Roads And Rails

I used windshield wipers in the Atacama which is the oldest and driest desert in the world. Standard operating procedure for the crew of GANNET2 as we proceed south through Chile a country several thousand miles long and 150 miles wide. Yesterday we also passed signs to the border to Bolivia and Argentina as a reminder of that lack of depth. A one day national protest is reported in Peru which they organized too late to affect us but further south border crossings in the Andes to Argentina are reported snowbound by late Spring snowfalls. Ha! We have no plans to cross to Argentina in the next 2,000 miles…so there. But drizzle fell in the Atacama yesterday.

I looked forward to an easy drive when we got up yesterday and mostly it was so. But I cannot tell a lie, the beige countryside at 4,000 feet was boring and after a couple of hours I was squirming in my seat. It wasn’t hot oddly enough, around 70 degrees and we drove with the windows closed and no air conditioning. 

On doctor’s orders Layne kept her leg up by taking a nap in bed. The road was so smooth she fell into a deep sleep so much so I had trouble waking her as we approached a police and customs checkpoint at a small oasis in the middle of nowhere. That was a surprise as in the other countries we’ve crossed we’ve never been checked as much as we have in Chile where it’s been one stop a day so far. They are monitoring our progress apparently. 

Naturally I managed to make a giant cock of this operation and with Cora and Florian following in their VW I led them wrong too with my usual suave mishandling of things. I slowed down appropriately but no matter be stepped out of the rather run down facilities to ask for papers so I pressed on. The place looked empty. At the other side there was a barrier and a guy finally appeared. 

“Did you get your stamp?” he asked. Oops. He kindly opened the barrier and we made a circuit back around this time stopping and getting out. 

I am nervous about photographing official facilities even dusty old coal sheds like these so my pictures look a bit like amateur hour in spy school but the guy in the office was very nice and asked where we came from and then asked me if I was Peruvian…I was flattered but had to admit I was a gringo. He gave our temporary import permit two thumping stamps and we were free to go.

Except it seemed there was no rush. There were a couple of stores in the complex and Layne headed over with a handful of pesos while I took the furry bundle of love for a walk. He liked it enough he was reluctant to head back when Layne sounded the horn for our recall. I think he finds the Atacama as tedious as I do at this point. 

The checkpoint was surrounded by dozens of cars buses and trucks that must have failed the customs check and were left to decompose under a heap of desert dust forever. The place felt like an abandoned junkyard but my lunch sandwich of cheese and salami was excellent with a nice cup of tea. Then the housekeeper retired to bed once more and so it went. 

We passed more monuments to the defunct nitrate mines and there was even a stretch of -gasp!- rough road that the precision oriented Chileans were busy rebuilding.  So I should hope: this isn’t down at heel Peru. 

In Germany 33 year old Florian worked as a railway mechanic specialized in cog railway engines, the kind you see climbing mountains like Mount Washington in New Hampshire. He is in heaven in the Atacama Desert as this area in Bolivia and Chile is famous for its steam engine graveyards. In this climate decay is imperceptibly slow and the huge monoliths to steam transport of another era can be found all over the place parked and left behind. 

Florian in heaven: 

Rusty in heaven: not in the van and in the shade: 

There was no entrance fee, no guards, no warning notices, no supervision. This was a memorial to the past set aside for the public by the local narrow gauge railroad company. We wandered at will in the bright afternoon sunlight. 

Your 19th century toilet compartment open to the tracks. 

Eternal preservation in the hot dry white sunlight. 

Modern shunting operations underway:

We got to within thirty miles of the port city of Famagusta and stopped for night at a gas station. The plan for Thursday is food shopping and a beach camp.

The capital of Santiago is 900 miles south and the bottom of the continent is 3,000 miles away. 

The attendant couldn’t believe I wanted regular gasoline in my diesel van. “I’ve never seen one of these run on gas,” he said. Diesel here is $4 a gallon and regular known “93” is $5:40 a gallon so no one wants gasoline in their delivery vans. 

The German kids feared it would be a noisy night but in our well insulated home we don’t mind at all sleeping at gas stations. They don’t either as they like the safety of civilization, clean bathrooms and Florian’s eyes lit up at the mention of hot dogs for dinner. Cora rolled her eyes at his choice but we ate aboard and watched some recorded TV as the phone signal mead terrible. At two in the morning it was good enough to post pictures do here I am, sleepy and ready to go back to bed. 

I am glad to be in Chile. Even in a damp cool desert. There is much colder and windier to come.