. After watching a few more of these, we headed back to Iquique for the night. It was an interesting experience, but not one that I would suggest to anyone other than the very devout or rather bored. Next up: Bolivia!
16 July 2005
"I was just guardaring it": Iquique, Chile
Our next destination after San Pedro was Iquique, a costal town in northern Chile. Our purpose was to see the Celebración de la Virgen del Carmen, a yearly festival in nearby La Tirana that Carrie was hell-bent on visiting. So it is that we arrived in Iquique at around 5:30 in the morning with no clue as to where to find a hostel. Unlike San Pedro, Iquique is a huge city, and rather intimidating at the sketchy bus station at this hour in the morning. We were prepared to wait until the sun came out before venturing out in search of accommodations, but a sweet woman who'd been on the bus with us offered to give us a ride when her brother came to pick her up. As her brother was a local, he knew of some hostels that would be available at the time.
This turned out to be a rather lucky break as, due to the festival, there were almost no vacancies in the city and we would have probably wandered for hours before finding an available room. We thanked him and his sister profusely as they dropped us off at an available hostel and made our way inside. The woman who was working at the time told us the prices and, after we payed for the duration of our stay, showed us to a room, where we unpacked and then lay down to take a nap until daytime. At around 9:30 in the morning, however, we had a knock on the door - the maid was not aware that we had just arrived and was told to knock on the doors of people who were expected to leave that day so that they would not miss the 10 am check-out time. Nice. After we cleared up this misunderstanding, she asked us to switch rooms, as there was a new double available, and we'd been using a triple because it was the only vacant room at the time. So, we moved our stuff to the next room, napped for a bit more, and then left to explore the city. On our way out, the woman at the door (different from the night before) asked us about payment. We told her we had already paid and asked if she needed to see the receipt. No no, she replied, that was fine. And so we left.
We spent an hour or so at a nearby internet cafe - Carrie talking with Hugo over MSN, and me checking email and uploading photos. Afterwards, we had a delicious meal at a tiny restaurant near the ocean, run by a very sweet woman and her daughter, who told us a bit about the festival in La Tirana. According to them, the best time to be there was the night the 16th (that evening) at midnight, as that was when all the fireworks went off. We'd previously intended to go the next day, so this changed our plans a bit, but it was very helpful to talk with them. They also warned us against thieves at the festival and in Iquique during the week of the festival. They suggested that we carefully guard our money and cameras on our persons at all times and that we always say that we are from Valparaíso (and not neighboring Viña del Mar, where Carrie lived, because it was considered to be a rich community). After our delicious lunch, we went to the coast to sit and write for a while until it chilled and got a bit windy, at which point we moved our writing to a cafe a couple of blocks away.
As we sat talking and drinking tea, two guys from a nearby table moved and asked if they could sit with us. We agreed, and they asked us where we were from. With the advice of the restaurant owner in mind, we replied that we were students in Valparaíso, and received a rather unexpected answer from them: "No, WE'RE from Valparaíso, where are you from?" We laughed at being so automatically caught (as if a blonde and a very pale brunette could pass as latinas...) and acquiesced that we were just studying abroad, but were from the U.S.. These two Chileans, though originally from Valparaíso, were doing a year-long project in Iquique as part of their Engineering program in Valpo. We talked for a while about Valparaíso and travel in general, and then went our separate ways. (The two invited us to go dancing that night but, seeing as we had only hiking boots on our feet and intentions to be in La Tirana that night, we declined).
Upon returning to the hostel, we were once accosted, by a third woman, regarding payment. Rather annoyed, we responded that we'd already paid and then had to argue with her for a while, as she insisted that we were short one night, referring to the morning we arrived. We explained that we'd arrived early that same morning, not the night before and after a bit more arguing, she left us alone.
Rather untrusting of the hostel at this point, we locked our bags under our beds before leaving for La Tirana, bundled up with our cameras and keys inside the waistbands of our pants (not an attractive look for women, as it turns out). And we were off to La Tirana (see that entry for more detail).
When we returned, we were again harassed about money before allowed to go back to our room. Then next morning, we were awoken again at 9:30, though we weren't scheduled to leave until the next morning. Carrie went back to sleep, but I stayed up to write. As we had no electrical outlets in our room, I went to a chair in the hallway to write and plugged my camera battery charger into an outlet a few feet above my head as I sat and wrote postcards. A few hours later, when I got up to leave, my camera battery was gone. Confused and flustered, I looked around for a while before returning to our room. Carrie was still in bed, so I fished around in my bag for a map of Iquique, intent on going to the tech-mall nearby to buy a new camera battery. Carrie heard me rustling around and asked what had happened. I explained the scenario and she asked if I had left it at all. I replied that I had not, and that no guests had passed that morning (though the maid had walked by). Carrie went into bad-cop mode (normally my job, but I was rather shaken by having lost an item from 2 feet above my head), got dressed, and marched downstairs to talk to the woman in charge.
A few minutes later, she came back with my camera battery. Apparently the woman had taken it to "guardar" (hold on to/protect) it, as she claimed no one had been near the battery. Now, I don't know how she managed to take it without my noticing, or how she possibly managed to not see me, but at least I got my camera battery back (not worth much at all, but as it was my only one, rather important to my ability to take photos).
After this little adventure, we spent the day relaxing, walking around the town, visiting the market, and using the internet cafe. Naturally, upon returning, we had to deal with another woman regarding money (this is the 5th supervisor we've had an argument with, at this point). This time I took the angry position of explaining, slowly and firmly, the (very simple) mathematics involved in the situation and showing the receipt of payment that matched that math perfectly. Annoyed, this woman let us go, and we left the next morning without allowing for more argument. Onward to Peru.
This turned out to be a rather lucky break as, due to the festival, there were almost no vacancies in the city and we would have probably wandered for hours before finding an available room. We thanked him and his sister profusely as they dropped us off at an available hostel and made our way inside. The woman who was working at the time told us the prices and, after we payed for the duration of our stay, showed us to a room, where we unpacked and then lay down to take a nap until daytime. At around 9:30 in the morning, however, we had a knock on the door - the maid was not aware that we had just arrived and was told to knock on the doors of people who were expected to leave that day so that they would not miss the 10 am check-out time. Nice. After we cleared up this misunderstanding, she asked us to switch rooms, as there was a new double available, and we'd been using a triple because it was the only vacant room at the time. So, we moved our stuff to the next room, napped for a bit more, and then left to explore the city. On our way out, the woman at the door (different from the night before) asked us about payment. We told her we had already paid and asked if she needed to see the receipt. No no, she replied, that was fine. And so we left.
We spent an hour or so at a nearby internet cafe - Carrie talking with Hugo over MSN, and me checking email and uploading photos. Afterwards, we had a delicious meal at a tiny restaurant near the ocean, run by a very sweet woman and her daughter, who told us a bit about the festival in La Tirana. According to them, the best time to be there was the night the 16th (that evening) at midnight, as that was when all the fireworks went off. We'd previously intended to go the next day, so this changed our plans a bit, but it was very helpful to talk with them. They also warned us against thieves at the festival and in Iquique during the week of the festival. They suggested that we carefully guard our money and cameras on our persons at all times and that we always say that we are from Valparaíso (and not neighboring Viña del Mar, where Carrie lived, because it was considered to be a rich community). After our delicious lunch, we went to the coast to sit and write for a while until it chilled and got a bit windy, at which point we moved our writing to a cafe a couple of blocks away.
As we sat talking and drinking tea, two guys from a nearby table moved and asked if they could sit with us. We agreed, and they asked us where we were from. With the advice of the restaurant owner in mind, we replied that we were students in Valparaíso, and received a rather unexpected answer from them: "No, WE'RE from Valparaíso, where are you from?" We laughed at being so automatically caught (as if a blonde and a very pale brunette could pass as latinas...) and acquiesced that we were just studying abroad, but were from the U.S.. These two Chileans, though originally from Valparaíso, were doing a year-long project in Iquique as part of their Engineering program in Valpo. We talked for a while about Valparaíso and travel in general, and then went our separate ways. (The two invited us to go dancing that night but, seeing as we had only hiking boots on our feet and intentions to be in La Tirana that night, we declined).
Upon returning to the hostel, we were once accosted, by a third woman, regarding payment. Rather annoyed, we responded that we'd already paid and then had to argue with her for a while, as she insisted that we were short one night, referring to the morning we arrived. We explained that we'd arrived early that same morning, not the night before and after a bit more arguing, she left us alone.
Rather untrusting of the hostel at this point, we locked our bags under our beds before leaving for La Tirana, bundled up with our cameras and keys inside the waistbands of our pants (not an attractive look for women, as it turns out). And we were off to La Tirana (see that entry for more detail).
When we returned, we were again harassed about money before allowed to go back to our room. Then next morning, we were awoken again at 9:30, though we weren't scheduled to leave until the next morning. Carrie went back to sleep, but I stayed up to write. As we had no electrical outlets in our room, I went to a chair in the hallway to write and plugged my camera battery charger into an outlet a few feet above my head as I sat and wrote postcards. A few hours later, when I got up to leave, my camera battery was gone. Confused and flustered, I looked around for a while before returning to our room. Carrie was still in bed, so I fished around in my bag for a map of Iquique, intent on going to the tech-mall nearby to buy a new camera battery. Carrie heard me rustling around and asked what had happened. I explained the scenario and she asked if I had left it at all. I replied that I had not, and that no guests had passed that morning (though the maid had walked by). Carrie went into bad-cop mode (normally my job, but I was rather shaken by having lost an item from 2 feet above my head), got dressed, and marched downstairs to talk to the woman in charge.
A few minutes later, she came back with my camera battery. Apparently the woman had taken it to "guardar" (hold on to/protect) it, as she claimed no one had been near the battery. Now, I don't know how she managed to take it without my noticing, or how she possibly managed to not see me, but at least I got my camera battery back (not worth much at all, but as it was my only one, rather important to my ability to take photos).
After this little adventure, we spent the day relaxing, walking around the town, visiting the market, and using the internet cafe. Naturally, upon returning, we had to deal with another woman regarding money (this is the 5th supervisor we've had an argument with, at this point). This time I took the angry position of explaining, slowly and firmly, the (very simple) mathematics involved in the situation and showing the receipt of payment that matched that math perfectly. Annoyed, this woman let us go, and we left the next morning without allowing for more argument. Onward to Peru.
14 July 2005
San Pedro de Atacama: Desierto de Atacama, Chile
San Pedro de Atacama is a very small village. It is the most well-known oasis of the Atacama desert, in part because of its central location, and in part because it is actually the largest of the oases. Due to its popularity and thriving tourist industry, San Pedro is the starting point for most visits to the valles, salares, and geysers of the Atacama. Filled with reasonably-priced hostels aimed at backpackers and student travellers, San Pedro was also the ideal starting point for our trip.
Despite its size, San Pedro has a lot to offer to travelers. In addition to the hostels and the location, it is rife with shops and services of all kinds. Restaurants, pottery stores, shops selling jewelry or woven goods, stalls selling homemade bags and tea and masks and plates... As well as various bike-rental shops and internet cafes that could transfer digital photos onto a CD (thereby allowing the tourists to take even more photos the next day).
We spent our first evening in San Pedro wandering around the streets, poking into the handcraft shops that looked interesting. We booked a two-day tour package offered by our hotel, in order to visit the salar, valles, lagunas, and geysers in our short stay, and then continued our wanderings. For such a tiny city (there couldn't possibly be more than 3 square city blocks in the entire town), we got turned around and lost quite often. More than anything, for me the difficulty was being away from water. If there's an ocean or a river, I can navigate a city based off of that. Since we'd spent the past six months living in Valparaíso, where we could clearly orient ourselves based off of the ocean on one side and the cerros on the other, being transplanted to a flat, arid, desert city full of similar-looking buildings made of adobe and thatched roofs... well, it was disorienting, to say the least.
In our explorations, we came across a pottery shop in an open yard. An old man was there at the time, working at the pottery wheel on a new project, and talking to a visitor. After the visitor left, he started to talk to us as well. As it turns out, he had made most of the art on display, and his work was also currently on exhibition at the San Pedro Museum. We talked about how we were studying in Valparaiso, but from the states, and he said that he had traveled to the states. Apparently, he had spent a signifigant amount of time in Berkeley, and taught a pottery workshop there for a bit.
We thanked him for his time and for talking to us, and he suggested that we go to the museum, not only to see his work but also because it was supposed to have incredible exhibits about the history of the region. The museum was already closed by this time, but we promised that we would go there before we left.
Our next two days were mainly filled by visits to the salar, lagunas, valles, oases, and geysers of the desert (see previous entry)
After our two days of sight-seeing around the desert, we went to the San Pedro Museum, which was highly recommended by both our books as well as by the potter we'd met earlier. The main exhibits pertained to the history of the Atacama region and to the indiginous people who had lived there. There was also an art gallery in which we found work by the potter, as well as a variety of beautiful paintings.
Despite its size, San Pedro has a lot to offer to travelers. In addition to the hostels and the location, it is rife with shops and services of all kinds. Restaurants, pottery stores, shops selling jewelry or woven goods, stalls selling homemade bags and tea and masks and plates... As well as various bike-rental shops and internet cafes that could transfer digital photos onto a CD (thereby allowing the tourists to take even more photos the next day).
We spent our first evening in San Pedro wandering around the streets, poking into the handcraft shops that looked interesting. We booked a two-day tour package offered by our hotel, in order to visit the salar, valles, lagunas, and geysers in our short stay, and then continued our wanderings. For such a tiny city (there couldn't possibly be more than 3 square city blocks in the entire town), we got turned around and lost quite often. More than anything, for me the difficulty was being away from water. If there's an ocean or a river, I can navigate a city based off of that. Since we'd spent the past six months living in Valparaíso, where we could clearly orient ourselves based off of the ocean on one side and the cerros on the other, being transplanted to a flat, arid, desert city full of similar-looking buildings made of adobe and thatched roofs... well, it was disorienting, to say the least.
In our explorations, we came across a pottery shop in an open yard. An old man was there at the time, working at the pottery wheel on a new project, and talking to a visitor. After the visitor left, he started to talk to us as well. As it turns out, he had made most of the art on display, and his work was also currently on exhibition at the San Pedro Museum. We talked about how we were studying in Valparaiso, but from the states, and he said that he had traveled to the states. Apparently, he had spent a signifigant amount of time in Berkeley, and taught a pottery workshop there for a bit.
We thanked him for his time and for talking to us, and he suggested that we go to the museum, not only to see his work but also because it was supposed to have incredible exhibits about the history of the region. The museum was already closed by this time, but we promised that we would go there before we left.
Our next two days were mainly filled by visits to the salar, lagunas, valles, oases, and geysers of the desert (see previous entry)
After our two days of sight-seeing around the desert, we went to the San Pedro Museum, which was highly recommended by both our books as well as by the potter we'd met earlier. The main exhibits pertained to the history of the Atacama region and to the indiginous people who had lived there. There was also an art gallery in which we found work by the potter, as well as a variety of beautiful paintings.
13 July 2005
Salares, Lagunas, y Oases: Desierto de Atacama, Chile
Our first stop on the JessieAndCarrieTravellingExperience (henceforth referred to as "JACTE"), was San Pedro de Atacama. That is, the village of San Pedro, located in the Atacama Desert. For those of you for whom this name does not ring a bell, for shame! The Atacama Desert is the driest desert in the world, and comprises approximately the upper third of Chile. San Pedro is one of the many Oases of the desert, and I will describe more about San Pedro itself in another entry. For now, all you need know is that it was the home base of our adventures for the first few days. The hostel we stayed at offered a really cheap tour package, that went to all the places we had been planning to visit (read: lusting after in our little American guide books). The Salar de Atacama, Valle de la Luna, Valle de la Muerte, and El Tatio Geysers. It also included trips to the lagunas, various Oases, Las Tres Marias, and Mirador, all in two days total, so of course we were very excited.
DAY ONE - Our first day started with a trip to the Gran Salar (great salt lake) de Atacama. My memory isn't perfect, so correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that this is the third largest salt lake in the world, after the ones in Salt Lake City, Utah and one in southern Bolivia. The main lure to this salar seems to be that you can see flamingos. Personally, I wasn't too excited about the flamingos, and therefore not particularly upset that they were distant and hard to see. The texture of the ground was amazing though - salt lakes are formed by salt water lakes that dry up and just leave the salt formations, which look...well, like huge salt crystals all over the ground. There were some areas where there was still water - in the form of small and large lakes, as well as rivers. Some of the rivers were amazing colors - reds and oranges and browns and greens... It was beautiful! We could also see the mountains in the distance.
After the Salar, we drove to the Lagunas ("lakes") Miscanti and Miñiques, named after the volcanoes they neighbor. The lakes were deep, clear blue, bordered by the tan sands and the grey-blue volcanoes, with strips of snow... As usual, my abilities with a camera do not fully capture the beauty of the region - the contrast, the textures... Sometimes on our trip I worried about becoming numb to beauty if we stayed there too long, if we were able to become accustomed to our surroundings. We walked along a road for a while and often saw piles of rocks on the side of the road. At one point, Carrie turned to me and asked me which animal I thought had made it... um, backpackers? I'm surprised she's never seen them before, but it was entertaining.
We went to lunch in Socaire, a small oasis between the Salar and the Lagunas. The food was delicious and the people in our tour group were interesting and friendly, for the most part. A french couple was rather incommunicative, but there were some Spanish-speakers and a couple of (Dutch, we think) women who spoke English. The meal was a huge, delicious plate of chicken and salad with a delicious grain (the name of which I have forgotten) unique to the region, soup, and homemade bread with pebre (sort of salsa, for spreading on bread). Way too much food for me, but Carrie, who eats about twice her bodyweight at every meal, was well-fed for the first (and pretty much last) time on our trip.
On our way back to the hostel, we stopped at Toconao, another oasis. Way more vegetated than Socaire or San Pedro, Toconao has a huge plant-reservation that we got to walk through - full of gorgeous and lush plants, in the middle of the desert! There was also a plaza with a cool statue and a bell tower. and there were a couple kids playing on and around the statue that were just so cute! Toconao was the last stop on our first day. We came home and went to sleep early in preparation for an early start the next day.
DAY TWO - And by an early start, I mean ridiculously so. We left at 4 AM, at which point it was (below) freezing cold. As per our friend Kevin's suggestion, we tried to bring our blankets from the hostel beds, but one of the hostel workers caught us and made us put them back. The tour guide, who also works for the hostel, thought that was stupid and that we should have been able to keep the blankets. We were annoyed, tired, and cranky about it, but had no idea what we were in for. The El Tatio Geysers, at high elevation in the driest desert in the world, have a temperature of approximately 14 degrees below zero. Celsius. Personally, I was wearing two pairs of tights, one pair of leggings, jeans, three thermal shirts, a jacket, a vest, my huge wool coat from Chiloe, three pairs of socks, hiking boots, gloves, a scarf, and two hats. I couldn't feel my feet, face or hands. Carrie was less prepared and couldn't stand the temperature. Rather than waiting for the sunrise outside, she retreated to the tour van to hide by the heater in the front seat. The view was worth the discomfort. The Geysers released a steady stream of steam and a small pattern of mini-rivers across the ground, which froze in the air before our eyes. As the sun rose, the colors on the mountains changed, and we could see the sunlight creeping across the ground. After a small breakfast provided by our tour group, we moved to a different part of the geysers, where the springs of hot water had created a natural hot tub. We got to go swimming (well, sitting), which was a wonderful way to warm up. Also, there was a large group of French students (I'd say around 17 or 18 years old) that were extremely loud and obnoxious. It was frustrating, but it was nice that it was a group of French students for a change. We didn't have to be embarrassed by the poorly behaved tourists from America this time! Sometimes, it's the little things...
On our way back to San Pedro, we stopped by a tiny oasis (the name of which I've forgotten) with a permanent population of about thirty people. We wandered a bit, and got tea for Carrie, who wasn't feeling well. Possibly from the cold, possibly altitude sickness, possibly because of not eating enough (this last one was her opinion - I think we were eating more than enough for two five-foot tall women). In the oasis, there were small figures outside some houses, made from rocks, which were interesting. We then went back to San Pedro for a few hours before our evening trip to the valleys.
Our first stop in the evening was Mirador, an elevated location from which we could see down into the valleys of the desert. Once again, I was amazed by the expanse of the desert. It is at once beautiful and terrifying - beautiful for the colors and textures and novelty of desert, terrifying for the reality of its deadliness. Can you imagine being stranded here? It's just sand. Dry, lifeless sand for miles in every direction. Sand that burns in the daytime and has temperatures of well below freezing at night. No water, no vegetation, no life. It's extremely intimidating in this light, and makes the oases seem that much more lively and vital in comparison.
After Mirador, we went to Valle de la Muerte (Valley of Death), so named because a frenchman's pronunciation of Marte (Mars) was so strongly accented that it sounded like Muerte (death). There was no tragic event involved in the naming of the valley. It was meant to be named for the red hues and other-worldly sand- and rock-formations. We walked across a section of this valley before getting picked up by our tour bus again to move on.
Our next destination, Las Tres Marias (the three Marys) is a group of rock formations said to look like three versions of the virgin mary. To each his own, I suppose. I can see one human-like figure in the center, but I think the other two are quite a stretch. To be fair, the people who named these rocks were probably dehydrated and delirious from the altitude at the time, so allowances must be made for such names. Personally, I was more intrigued by the rock formation that looks like the head of a turtle from one angle and a fist from a different angle.
Our final stop was Valle de la Luna (Valley of the Moon), which was simply breathtaking. Literally. We climbed a large sand dune in order to get to a higher point to see the light change colors on the Andes as the sun set. Combined with the high altitude and dry air, this seemingly-simple hike left us gasping for breath and pausing to gulp down water. In the middle of one of many such pauses, an older woman walking in flip flops and a skirt, lit cigarette in one hand, walked calmly past. That was embarrassing. We did indeed make it to our destination before the sun set, and the view was beautiful. We could see down into all the mini-valleys, and also see the andes. As I mentioned previously, the draw of sunset at Valle de la Luna is not the sunset itself, but rather the color play it creates across the Andes. The sun was pretty much gone by the time we returned to our bus, but the view that evening was absolutely beautiful.
DAY ONE - Our first day started with a trip to the Gran Salar (great salt lake) de Atacama. My memory isn't perfect, so correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that this is the third largest salt lake in the world, after the ones in Salt Lake City, Utah and one in southern Bolivia. The main lure to this salar seems to be that you can see flamingos. Personally, I wasn't too excited about the flamingos, and therefore not particularly upset that they were distant and hard to see. The texture of the ground was amazing though - salt lakes are formed by salt water lakes that dry up and just leave the salt formations, which look...well, like huge salt crystals all over the ground. There were some areas where there was still water - in the form of small and large lakes, as well as rivers. Some of the rivers were amazing colors - reds and oranges and browns and greens... It was beautiful! We could also see the mountains in the distance.
After the Salar, we drove to the Lagunas ("lakes") Miscanti and Miñiques, named after the volcanoes they neighbor. The lakes were deep, clear blue, bordered by the tan sands and the grey-blue volcanoes, with strips of snow... As usual, my abilities with a camera do not fully capture the beauty of the region - the contrast, the textures... Sometimes on our trip I worried about becoming numb to beauty if we stayed there too long, if we were able to become accustomed to our surroundings. We walked along a road for a while and often saw piles of rocks on the side of the road. At one point, Carrie turned to me and asked me which animal I thought had made it... um, backpackers? I'm surprised she's never seen them before, but it was entertaining.
We went to lunch in Socaire, a small oasis between the Salar and the Lagunas. The food was delicious and the people in our tour group were interesting and friendly, for the most part. A french couple was rather incommunicative, but there were some Spanish-speakers and a couple of (Dutch, we think) women who spoke English. The meal was a huge, delicious plate of chicken and salad with a delicious grain (the name of which I have forgotten) unique to the region, soup, and homemade bread with pebre (sort of salsa, for spreading on bread). Way too much food for me, but Carrie, who eats about twice her bodyweight at every meal, was well-fed for the first (and pretty much last) time on our trip.
On our way back to the hostel, we stopped at Toconao, another oasis. Way more vegetated than Socaire or San Pedro, Toconao has a huge plant-reservation that we got to walk through - full of gorgeous and lush plants, in the middle of the desert! There was also a plaza with a cool statue and a bell tower. and there were a couple kids playing on and around the statue that were just so cute! Toconao was the last stop on our first day. We came home and went to sleep early in preparation for an early start the next day.
DAY TWO - And by an early start, I mean ridiculously so. We left at 4 AM, at which point it was (below) freezing cold. As per our friend Kevin's suggestion, we tried to bring our blankets from the hostel beds, but one of the hostel workers caught us and made us put them back. The tour guide, who also works for the hostel, thought that was stupid and that we should have been able to keep the blankets. We were annoyed, tired, and cranky about it, but had no idea what we were in for. The El Tatio Geysers, at high elevation in the driest desert in the world, have a temperature of approximately 14 degrees below zero. Celsius. Personally, I was wearing two pairs of tights, one pair of leggings, jeans, three thermal shirts, a jacket, a vest, my huge wool coat from Chiloe, three pairs of socks, hiking boots, gloves, a scarf, and two hats. I couldn't feel my feet, face or hands. Carrie was less prepared and couldn't stand the temperature. Rather than waiting for the sunrise outside, she retreated to the tour van to hide by the heater in the front seat. The view was worth the discomfort. The Geysers released a steady stream of steam and a small pattern of mini-rivers across the ground, which froze in the air before our eyes. As the sun rose, the colors on the mountains changed, and we could see the sunlight creeping across the ground. After a small breakfast provided by our tour group, we moved to a different part of the geysers, where the springs of hot water had created a natural hot tub. We got to go swimming (well, sitting), which was a wonderful way to warm up. Also, there was a large group of French students (I'd say around 17 or 18 years old) that were extremely loud and obnoxious. It was frustrating, but it was nice that it was a group of French students for a change. We didn't have to be embarrassed by the poorly behaved tourists from America this time! Sometimes, it's the little things...
On our way back to San Pedro, we stopped by a tiny oasis (the name of which I've forgotten) with a permanent population of about thirty people. We wandered a bit, and got tea for Carrie, who wasn't feeling well. Possibly from the cold, possibly altitude sickness, possibly because of not eating enough (this last one was her opinion - I think we were eating more than enough for two five-foot tall women). In the oasis, there were small figures outside some houses, made from rocks, which were interesting. We then went back to San Pedro for a few hours before our evening trip to the valleys.
Our first stop in the evening was Mirador, an elevated location from which we could see down into the valleys of the desert. Once again, I was amazed by the expanse of the desert. It is at once beautiful and terrifying - beautiful for the colors and textures and novelty of desert, terrifying for the reality of its deadliness. Can you imagine being stranded here? It's just sand. Dry, lifeless sand for miles in every direction. Sand that burns in the daytime and has temperatures of well below freezing at night. No water, no vegetation, no life. It's extremely intimidating in this light, and makes the oases seem that much more lively and vital in comparison.
After Mirador, we went to Valle de la Muerte (Valley of Death), so named because a frenchman's pronunciation of Marte (Mars) was so strongly accented that it sounded like Muerte (death). There was no tragic event involved in the naming of the valley. It was meant to be named for the red hues and other-worldly sand- and rock-formations. We walked across a section of this valley before getting picked up by our tour bus again to move on.
Our next destination, Las Tres Marias (the three Marys) is a group of rock formations said to look like three versions of the virgin mary. To each his own, I suppose. I can see one human-like figure in the center, but I think the other two are quite a stretch. To be fair, the people who named these rocks were probably dehydrated and delirious from the altitude at the time, so allowances must be made for such names. Personally, I was more intrigued by the rock formation that looks like the head of a turtle from one angle and a fist from a different angle.
Our final stop was Valle de la Luna (Valley of the Moon), which was simply breathtaking. Literally. We climbed a large sand dune in order to get to a higher point to see the light change colors on the Andes as the sun set. Combined with the high altitude and dry air, this seemingly-simple hike left us gasping for breath and pausing to gulp down water. In the middle of one of many such pauses, an older woman walking in flip flops and a skirt, lit cigarette in one hand, walked calmly past. That was embarrassing. We did indeed make it to our destination before the sun set, and the view was beautiful. We could see down into all the mini-valleys, and also see the andes. As I mentioned previously, the draw of sunset at Valle de la Luna is not the sunset itself, but rather the color play it creates across the Andes. The sun was pretty much gone by the time we returned to our bus, but the view that evening was absolutely beautiful.
02 July 2005
Reserva Nacional los Cipruses: Cajón del Maipo, Chile
Steph and I decided to go to Reserva Nacional los Cipruses (a small park in Cajón del Maipo) as one of her last excursions in Chile. We started the day with a phone call - her to me - because I had gone dancing the night before and overslept my alarm. She apparently had waited over an hour, allowing ample time for Chilean-time adjustments to our pre-arranged meeting time, and then gone home and called me. I arrived spouting apologies and offers of cookies to make my way back into her good graces, but none were necessary, as she wasn't in fact angry.
At about 10 am, we therefore made our way to the bus station to catch a bus to Santiago. Upon arriving in Santiago, we took the metro to a station that my guidebook indicated. The book said to leave the metro station and catch a micro (minibus) at Paradero 15 (bus stop 15). We assumed that it would be a regular street-side bus stop, and even ventured a guess that it would be between paraderos 14 and 16. Silly gringas... after wandering around the station for a while (and successfully ignoring the tempting-looking fudge stand all three times we backtracked past it), we asked for directions from a man directing taxis. He waved us in the direction of the nearby, large building full of stores and said to go downstairs.
So, after passing the fudge stand once more and going down the stairs inside the building, we found ourselves back at the metro station. We wandered to a parking garage and asked a lady selling costumes there where we could find Paradero 15. "¿Adónde van?", she asked us. When we told her our intended destination (Cajón del Maipo), she told us where to go and warned that we would get wet in the rain. Well, that "rain" was little more then a light drizzle and we did have raincoats and rainpants. As for the elusive Paradero 15 - that was the entire building.
After finding the correct micro on the second try (having been once again led astray by our guidebook), we were on our way to the reserve. Truth be told, we were just ready to guess at the correct stop (surely a national reserve has at least a small sign?) but as the micro got further from Santiago, we saw no indications of the reserve. We did, however, pass a large and touristy vineyard, at which point the chofer, who up to this point had not been announcing stops, yells out, "La viña! We're passing the viña! Anyone who wants to visit the viña should get off!" Neither Steph nor I made any move to get off the bus, so a female passenger tapped me on the shoulder and asked if we were looking for the vineyard. How successfully we two white women have blended into the fabric of Chilean society in comfortable anonymity.
As the drizzle turned to a light rain and back again and all the other passengers gradually left the bus, we still saw no sign of our reserve. We therefore made our way to the front of the now-empty bus to check with the driver.
I spoke up, "excuse me, we're looking for-"
"I announced it," he interrupted, "I called out many times when we passed the-"
"We don't want to go to the vineyard," I interjected. We told him that we were, in fact, heading for the national reserve.
"Oh, we're almost there right now," he replied. Then, looking us over, "you're going to get wet."
When we arrived at the reserve, we went into the hut at the entrance to purchase our entrance tickets. The ranger on duty reluctantly got up from where he was resting on the sofa to come talk to us. Rather, to come stare at us, as he seemed not at all inclined to begin any conversation. After looking at each other for a few seconds, Steph and I informed the ranger that we wanted to visit the reserve.
"Because of the weather conditions," he responded after a pause, "we don't recommend entering the reserve."
Another awkward pause, and then Steph replied, "Um... could we go anyway?"
Two blinks. "We really don't recommend entering the reserve."
"Yes, but can we go anyway?"
Yet another pause, then the ranger walked over to the desk and pulled out a map of the reserve, "The trails are not safe to walk on, you will have to stay on the main road only." We agreed and paid the entrance fee, and he gave us our tickets. Just before we left, he told us, "Go out the door, turn left, and stay on the road. Don't leave the main road." We nodded, relieved to not have to resort to a pitiful "can we go anyway?" for a third time. "You're going to get wet," he added as we walked out the door.
Upon exiting the hut, we saw two roads leading into the reserve: one that went straight, and one that went to the right. We contemplated how much of the little faith the ranger had in us would be lost if we returned and asked if by "left" he meant right or straight. We didn't have to ask, as he noticed our hesitation when he came to close the door. Exasperated, he repeated slowly, pointing to the path straight ahead, "Go Left And Don't Leave The Main Road". Then he closed the door to return to the sofa, so we missed the muttered "stupid gringas," if he bothered to say it aloud at all.
We walked in the reserve for a few hours, straying only once from the main road (for the specific purpose of taking a picture of Stephanie on the "dangerous" trail - a slightly damp grassy dirt path about 4 feet wide - indeed she was almost washed away by the torrents of... drizzle. The plants were lovely, but not the views were not spectacular, as we couldn't safely leave the main road, and after a few hours we turned back around to return to Santiago for sushi. Before being allowed into any restaurant, however, we had to dry off - we were indeed soaked.
At about 10 am, we therefore made our way to the bus station to catch a bus to Santiago. Upon arriving in Santiago, we took the metro to a station that my guidebook indicated. The book said to leave the metro station and catch a micro (minibus) at Paradero 15 (bus stop 15). We assumed that it would be a regular street-side bus stop, and even ventured a guess that it would be between paraderos 14 and 16. Silly gringas... after wandering around the station for a while (and successfully ignoring the tempting-looking fudge stand all three times we backtracked past it), we asked for directions from a man directing taxis. He waved us in the direction of the nearby, large building full of stores and said to go downstairs.
So, after passing the fudge stand once more and going down the stairs inside the building, we found ourselves back at the metro station. We wandered to a parking garage and asked a lady selling costumes there where we could find Paradero 15. "¿Adónde van?", she asked us. When we told her our intended destination (Cajón del Maipo), she told us where to go and warned that we would get wet in the rain. Well, that "rain" was little more then a light drizzle and we did have raincoats and rainpants. As for the elusive Paradero 15 - that was the entire building.
After finding the correct micro on the second try (having been once again led astray by our guidebook), we were on our way to the reserve. Truth be told, we were just ready to guess at the correct stop (surely a national reserve has at least a small sign?) but as the micro got further from Santiago, we saw no indications of the reserve. We did, however, pass a large and touristy vineyard, at which point the chofer, who up to this point had not been announcing stops, yells out, "La viña! We're passing the viña! Anyone who wants to visit the viña should get off!" Neither Steph nor I made any move to get off the bus, so a female passenger tapped me on the shoulder and asked if we were looking for the vineyard. How successfully we two white women have blended into the fabric of Chilean society in comfortable anonymity.
As the drizzle turned to a light rain and back again and all the other passengers gradually left the bus, we still saw no sign of our reserve. We therefore made our way to the front of the now-empty bus to check with the driver.
I spoke up, "excuse me, we're looking for-"
"I announced it," he interrupted, "I called out many times when we passed the-"
"We don't want to go to the vineyard," I interjected. We told him that we were, in fact, heading for the national reserve.
"Oh, we're almost there right now," he replied. Then, looking us over, "you're going to get wet."
When we arrived at the reserve, we went into the hut at the entrance to purchase our entrance tickets. The ranger on duty reluctantly got up from where he was resting on the sofa to come talk to us. Rather, to come stare at us, as he seemed not at all inclined to begin any conversation. After looking at each other for a few seconds, Steph and I informed the ranger that we wanted to visit the reserve.
"Because of the weather conditions," he responded after a pause, "we don't recommend entering the reserve."
Another awkward pause, and then Steph replied, "Um... could we go anyway?"
Two blinks. "We really don't recommend entering the reserve."
"Yes, but can we go anyway?"
Yet another pause, then the ranger walked over to the desk and pulled out a map of the reserve, "The trails are not safe to walk on, you will have to stay on the main road only." We agreed and paid the entrance fee, and he gave us our tickets. Just before we left, he told us, "Go out the door, turn left, and stay on the road. Don't leave the main road." We nodded, relieved to not have to resort to a pitiful "can we go anyway?" for a third time. "You're going to get wet," he added as we walked out the door.
Upon exiting the hut, we saw two roads leading into the reserve: one that went straight, and one that went to the right. We contemplated how much of the little faith the ranger had in us would be lost if we returned and asked if by "left" he meant right or straight. We didn't have to ask, as he noticed our hesitation when he came to close the door. Exasperated, he repeated slowly, pointing to the path straight ahead, "Go Left And Don't Leave The Main Road". Then he closed the door to return to the sofa, so we missed the muttered "stupid gringas," if he bothered to say it aloud at all.
We walked in the reserve for a few hours, straying only once from the main road (for the specific purpose of taking a picture of Stephanie on the "dangerous" trail - a slightly damp grassy dirt path about 4 feet wide - indeed she was almost washed away by the torrents of... drizzle. The plants were lovely, but not the views were not spectacular, as we couldn't safely leave the main road, and after a few hours we turned back around to return to Santiago for sushi. Before being allowed into any restaurant, however, we had to dry off - we were indeed soaked.
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