La Cultura de Coca

The desert is the one place where you can best feel the extremes in temperature. Throughout the afternoon the sun sinks deep into your skin, turning it red no matter your origins while at night the clear sky sends cold shivers down upon the earth. You don't notice the extreme cold of the early hours of the morning though, unless you wake up at 4am to go 4300 metres above sea level to visit the local El Tatio geysers that is. (It is recommended you chew on coca leaves or sweets to help with altitude adjustment).

When we arrived the temperature was at approximately minus 5 degrees Celsius and we had wrapped ourselves in thick ski jackets, beanies and thermals, having been told to gradually take off each layer as the day progressed. The reason that you visit the geysers so early is because a geyser’s activity is best seen in the cold, so in wintertime when it's minus 20 degrees Celsius a tourist may gain the best view of these strange hot breathing pools. We walked around the geysers and learnt to distinguish them from a normal hole that releases hot steam but no water. Around the edges of each geyser is a nest of bacteria that breed off the exotic minerals.

We also got to test out the thermal pool that was absolutely boiling in some parts and cold in others. If you swim to the cooler side of the pool you cannot see everyone happily relaxing at the other end for all the steam. It was really quite amazing. The hardest part was having to get out into the cold air and get changed out of our swimmers in the open. Well worth it!

We climbed back into the bus and headed back down the mountain, passing vicuña, guanaco and alpacas (llamas aren't seen in the region) along the way. We visited an old deserted mining village that some locals had since decided to return to purely out of tradition. The current population rests at 5 people who depend completely on tourism. We enjoyed the local goat's cheese empanadas but speared trying the guanaco kebabs. On a small hill at the end of the one street of the village you can also find another white church, which looks marvellous juxtaposed against the deep blue of the sky.

Our last destination was to walk through Valle de Cactus before driving back to San Pedro de Atacama. Once back, we ate a very delicious gourmet meal at the plaza and then spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping and relaxing at the hostel. That evening my fellow Australian and her lovely Chilean left to continue their travels elsewhere. After dropping them off at the bus terminal we went to a nearby restaurant/bar and tried out Mojitos de Coca. Note: Coca is the drug of choice for the indigenous Atacama culture, although the coca doesn't really affect you unless you distil it. Natural coca consumption is perfectly legal and very accessible.

El Fondo del Mar

We slept well into the following morning before taking the opportunity to get to know central San Pedro de Atacama more. In the middle of town, at one corner of the central plaza sits the famous white San Pedro church made from adobe walls and a cactus roof. In fact most the buildings in San Pedro de Atacama are made from their original adobe walls and are heritage listed to the annoyance of some locals who want to renovate and extend, but much to the pleasure of the tourists.

After a nice lunch under the shade of restaurant trees we joined a tour to visit some of the many nearby lagunas. Our first stop was Laguna Cejar where you can literally float in the water for all the copious amounts of salt. You can't stick your head under though for obvious reasons. The crystal blue water was quite cool under the burning desert sun and we enjoyed the very strange sensation of effortlessly floating. When we did decide to get out, the salt soon crystallised on our bodies, leaving a thick white mark.

We followed the water's edge of the neighbouring (reserved) laguna, which had a thickly coated rim of salt around its edge. It actually looked like snow had settled upon the grass. At the far side a group of flamingos were feeding, while little lizards ran between our feet.

We crammed back in the van and drove a short distance to another laguna, this time not so salty. Instead, it was situated deep into the ground and apparently continued on for another 20 metres. We jumped high into the water and felt its icing fingers grip our body. I got out as fast as I got in; it was so cold. At least, all the crusty salt was washed off our bodies. We took the time to then take allusion pictures of ourselves; one person standing close to the camera while the other goes far and looks tiny in comparison. Apparently it's what all the tourists do at this particular laguna and we had loads of fun following this trend.

Last but not least we drove a little further to another lake, this time much bigger than the ones we had been to previously. The thing about this lake though is that you can walk right into its heart, giving off the allusion that you are walking on water. The lake is absolutely saturated in salt and is very shallow hence the Jesus-like allusion. We watched with rose-coloured glasses as the sun sunk beneath the mountains and the colours of the landscape dramatically transformed. Again we enjoyed a Pisco Sour for the special occasion.

San Pedro de Atacama

We awoke bright and early to a fresh morning and some much desired clean air. My fellow Australian and I slathered ourselves with sun cream as the darker Latino boys went off to collect the bicycles that had been organised the day before.

We set off out of town, following a not-so-correct hand drawn map and taking in the strange scenery. We soon arrived at a river at least 15cm deep that cut across our path. We wondered along its edge looking for the easiest place to cross. I thought I saw a shallow crossing that I could simply ride across. Without telling the others I raced into the water and got stuck right in the deepest part. I was forced to put my feet in the water to balance the bicycle; otherwise I would have completely toppled over. I got to the other side with absolutely drenched shoes and socks. I took them off and hung them at the front of my bicycle to dry as I watched the others smartly take off their shoes and socks before entering the water and then put them back on once at the other side. We all had a good laugh at my expensive and I ended up riding for the next bit with bare feet, which was actually quite nice in the on-coming heat.

On we ventured until the path entered into a strange canon and we had to pull our bicycles up the rocks to continue. Once inside, we speed along not knowing where the path was leading us. We zigzagged in and out of rocks, sometimes having to duck our heads, sometimes zooming up a steep rock only to zoom back down the other side. It was loads of fun but the pain in my bottom was gradually getting worse and the heat was soon becoming unbearable. As we didn't know how far the canon went on for we decided to turn back and follow another path in the aim of making the most of the bicycle hire before the sun made it impossible to continue.

We rode until we saw a small mud church sitting lonely upon a hill. We rested in its shade and poured as much water as possible into our bodies. As we set off back home, we noticed my seat was really low, in fact too low and that was probably why I was in so much pain. A lower seat means you put all your pressure on your bottom and your legs do a lot more hard work in cycling. Well, we put my seat up and it made such a difference in riding.

Back at the hostel we flopped onto our bed exhausted and fell asleep until lunchtime, after which we had planned to take a tour. Our dread locked tour guide took us out to Valle de la Muerte (Death Valley). This valley begins as a canon but once more inside you suddenly come across these giant dunes towering above you. With a snowboard in hand, we sweated our way up the top of a dune only to surf back down in an instance. Up and down we went for a few hours (all this after having rode a bicycle for the last 5 hours) and it was a heap of fun. The trick is to step in other people's footprints as you walk up the dune and once up top you sit for a while taking in the scenery and getting your breath back, then you launch forward, balancing with your bent knees and outstretched arms. And the best thing about sandboarding is that the sand is so comfy to land on when you fall, and we certainly all fell!

With sand in every knock and cranny of our clothes and bodies we got back into the van and headed to check out some salt caves. You see, the Atacama Desert used to be at the bottom of the sea and so salt is engrained in every part of the landscape. The now-non-existent water had also shaped the rocks into strange forms and as you walk through them you can't help but think you are walking on the Moon or maybe even Mars.

Finally we headed to Valle de la Luna (Moon Valley) where we literally climbed up the cliff to get the best view for the most spectacular sun set. As the sun said goodbye for the day, the rocks gleamed with red and orange and the sky softly turned into shades of pink and blue. We sat there in owe or with our fingers clicking away on a camera and drank Pisco Sour.

Once back in town we headed straight to the comfort of our beds and the warmth of our many blankets. It wasn't until the next day that we really felt in our bodies how much we had done the day previous.

Estresada

Do you ever have those days when you set out to do the right thing and it all back fires in your face? I have learnt that being organised in Santiago doesn't count for anything for it is a world where nothing is done electronically or automatically. From my work, I have been receiving cheques as my payment and from these cheques is taken out superannuation and insurance. However, it your duty to file tax separately and worst of all you must then join the legions of other people with cheques queuing in the bank to get them cashed in. The end of the month is when everyone receives their cheque and when you can see lines of people filed from the cashier to the footpath outside.

The 31^st of November, the day before my flight to San Pedro de Atacama, I headed to the office to collect my cheque. There was already a line of people waiting and oh boy, did we wait! Apparently the head of Human Resources had forgotten to sign the cheques and so we not only had to wait for him to respect his responsibility, we had to wait for him to return from his late lunch. This meant that by the time I received my cheque the banks were already closed. Not to worry, I would go at 9 the following morning, as soon as the bank opened. I wasn’t due to fly until 11:55am.

My lovely Chilean accompanied me to the bank at 9:05am and what do you know, the line was already out the door. He also had to cash a cheque at the neighbouring bank so off he went. Now at the particular bank where I have to go to, there is only one cashier who attends to non-clients hence the extremely long line, more so than other banks. This meant that my lovely Chilean had already cashed his cheque by the time I had moved 5 or 6 places forward. It was terrible! We waited an hour for the money I really needed for my trip and then went running back to the house to collect our luggage.

We had planned to take public transport to the airport because it's a million times cheaper and so we set out on the metro. This particular day, the metro was very slow, stopping at the platform for minutes at a time instead of flashing through like it usually does. We travelled from one end of the line to the other and more. Finally we got out and instead of taking the bus, we took an expensive taxi because we feared missing our flight. We arrived exactly 40 minutes before the flight.

Well not according to their schedule! You see, on my printed copy of my ticket it said the flight was due to leave at 11:55am but when we arrived they were displaying the departure time of 11:50am. We had therefore arrived 5 minutes and they just wouldn't let us on. Our hearts sank. We had been so organised, we had packed our bags the day before, we had bought food to take with us but all because of the line at the bank and the inability for companies to deposit money directly into accounts, we missed our flight.

They put us on the next flight, due to leave 3 hours later. With frowning faces but still a little hope in our hearts we went to have something to eat. Not a very good meal, I might add, especially for the price but I guess that's to be expected in an airport. We then went through security and were sitting at our gate when 5 minutes before boarding time we heard that our flight had been cancelled and we needed to make our way back over to check-in.

And so off we went back through security and over to check-in to meet yet another extremely long line. By the time we arrived at the desk the next flight was already full. We were placed onto the last flight of the day and given a lunch voucher. Having already eaten we went back to the restaurant to pass the time, a whole 9 and half hours in totally that is.

We finally boarded and sat in first class, not that it made much difference in the small plane. I think we might have had more leg room? From the airport in Calama we took a transfer to San Pedro de Atacama in the pitch darkness, passing an intense car accident along the way, making me feel even more uncomfortable at the speed we were travelling at. We arrived at the small town at 1am where our friends, who had taken the original flight, met us at the hostel.

A bad start to a great trip!

La aventura en Mendoza cont.

Day three was met by a lazy morning doing our last minute shopping and visiting of downtown Mendoza. Once again we grabbed at the chance to sit outside at Havana on the pedestrian-only street. This time we tried exotic-looking cappuccinos but stuck to eating more alfajores. We even bought a box full of different flavours.

We skipped lunch as we had organised to go horse riding along the mountainside and apparently a barbeque was included for almuerzo. We had been told to wait to be collected at our hostal between 14-14:30. The local Gauchos (cowboys) arrived at 15:00 and after we entered through the gates of their farm an hour out of town, we found that lunch was not on the cards; rather the asado was planned for after the horse ride. We managed though, mostly because the prospect of being on an Argentinean horse was more exciting. A Gaucho, in his maroon beret and cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth, explained to us how his horses were to be ridden before we were each assigned a horse.

We trailed off one by one down the dirt road and into the local fauna of green and yellow shrubs; a very arid looking mountainside indeed. Along the way we tried a little trot as well as a little canter, although my horse could not be bothered to partake in this activity. To encourage these horses, we were told to click our tongues or make kissing noises while slightly pressing into their gut with our heels, not the Anglo-Saxon “yah” or “whoo there” with a bit of a kick in the gut. Maybe it’s all because Spanish speakers like to be that little bit more romantic in life so a kissing noise seems more appropriate to them, who knows?

The scenery was quite breathtaking and the further up we climbed, the more we could see of Mendoza far in the distance. Too bad the industrial plant on the outskirts of the town was highly visual but nonetheless, I could look the other way towards to the mystic Andes where I could see our chain of horses zigzagging its way up ahead. We stopped on one of the hill crests to take photos, the Gauchos obvious accustomed to this tradition, and then continued on in the direction of the horse’s home.

Once back at the farm, we had that asado we had been waiting for, along with some local wine. My lovely Chilean and I spoke with a couple that had a similar reason for being in Mendoza as us. They were a Chilean lad and Polish lass who had met in Spain while on exchange, and she had since come to Chile to be with him and now they were visiting Mendoza to renew her visa. We soon found that they were to take the same, treacherous bus back with us. We warned them about the merciless trip over the border.

Before leaving we were introduced to the farm's recently born goats. We were staring over the fence, giggling at their silly antics when one of the Gaucho suddenly passed a little bleating goat into my arms. It was so cute but it utterly stank. After a photo shot together I passed it onto another who unfortunately had her hair eaten. All around us there were animals, from goats to horses to dogs and even dirty children. We said our goodbyes and were driven back to town, where we had little time before we were to leave. We hastily ate some dinner and arrived justo for the bus.

At la frontera we were held up for over an hour. This was not because the Chileans are much more meticulous at customs and all bags must be scanned for fresh foods, woods, plants, etc. but because the border control had found someone on our bus trafficking drugs and they had been arrested. Finally we arrived back in Santiago an hour and a half later than expected, although the excitement of the drug trafficking scandal had killed any annoyance caused by the delay. Those short 3 days had been quite the escapade and exactly the break away from work that I had needed. Although it is a small town, Mendoza sure is packed with adventurous things to do.

La aventura en Mendoza

Remind me never to travel by bus during the night when there is border crossing involved!

Plans to go across to Argentina to renew my visa were made well in advance and we thought we would cleverly save time by voyaging while we slept but oh what a mistake. My lovely Chilean and I left the never-sleeping Santiago at 22:00 on a semi-cama bus, exhausted from that day’s work yet full of keen hope to relax and disfrutar our time in Mendoza. As our tired eyes finally closed into a struggling sleep we were woken at la frontera where we were to then stand in the freezing Andean night for at least 45 minutes. Then we sleep walked back onto the bus only to arrive at our destination a mere 3 hours later. The worst thing was that we were to do it all again on the way home!

Exhausted, we piled into a taxi and at our hostal we desperately pleaded the receptionist to give us our room even though it was 05:00 and check-in wasn’t until 14:00. We grabbed at the key and agreed to give 100% in the survey at the end of our stay. We didn’t awake until well into the afternoon when our stomachs rang out their wake up call. First thing though we had to change our money, which happened to be a rewarding experience because the Chilean peso is currently worth more than the Argentinean Peso so all of a sudden we were richer.

We ate the most mouth-watering, succulent Bife de Chorizo accompanied with salad and Andean beer inside the local food markets. As I am now well informed, because Argentina is such a flat country their cows are lazy and have no need to wonder far for food. On the contrast, Chilean cows build up their muscles climbing the mountains and hills in search of green pastures and as a result their meat is far more tough and chewy. So, although both Chilean and Argentineans cook muchos barbeques, Argentinean beef is just to die for. Even with bursting stomachs we just couldn’t resist visiting Havana, my favourite Argentinean café, afterwards to have a rich expresso and chocolate alfajor. With so much food inside of us we just had to sleep some more.

In the usual South American way, the shops in Mendoza don’t close until 21-22:00 but are closed over lunch and are mostly closed on Sundays, except for restaurants. And so after lots of descanso we had the chance to soak in all the leather and clothes and copious amounts of shoes. One could grow terribly obsessed with fashion here and to make it worse, it’s relatively cheap. God bless Argentina’s strong Italian influence! That evening we relaxed in our hostal eating rough, cheap cheese and crackers, and drinking cheap Malbec wine.

Early morning we were collected by some locals who drove us towards the hills where we were to then jump off and paraglide down to the bottom. Running towards the edge as the wind picked up the parachute and with my guide/flyer safely attached behind me, he accidentally stepped on the back of my shoe making it slip off. I stumbled along as he yelled for me to keep running. Once in the air I held onto my shoe for it’s dear life and managed to slide it back on as metres past below me. Only then could I take in the sheer emotion of what I was doing. As if I had wings, I was soaring through the sky and my lovely Chilean was not far away doing the same thing. Behind me came the voice, “Are you scared or are you just cold?” I was freezing! Although I was in leggings, I only wore a t-shirt on top and the wind was giving me terrible shivers.

Off in the distance we could see the other couple flying swiftly in figure eights and all of a sudden so were we. Gravity pulled my stomach along, up and down, side to side, as if I were on a roller coaster high in the clear sky. Little screams of enjoyment sprang from my mouth but died away as we approached the ground for I concentrated on landing probably. I had nothing to worry about though and la tierra approached smoothly. I looked up to see the others still high above us, as apparently they had lost track of time chasing a poor bird. To catch up they suddenly circled their way closer to earth as if they were being flushed down a toilet. They had gone so fast that my lovely Chilean could barely move his head during the process. Effortlessly they landed.

Back in town we had some very odd pizza for lunch. It was more like thick bread with cheese melted on top but we ate it anyway and gave our leftovers to one of the many strugglers who desperately plead for money from people eating in cafés and restaurants along the street. We later saw this particular struggler give the pizza slices to her tiny son who scoffed it down with undeniable hunger. It is also common for strugglers, far too young to be seeking money, to place items on your table for you to look at and then will come back asking if you want to buy it. However, most of the time it is useless junk like a page of fairy stickers, probably stolen from elsewhere.

In the Mendozean heat (as for some reason the other side of the Andes gets much hotter) we walked to the big park at the far side of town. Apparently there is a zoo at the end of the park but we only made it to the ugly man-made lake and rested under the shade of a tree. The park was a far cry from the main square back in the centre of town, which is spotted with beautiful, big and shady trees and in the evenings it is covered with artisan markets and local musicians. It is just the most peaceful place to relax. Back in the park though, we heard ice cream calling out to us and sitting beside the vendor of Italian prepared helado we were met by the Belgian couple who had been paragliding with us that morning. We chatted for quite some time about our experiences in Latin America before we went our separate ways.

We ate a light meal in the pedestrian only street before going to check out the artisan markets once again. Mendoza has that great European influence of eating outside under umbrellas if necessary, rather than like the Chileans, who prefer to sit inside even during the most spectacular weather. We very much enjoyed Argentina’s hunger for gastronomy and the pleasures of life. Chilean’s can often become workaholics even at the best of times.

Almuerzo en Cajón del Maipo

One sunny day two couples - one young and in love, and the other, the in-laws - ventured out to an Andean canyon just outside of Santiago called Cajón del Maipo. Now this narrow valley which entrenches the Maipo River, has many beautiful natural landscapes to explore (mostly by foot) but their main purpose of coming here was for pure gastronomy.

Although small, this valley encompasses a forest of restaurants of various cultures to choose from. The two couples passed through the gates of La Petite France, a divine French restaurant run by a French chef and his Chilean wife. Outside under a canopy of trees, the couples sipped on kir royales and broke off pieces of baguette, which they dipped in oils and salsa.

First course alone justified the distance travelled, for each sip of crème de pumpkin up turned their lips more and more into a smile of complete satisfaction. Then succulent beef with potato bake and a taste of ratatouille blended together with local wine to create a heavenly sensation in their mouths. Finally, their bliss peaked with the crack of sugar as they began their dessert of true, old-fashioned, French crème brûlée.

Walking around the restaurant garden with gluttonous stomachs, they soaked in the strange view of a mountainous countryside, not too uncommon to the Andes’ sister ranges across the world, except for its acne of cactus – a consist reminder of being on the South American continent.

The couples drove further along the windy road to the small town of San José de Maipo, where they wondered around the artisan markets before climbing back into the car to carry on their tour of the canyon. They ventured far enough to reach the bridge that crosses the river and then they continued along the other side, heading back in the direction of Santiago.

The other side is very much less populated and little cottages sit encased in flora, the perfect place for a weekend get away or retirement from the hustle and bustle of city life. At the end of the quiet road begins one of the poorer neighbourhoods of Santiago. The couples locked the doors of the car as they drove from nature’s peacefulness into nature’s weakness.