Solo Travelers

A couple of locals, probably on their way to work stopped at the parking lot yesterday morning, where we had spent a very peaceful night. Other than that we saw nobody even though we heard traffic coming and going from the Arica airport, a couple of miles inside the border with Peru. 

Rusty got his walk of course down the road leading to the airport past the welcome sign in stainless steel. 

We went into town where border fever gripped us, or would have if Layne hadn’t put her foot down. This was our last supermarket shop in Chile, land of first world conveniences and nostalgia shopping. Peru has perfectly adequate Vea supermarkets but they aren’t Walmart! This far from home the absurdity of corporate shopping translates into clingy nostalgia. I admit it. Oh and then we had to meet Khoi. 

We’ve crossed paths online for months, him with his Promaster and us with ours.

He travels solo not necessarily by choice but a happier nomad I have yet to meet. He really likes life on the road after a life of high tech type A stress. He sent us this selfie from his famous selfie stick: 

He lived in Toronto where his Vietnamese family emigrated  and he has the world’s best sense of humor. Funnily enough he didn’t like our favorite country Colombia. And he has a point, the food isn’t great and the wilderness isn’t as accessible as other countries. 

I put his sense of humor to the test and I didnt’t spare him and I realized as he gave me his left over steak I want, perhaps need, to see him down the road again. You don’t meet too many people who have changed their lives with as much joy and purpose. Retiring early has left room in his brain to teach himself the guitar, to surf, and to speak Spanish. Another selfie:

And by the way the shellfish soup at the Super Agro market was outstanding. 

There was so much to talk about and so little time. He’s going to leave his Promaster in Chile for the winter and spend summer in Canada -both seasons happen at once when you cross the equator. 

We talked and we parted. I expect we’ll see him in Nomvebervor December next year when we are back in Argentina after our Brazilian travels, I hope. Meanwhile I had an Unerctontakecto an Internet café; remember those where you rent a computer and get to print out forms. 

I spent half an hour filling out state department form DS 82 to review my passport and I sent a request for an appointment next week to drop it off at the Consulate in Cusco. The turn around time is six weeks so we will be stationary for a while before we are free to continue to Brazil. 

Then I walked a bit in the pretty part of Arica and called for an Uber to take me back to Layne and Rusty. I much prefer Uber to local taxis. I’ve tried to support taxis but they tend to overcharge and I’ve had some unpleasant interactions as they present me with sob stories and so forth. Uber is so much more impersonal and I like it. I’ve actually become quite proficient with it. Amazing. 

We were scheduled to pick up laundry at five yesterday afternoon. When we had been struggling to locate Khoi for lunch we cane across a laundry and without much hope Layne asked how quickly they could turn a load around. 

“By 5pm if it’s only clothes” they told an astonished Layne at noon. Okay then. 

So Layne took a nap and I read sprawled on the front seats waiting for five pm. 

We were parked on a side street in front of the market where we had lunch with Khoi, about five minutes from the laundry. Rusty wasn’t in the mood to walk so he sat on the floor with the side door open watching kids get out of school and they oohed and aahed over him, so it was good for his ego. 

And then a man in a pink shirt stopped and leaned against he light pole and minded and gasped. I had to ask if he was okay and he said he was dizzy, overcome by heat. I offered to give him a ride as he didn’t seem to have sense enough to call an Uber, even though he was German and therefore stereotypically should have been sensible…he was surprised I offered him a ride but he took it. 

He directed me to his hotel and as we went he told me he had been two months traveling South America and had rented a camper van when he arrived here (the black Chevy 400 below with the advertising on it). He was rather overbearing and unpleasant and not too fond of dogs which is always a black mark in my book. I asked his name when he got out but he refused so I’m calling him Rolf. We shook hands but his name I do not know. 

And that was that.  Seven of the oddest minutes of my week. I’m n to laundry. 

Ten bucks for our bag of clothes and that was our last transaction in Chile. 

I hate leaving this country and I look forward to our return next year. It’s the nature of being a nomad of course but were it not winter down south I could stay longer. 

This is the land of eternal summer but we want to enjoy Brazil in dry season so we have to move. The border complex is a couple of miles away across the desert: 

As you read this I hope we will be having a smooth crossing back to Peru. Saturday we want to be camped in Arequipa and Tuesday I want to be on a plane to the consulate in Cusco to start my passport renewal. I am a busy man with a plan. Lots of juggling to do. 

Arica

Arica is Chile’s northernmost city 12 miles south of the border with Peru with a population of nearly 230,000 people officially. It was our goal Wednesday when we got up about 150 miles south of the city on the PanAmerican Highway. 

It was a vista point overlooking a rather attractive if forbidding series of canyons in the Atacama Desert. Rusty was ready arterial awful hour to go and have a look. 

It wasn’t that early but it felt like it was and he was intent upon some smell wafting on the air. 

It really does look like the pictures we’ve seen of the moon, and, despite the rumble of trucks in the highway nearby it was a peaceful spot. 

We drove across the highway for a late breakfast and the scrambled eggs with ham were quite creamy and delicious. The Chilean bread is soft and not sweet and I like it. Layne had a giant mango smoothie and I had coffee. Twelve bucks; Chile is not a cheap low rent South American country.  

Arica was founded in 1541 and when Spain was pushed out at the beginning of the 19th century Arica and Iquique were governed by Peru.  With the War of the Pacific in 1879 going against them Bolivia lost Antofagasta and Cobija and lost access to the sea. Peru lost Iquique and Arica and Chile gained miles and miles of desert and several new ports. 

We went to a vet listed on iOverlander as soon as we arrived in town at lunchtime. They gave Rusty his health and de-parasite certificate. He also got a new multiple parvo-distemper and everything vaccine and the total cost was eighty bucks but he’s worth it of course. Then I walked the certificate down the street to the Agriculture office where for $40 I got an export certificate for Peru. Some travelers sulk at the expense and engage in smuggling but I like to be above board and it’s is Rusty we’re talking about here. 

They were very nice at the SAG office and issued the certificate in the door but it did take a couple of hours. In other towns we’ve done it and they tell us to come back tomorrow so this was pretty good. 

Arica has some agricultural output in a couple of nearby valleys and they grow olives, of all things here like they do across the border around Tacna, Peru. But Arica is a duty free city and it is a port for Bolivia, the country that lost its access to the sea. It’s a prosperous area even though it doesn’t always look that way. Desert dust, a border town, and people down on their luck all drift into this place so it doesn’t always look too middle class. 

But the city serves its purpose, to be useful: the gas station had showers, elderly clean and warm if not boiling hot. For $1.60 they are a bargain especially as they mean we don’t have to stay at one of the crappy dusty campgrounds. 

So after Layne did her supermarket shopping and I walked Rusty we went looking for a place to sleep.  We tried the waterfront parking lot outside the port and that ended up being a marching band practice area 

So we drive ten miles to the airport where iOverlander said there was a place to park, supposedly gravel. They’ve upgraded it now and it’s a nice plat and very small parking lot. 

Within sight of the border complex, above in a crappy picture. We’ll plan to cross to Peru on Friday.  We last did that, coming here in October. Back we go:

Back To The Desert

Waking up in a mechanic’s yard is not as joyous as it might first appear; but it has its compensations. 

Theoretically we should be in good shape to roll for a while now and enjoy being bums.  Mark opened the gates for us and we promised to come by next year on our way north. He charged $100 for everything which seemed a bit low to me but he was happy. 

He used to be a mining engineer traveling all over northern Chile to the many and various mines in the desert. Then he dropped out, took up living in his compound with his rescue dogs doing carpentry, fixing mining equipment like the bulldozer behind him, and enjoying life. His most recent rescue was a mother and her litter he found beside the highway, too scared to show herself but safe in a fenced corner of his compound in a kennel he made her himself. He’s a man after my own heart. 

IOverlander will show you how to find his shop where he has a cold shower, an asado grill and shade if you come in summer. And his dogs. Lovely man. 

Food shopping required so we did a quick stop at Lider which is Walmart and got some supplies. Crappy bananas and excellent apples, bicarbonate of soda for toilet odor control and Pad Thai sauce and pretzels. On the road you do sometimes need the familiar in the privacy of your home to offset the barrage of weird cultural stimuli you  get snowed under by in the outside world. 

As we hope to be back in Peru in a few days where Lider (“leader”) doesn’t exist she is stocking up. In Arica where we will get Rusty’s exit papers she will pay a last visit to her favorite supermarket called Jumbo. I will be getting ready to miss Chile for the next year.  

Even in the bowels of corporate civilization the Atacama Desert is never far away. “Automac” is the drive through. 

Those slashes in the hillside are the way out of here to the PanAmerican Highway 35 miles away.  

Iquique (“ee-key-kay”) consists of a long thing curve of waterfront maybe ten miles long filled with skyscrapers and jobs in this tax exempt region. 

We met people all over town who came here from somewhere else. Refugees from the cold down south, people nostalgic for rain and greenery, they live here to make a living.  

And because the seasons are reversed in the southern hemisphere this I am told is as cold as it gets in July, 65 by day and 55 by night. And never any rain.  

Glad to be on our way from this useful stop. 

The PanAmerican Highway 180 mules due north to Arica and Peru. 

Team Lost was hunting for a wild camp as the sun went down and we misread the directions in iOverlander and went too far down a side road to a mine. Bit tricky that as the road was too narrow to turn around on and we had to keep going trying to beat the dark. 

It was beautifully remote down the canyon but we didn’t really appreciate that until we found a side road where I could make an 18 point turn without getting stuck in the soft sandy lunar surface either side of the paved road. 

It was past time to find a spot to park for the night. What people in Britain call “a park up” which sounds weird to me. We just call it a place to park, not up or down. 

It is spectacular to my eyes if rather dry. Webb Chiles is fond of pointing out the southern hemisphere has just 9% of the worlds population and you can feel that statistic here. 

We stumbled into the easily accessible vista point (“mirador”) near the highway. GANNET2 is well enough insulated the occasional passing truck didn’t bother us. Nighttime traffic even in the highway is almost zero. People around here like to sleep at night, not work. 

I tried to ignore the suspicious looking bone in the foreground but I couldn’t help but think this would be a great area to bury your enemies if you have any. 

On a less macabre note toasted ham and cheese sandwiches for dinner with an ice cold Patagonia beer and bed. Much snoring.