The driest place on Earth....
Hello to you,
I hope this enormous email finds you healthy and well. Lynn and I are both fine and at the moment we are at an altitude of 2,440m in the small village of San Pedro de Atacama which, for the less astute amongst you, is in the Atacama Desert.
The Atacama Desert, located in Northern Chile is the driest place on Earth. There are areas of the desert where, since records began, it has never, ever rained. Therefore it will probably come as no surprise when I tell you that everywhere is dusty as hell. The air is so dry and dusty that every breath feels like you are trying to find oxygen through a full vacuum-cleaner bag. Every morning I wake up with a layer of grit and sand in my teeth and even clean clothes in my unopened rucksack are covered in a layer of dust. How? I don't know. We are staying in the YHA Youth Hostel here which is a small, quiet place with only 7 rooms, 3 of which are doubles and the others are dorms. Our room, like all the rooms and indeed like all the buildings in San Pedro de Atacama is made of mud. Our internal walls are 5mm thick bare chipboard and our roof is made of small twigs. It's baking hot here in the daytime and the dusty streets are full of sleeping stray dogs. At night the temperature plummets to below freezing and the dusty streets are full of energetic stray dogs with a penchant for howling and barking and keeping dusty freezing tourists from getting any sleep. There's no private bathroom and no hot water so should one awake in the night needing a pee a quick sprint across the icy courtyard in nothing but a pair of pants and flip-flops is required in order to relieve oneself. Before you think we're slumming it though, get a load of this for posh: Our room (albeit one made of mud and sticks) has an upstairs AND a downstairs. Yeah, I thought you'd be impressed! It's a first in hostel accommodation as far as I'm aware. We've been here for 4 days now and tomorrow morning we leave for Bolivia and the High Andes. So, what have we done in the last week? Come back in time with me to Salta in Northern Argentina and I'll begin where the last email left off....
Salta is a pretty colonial town with a big plaza full of palm and orange trees. We spent 6 pleasant days here (in the town, not just the plaza) and also took a wonderful excursion around the nearby sites of interest. Salta has always been a gathering place for tourists due to one particular attraction - "El Tren a las Nubes" or "The Train to the Clouds". It is one of the most spectacular railway journeys in the world going from Salta to Antofagasta on Chile's west coast. It crosses many rocky peaks and bottomless ravines as it zig-zags it's way up and over the Andes to a staggering height of nearly 5,000m (16,500ft for the oldies!) hence it's name. However, it has been closed since July 2006 for what was described to me as 'technical problems'. A pity as, like all the other tourists here, we wanted to go on the train!
Our excursion from Salta followed the railwayline by slightly-less-stylish Renault Kandoo on uncomfortable roads as far as the Argentina/Chile border and the small town of San Antonio de los Cobres. 'Cobres' is Spanish for 'copper' and not 'cobra' as I worryingly first thought! Here we stopped for a spot of lunch and ran the gauntlet of old women and small children selling their wares between car and restaurant. I took a photo of a particularly cute child of no more than 4 years of age who was trying to sell me something or other and he immediately demands 1 peso (20p) for his photo. I had to laugh but I gave him a peso for his enterprising initiative! After San Antonio de los Cobres we headed north to "Las Salinas Grandes" (The Large Salt Lakes). The salt lakes ARE large and in the clear mountain air they are also blindingly bright. It's a strange sensation to drive onto this big expanse of pure white salt knowing that deep water is not far below you. Locals dig up and refine the salt by hand and sell it for 20 pesos a ton (about 2 quid) which is many hours worth of work for their meagre wages. Other locals sell handicrafts on the lake to the numerous tourists who visit daily. From the salt lakes we headed east to the small town of Purmamarca and site of 'the seven-coloured hill'. It really is a strange sight - this bare rocky hill looming up behind the town in a myriad of colours due to the different minerals of each wave of rock. And from here we headed back south to Salta having had a thoroughly enjoyable day!
We didn't do anything else of major interest in or around Salta but I'll mention a couple of other incidents you may find amusing....
A visit to the local Post Office does not usually warrant a passage in my travelogue but on this occasion I feel the need the describe the bureaucratic nonsense that we had to negotiate in order to send a parcel home. Usual procedure is to go to the Post Office with stuff to send home in a bag - go to the counter - buy a parcel box - put in stuff - seal box - "Airmail please, Mr. Postie" - pay kind man - leave Post Office. Job done - easy-peasy! Here is what you do if you want to post something home from Salta:
We enter the Post Office and queue up to go to the counter. When we get there we find there is a separate 'box buying counter' at the other end of the Post Office. We queue there and buy a box. We join the queue for the main counters again. When we finally get there for a second time we put our stuff in the box and seal it up. "Airmail please, Mr. Postie". Oh dear a problem, we now need the International Post Office down the road - this one is only for national post apparently. He writes down the address and tells us it's open Monday to Friday. Today is Saturday. Fast forward 48 hours and we're walking up and down the street clutching the address for the International Post Office but we can't find it. In the end we go back to the normal Post Office and queue up. We find out that the man at the counter on Saturday gave us the right street but the wrong number. We go back out again. We find the right place and we go in. When we get to the counter we are told that it will cost 190 pesos to send it because we are sending our parcel in an official Post Office box where as if it was in a plain brown box, well that would be different, the price is reduced to 92 pesos. It's an official Post Office so why they charge over twice the price for one of their own boxes is a complete mystery. Anyway, they have an idea - If we cover our box with their logos on with brown paper and seal it well then they'll charge us the 92 pesos. Where can we buy brown paper from? The other Post office again. Back we go - queue up - "Brown paper, please" - wrap it - seal it - and back to the International Post Office. Ok, can we send it now? Yes. 92 pesos? Yes. Any other problems? No. Hooray! Oh, while you're at it can we send these 4 postcards too? You need the other Post Office - we do international parcels but not international postcards. Argghhhh!
Our hotel in Salta had satellite TV so last Wednesday afternoon (time difference, remember!) I decided I would watch the UEFA Champion's League final between Arsenal and Barcelona. Arsenal start well but soon they're reduced to 10 men when their goalkeeper is sent off. Still, they continue to hold their own and on 37 minutes they actually take the lead with a Sol Campbell header. Arsenal lead 1 - 0. it stays this way for most of the game and on 70 minutes Arsenal are looking the more likely team to score after Henry goes close a couple of times. It's a great game and I'm on the edge of my seat (well, bed) with the excitement. But... 71 minutes and the TV goes blank. What? No!!! What's going on? I leg it down the stairs to reception and tell them the TV's gone off. The lady on reception leads me to the window and points at a man in overalls at the top of the pylon across the road with a bunch of wires in his hands. "Don't worry, he'll be finished in 30 minutes" she tells me. 30 minutes? 30 minutes?!!! The game ends in 20, what use is the TV in 30 minutes time?! I leg it back up the stairs and utter a few barely decipherable words at Lynn "No TV.... electric man.... 30 minutes.... must find a TV...." before sprinting out of the hotel and off up the high street like a man possesed. Where to go, where to go... why can't there be a pub culture here like in England? I look in cafes - no TVs. I look in electrical shops - plenty of TVs but none showing the football, I'm at the main plaza now which is a half mile away from the hotel. More cafes - no TVs, down a side street - I spot an 'authentic' Irish bar (I'll never complain about them again!) - I go in. There's a TV. It's showing the game. There's 4 minutes to go. Barcelona now lead 2 - 1. I've missed 2 goals. I'VE MISSED 2 GOALS!!! In the 14 minutes since the TV went off the game has completely changed around. In the last 4 minutes I learn that Eto'o scored on 76 minutes and Belletti on 81. What happened? Were they penalties? I still haven't seen the missing 14 minutes and I still don't know what happened.
...Otherwise I enjoyed Salta immensely!
The next day we took the bus over The Andes for our third visit to Chile to San Pedro de Atacama where we are now. Things we've done here include hiring out a couple of mountain bikes and riding out to a nearby thermal spring in the hills for a relaxing soak. It was closed for maintenance. Maintenance? It's a naturally occuring spring, it shouldn't need maintenance, it's natural - that's the whole point! We also visit some nearby pre-Incan ruins to watch the sun set amongst the mighty volcanoes behind. When we got back to San Pedro I was hugely impressed by the sun tan I'd aquired the day whilst cycling only to watch it all wash off in the cold shower (by torchlight because the electric went down). Dusty work cycling!
Last Saturday we went sandboarding in the ominously named "Valley of Death" but we were assured it had nothing to do with tragic sandboarding accidents! The main dune is about 80m high and goes down at a 45 degree angle. The board is a lot like a snowboard and you have to wax the bottom of it before each run. The more you wax it, the less friction between sand and board and the faster you go. We were there about 2 hours and in that times I did about 12 runs down the dune, improving with every go. The worst part about sandboarding is how tiring it is to trudge back to the top again. Walking up sand at such a steep angle when you're fighting for breath because of the altitude anyway is so knackering! Lynn, in her usual conservative manner, started off very cagily as she hurtled down the 5 metre high beginner's slope at 2mph grasping onto the instructor for dear life! She wouldn't try the main slope but did get to the bottom of the beginner's slope unaided and without falling over which pleased her. On my final run I really waxed up the board and felt like a real pro as I hurtled down the hill like a guided missile heading for the pick-up to take us back. I would have done a couple of twists and somersaults on my next go but there just wasn't time for another run. Oh well, the watching crowds will just have to wait!!!
I can sense you've read enough already but just one more excursion to tell you about and I'll make it quick, I promise, and then I'll go and leave you in peace. Sorry this email is so big - I knew it would be a big one but even I'm a bit surprised by how much crap I've managed to write this time.
Ok, last excursion to tell you about: Yesterday we had to get up at the ungodly hour of 03:45 as we had booked ourselves up for a trip to the "El Tatio Geysers" - a 10km park full of steaming and bubbling geysers at an altitude of 4,500m and a couple of hours north of San Pedro de Atacama. At 02:00 in the morning I am awoken by some inconsiderate guy knocking at the hostel door wanting a bed for the night. He is given the room next to ours and through the 5mm thick chipboard wall I hear him drop everything he owns - several times - and from a great height before he decides to give it a rest and go to sleep. I, on the otherhand, am still awake 1 hour and 45 minutes later when the alarm goes off. Groggily, I clamber into the minivan to take us to the geysers and any hope I had for a couple of hours of sleep en-route were dashed when I found out that the road to the geysers is the bumpiest road in existence. I leave my seat several times on the way (not of my own choice) and with a sore arse I spend the rest of the day staggering about like John Wayne after a long day in the saddle. Anyway, we arrive at "El Tatio" at 06:20 and it is a strange but fascinating place inwhich the whole ground seems alive with sulphurous, steaming and bubbling vents. A couple of facts: At this altitude water boils at 85C instead of the usual 100C at sea-level and before the sun comes up it is absolutely mind-numbingly freezing. Atleast -10C before the sun comes up. The reason we got here so early is that the geysers are most spectacular at dawn and by midday they are quite rubbish and more like a fart in the bath than a natural wonder! We make a slow journey back to San Pedro looking at the local wildlife - llamas, vicunas (like llamas only smaller and rarer), vizcachas (like rabbits but they hop about like kangaroos), flamingoes, Andean geese and a small snake which I couldn't persuade to come out from his hiding place under a rock even with my prettiest smile! We also visited a small village (population 20) where the inhabitants sell empanadas (like pasties) and llama kebabs to hungry, tired tourists when they are not doing their real jobs as shepherds to their flock of llamas (before kebabing them).
And that's it for this episode - "About bloody time!" I hear you cry. I can only apologise for having such an interesting last week. Anyway, you'd soon be upset if I stopped writing, wouldn't you!
As mentioned earlier, tomorrow we depart for Bolivia on a 3 day excursion through yet more spectacular salt lakes and geysers and snowcapped volcanoes - oh the monotony of it all! - ending in the town of Uyuni, southwest Bolivia. Thanks Emma for the information about the Salt Hotel - you'll be pleased to know that we'll be spending the 2nd night of our 3 day trip here. From Uyuni we shall continue north to La Paz and then on into Peru in about 4 weeks. Anyway, enough.
Time to get back to work or go to bed!
Bye for a bit,
Rich
I hope this enormous email finds you healthy and well. Lynn and I are both fine and at the moment we are at an altitude of 2,440m in the small village of San Pedro de Atacama which, for the less astute amongst you, is in the Atacama Desert.
The Atacama Desert, located in Northern Chile is the driest place on Earth. There are areas of the desert where, since records began, it has never, ever rained. Therefore it will probably come as no surprise when I tell you that everywhere is dusty as hell. The air is so dry and dusty that every breath feels like you are trying to find oxygen through a full vacuum-cleaner bag. Every morning I wake up with a layer of grit and sand in my teeth and even clean clothes in my unopened rucksack are covered in a layer of dust. How? I don't know. We are staying in the YHA Youth Hostel here which is a small, quiet place with only 7 rooms, 3 of which are doubles and the others are dorms. Our room, like all the rooms and indeed like all the buildings in San Pedro de Atacama is made of mud. Our internal walls are 5mm thick bare chipboard and our roof is made of small twigs. It's baking hot here in the daytime and the dusty streets are full of sleeping stray dogs. At night the temperature plummets to below freezing and the dusty streets are full of energetic stray dogs with a penchant for howling and barking and keeping dusty freezing tourists from getting any sleep. There's no private bathroom and no hot water so should one awake in the night needing a pee a quick sprint across the icy courtyard in nothing but a pair of pants and flip-flops is required in order to relieve oneself. Before you think we're slumming it though, get a load of this for posh: Our room (albeit one made of mud and sticks) has an upstairs AND a downstairs. Yeah, I thought you'd be impressed! It's a first in hostel accommodation as far as I'm aware. We've been here for 4 days now and tomorrow morning we leave for Bolivia and the High Andes. So, what have we done in the last week? Come back in time with me to Salta in Northern Argentina and I'll begin where the last email left off....
Salta is a pretty colonial town with a big plaza full of palm and orange trees. We spent 6 pleasant days here (in the town, not just the plaza) and also took a wonderful excursion around the nearby sites of interest. Salta has always been a gathering place for tourists due to one particular attraction - "El Tren a las Nubes" or "The Train to the Clouds". It is one of the most spectacular railway journeys in the world going from Salta to Antofagasta on Chile's west coast. It crosses many rocky peaks and bottomless ravines as it zig-zags it's way up and over the Andes to a staggering height of nearly 5,000m (16,500ft for the oldies!) hence it's name. However, it has been closed since July 2006 for what was described to me as 'technical problems'. A pity as, like all the other tourists here, we wanted to go on the train!
Our excursion from Salta followed the railwayline by slightly-less-stylish Renault Kandoo on uncomfortable roads as far as the Argentina/Chile border and the small town of San Antonio de los Cobres. 'Cobres' is Spanish for 'copper' and not 'cobra' as I worryingly first thought! Here we stopped for a spot of lunch and ran the gauntlet of old women and small children selling their wares between car and restaurant. I took a photo of a particularly cute child of no more than 4 years of age who was trying to sell me something or other and he immediately demands 1 peso (20p) for his photo. I had to laugh but I gave him a peso for his enterprising initiative! After San Antonio de los Cobres we headed north to "Las Salinas Grandes" (The Large Salt Lakes). The salt lakes ARE large and in the clear mountain air they are also blindingly bright. It's a strange sensation to drive onto this big expanse of pure white salt knowing that deep water is not far below you. Locals dig up and refine the salt by hand and sell it for 20 pesos a ton (about 2 quid) which is many hours worth of work for their meagre wages. Other locals sell handicrafts on the lake to the numerous tourists who visit daily. From the salt lakes we headed east to the small town of Purmamarca and site of 'the seven-coloured hill'. It really is a strange sight - this bare rocky hill looming up behind the town in a myriad of colours due to the different minerals of each wave of rock. And from here we headed back south to Salta having had a thoroughly enjoyable day!
We didn't do anything else of major interest in or around Salta but I'll mention a couple of other incidents you may find amusing....
A visit to the local Post Office does not usually warrant a passage in my travelogue but on this occasion I feel the need the describe the bureaucratic nonsense that we had to negotiate in order to send a parcel home. Usual procedure is to go to the Post Office with stuff to send home in a bag - go to the counter - buy a parcel box - put in stuff - seal box - "Airmail please, Mr. Postie" - pay kind man - leave Post Office. Job done - easy-peasy! Here is what you do if you want to post something home from Salta:
We enter the Post Office and queue up to go to the counter. When we get there we find there is a separate 'box buying counter' at the other end of the Post Office. We queue there and buy a box. We join the queue for the main counters again. When we finally get there for a second time we put our stuff in the box and seal it up. "Airmail please, Mr. Postie". Oh dear a problem, we now need the International Post Office down the road - this one is only for national post apparently. He writes down the address and tells us it's open Monday to Friday. Today is Saturday. Fast forward 48 hours and we're walking up and down the street clutching the address for the International Post Office but we can't find it. In the end we go back to the normal Post Office and queue up. We find out that the man at the counter on Saturday gave us the right street but the wrong number. We go back out again. We find the right place and we go in. When we get to the counter we are told that it will cost 190 pesos to send it because we are sending our parcel in an official Post Office box where as if it was in a plain brown box, well that would be different, the price is reduced to 92 pesos. It's an official Post Office so why they charge over twice the price for one of their own boxes is a complete mystery. Anyway, they have an idea - If we cover our box with their logos on with brown paper and seal it well then they'll charge us the 92 pesos. Where can we buy brown paper from? The other Post office again. Back we go - queue up - "Brown paper, please" - wrap it - seal it - and back to the International Post Office. Ok, can we send it now? Yes. 92 pesos? Yes. Any other problems? No. Hooray! Oh, while you're at it can we send these 4 postcards too? You need the other Post Office - we do international parcels but not international postcards. Argghhhh!
Our hotel in Salta had satellite TV so last Wednesday afternoon (time difference, remember!) I decided I would watch the UEFA Champion's League final between Arsenal and Barcelona. Arsenal start well but soon they're reduced to 10 men when their goalkeeper is sent off. Still, they continue to hold their own and on 37 minutes they actually take the lead with a Sol Campbell header. Arsenal lead 1 - 0. it stays this way for most of the game and on 70 minutes Arsenal are looking the more likely team to score after Henry goes close a couple of times. It's a great game and I'm on the edge of my seat (well, bed) with the excitement. But... 71 minutes and the TV goes blank. What? No!!! What's going on? I leg it down the stairs to reception and tell them the TV's gone off. The lady on reception leads me to the window and points at a man in overalls at the top of the pylon across the road with a bunch of wires in his hands. "Don't worry, he'll be finished in 30 minutes" she tells me. 30 minutes? 30 minutes?!!! The game ends in 20, what use is the TV in 30 minutes time?! I leg it back up the stairs and utter a few barely decipherable words at Lynn "No TV.... electric man.... 30 minutes.... must find a TV...." before sprinting out of the hotel and off up the high street like a man possesed. Where to go, where to go... why can't there be a pub culture here like in England? I look in cafes - no TVs. I look in electrical shops - plenty of TVs but none showing the football, I'm at the main plaza now which is a half mile away from the hotel. More cafes - no TVs, down a side street - I spot an 'authentic' Irish bar (I'll never complain about them again!) - I go in. There's a TV. It's showing the game. There's 4 minutes to go. Barcelona now lead 2 - 1. I've missed 2 goals. I'VE MISSED 2 GOALS!!! In the 14 minutes since the TV went off the game has completely changed around. In the last 4 minutes I learn that Eto'o scored on 76 minutes and Belletti on 81. What happened? Were they penalties? I still haven't seen the missing 14 minutes and I still don't know what happened.
...Otherwise I enjoyed Salta immensely!
The next day we took the bus over The Andes for our third visit to Chile to San Pedro de Atacama where we are now. Things we've done here include hiring out a couple of mountain bikes and riding out to a nearby thermal spring in the hills for a relaxing soak. It was closed for maintenance. Maintenance? It's a naturally occuring spring, it shouldn't need maintenance, it's natural - that's the whole point! We also visit some nearby pre-Incan ruins to watch the sun set amongst the mighty volcanoes behind. When we got back to San Pedro I was hugely impressed by the sun tan I'd aquired the day whilst cycling only to watch it all wash off in the cold shower (by torchlight because the electric went down). Dusty work cycling!
Last Saturday we went sandboarding in the ominously named "Valley of Death" but we were assured it had nothing to do with tragic sandboarding accidents! The main dune is about 80m high and goes down at a 45 degree angle. The board is a lot like a snowboard and you have to wax the bottom of it before each run. The more you wax it, the less friction between sand and board and the faster you go. We were there about 2 hours and in that times I did about 12 runs down the dune, improving with every go. The worst part about sandboarding is how tiring it is to trudge back to the top again. Walking up sand at such a steep angle when you're fighting for breath because of the altitude anyway is so knackering! Lynn, in her usual conservative manner, started off very cagily as she hurtled down the 5 metre high beginner's slope at 2mph grasping onto the instructor for dear life! She wouldn't try the main slope but did get to the bottom of the beginner's slope unaided and without falling over which pleased her. On my final run I really waxed up the board and felt like a real pro as I hurtled down the hill like a guided missile heading for the pick-up to take us back. I would have done a couple of twists and somersaults on my next go but there just wasn't time for another run. Oh well, the watching crowds will just have to wait!!!
I can sense you've read enough already but just one more excursion to tell you about and I'll make it quick, I promise, and then I'll go and leave you in peace. Sorry this email is so big - I knew it would be a big one but even I'm a bit surprised by how much crap I've managed to write this time.
Ok, last excursion to tell you about: Yesterday we had to get up at the ungodly hour of 03:45 as we had booked ourselves up for a trip to the "El Tatio Geysers" - a 10km park full of steaming and bubbling geysers at an altitude of 4,500m and a couple of hours north of San Pedro de Atacama. At 02:00 in the morning I am awoken by some inconsiderate guy knocking at the hostel door wanting a bed for the night. He is given the room next to ours and through the 5mm thick chipboard wall I hear him drop everything he owns - several times - and from a great height before he decides to give it a rest and go to sleep. I, on the otherhand, am still awake 1 hour and 45 minutes later when the alarm goes off. Groggily, I clamber into the minivan to take us to the geysers and any hope I had for a couple of hours of sleep en-route were dashed when I found out that the road to the geysers is the bumpiest road in existence. I leave my seat several times on the way (not of my own choice) and with a sore arse I spend the rest of the day staggering about like John Wayne after a long day in the saddle. Anyway, we arrive at "El Tatio" at 06:20 and it is a strange but fascinating place inwhich the whole ground seems alive with sulphurous, steaming and bubbling vents. A couple of facts: At this altitude water boils at 85C instead of the usual 100C at sea-level and before the sun comes up it is absolutely mind-numbingly freezing. Atleast -10C before the sun comes up. The reason we got here so early is that the geysers are most spectacular at dawn and by midday they are quite rubbish and more like a fart in the bath than a natural wonder! We make a slow journey back to San Pedro looking at the local wildlife - llamas, vicunas (like llamas only smaller and rarer), vizcachas (like rabbits but they hop about like kangaroos), flamingoes, Andean geese and a small snake which I couldn't persuade to come out from his hiding place under a rock even with my prettiest smile! We also visited a small village (population 20) where the inhabitants sell empanadas (like pasties) and llama kebabs to hungry, tired tourists when they are not doing their real jobs as shepherds to their flock of llamas (before kebabing them).
And that's it for this episode - "About bloody time!" I hear you cry. I can only apologise for having such an interesting last week. Anyway, you'd soon be upset if I stopped writing, wouldn't you!
As mentioned earlier, tomorrow we depart for Bolivia on a 3 day excursion through yet more spectacular salt lakes and geysers and snowcapped volcanoes - oh the monotony of it all! - ending in the town of Uyuni, southwest Bolivia. Thanks Emma for the information about the Salt Hotel - you'll be pleased to know that we'll be spending the 2nd night of our 3 day trip here. From Uyuni we shall continue north to La Paz and then on into Peru in about 4 weeks. Anyway, enough.
Time to get back to work or go to bed!
Bye for a bit,
Rich
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