San Pedro de Atacama

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As soon as I saw the first rays of sunlight shining over dark and dodgy Copiapó I grabbed my bag and run out of the ‘hostel’ I didn’t sleep in that night. Mouth full with a quick empanada I enquired about the first bus to San Pedro de Atacama, which almost sounded like an oasis to me at that moment. Copiapó wasn’t done with me though… I had to wait 10 hours to take the one and only night bus driving up north, guaranteeing another night without sleep. What came out of me was a hysterical laugh giving a great scare to the ticket-lady, and I promptly decided to turn my frustration into a ridiculous wave of happiness. So I locked my bag at the bus terminal, drank four cans of Red Bull and hopped into this town full of crackhead miners and pushy prostitutes.

The sun lit up the town though, and surprisingly I spent a pleasant day in which I got a funny haircut and got kicked ass by eight old retired men in an outdoor chess competition I randomly signed up to.

A bookshop owner donated me some Darwin-books and en pasant wrote me a poem, so I at least had a way of killing the time during the 11-hour bus ride.

I tumbled out of the bus the morning after, exhausted and dehydrated.

I put on my glasses and stared into the surreal volcanic desert that is called San Pedro de Atacama.

I smiled and my mouth cracked open immediately, as the dry dust attacked my skin and turned my hair into straw.

I stumbled down the dirt road and saw a brown, sandy village with houses made of clay. No one was living in there though, as every house was either a hostel, an overpriced restaurant or a travel agency. Tourist trap 2.0. It reminded me a bit of Venice, where the only locals roaming the street intend to make money out of you. A tourist trap with only ONE working ATM that got plundered quickly by the thousands of tourists that temporarily inhabited this expensive tourist hole. Unbelievably ill-organized.

As always, there is a reason tourists are going there though. I just knew this wasn’t going to be cheap, as all main attractions are kilometres away and there is no public transport, so (blegh) organized pricey tours are the only option.

After I spent a full afternoon in a hammock to adjust to the intense heat and dryness, five Chileno’s invited me to watch the sandboard competition they were participating in. A French guy I hung out with jumped out of his hammock and was ready to join as well, but too bad: There was only one place in the car and you obviously need breasts to deserve it. We drove the bumpy road through Valle de la Luna and ended up in a gorgeous valley with the alarming name Valle de la Muerte (Valley of Death). With my body covered in sand and an upcoming sunburn I watched these athletic men do their swift tricks until my hungry stomach demanded my return to the hostel.

Abroad, I usually avoid anything that reeks of my own country like a contagious disease. Once I experienced the pleasure of talking in my own language, the first time after two months, I got comfortable though and made friends with two Dutchies. The first one, Wouter, is a complete nuthead. He’s a physiotherapist who cracks anyone’s bones at any given time at any given place, survives on chai seeds and goji berries which he carries around all over the planet, and he is as well specialized in crazy-cactus-peyote-drugs-workshops and internet-forum-sex-parties he organizes in his living room in order to level energy.

Weirdo’s are my weakness and mainstream is my enemy, so I absolutely adored this guy.

I ended up visiting him in his new home Portugal 2,5 years later (still on the same trip)... check that out here!

With Floris, type ‘binge-drinking student’, we made a golden triangle. Over a (delicious) meal of biological veggies and medical herbs brewed by Wouter, we decided to do what we are best at: Biking. All day long. In a 35-degrees desert without shades. On dirt roads. In a dress (me). This is how we Dutch people define happiness.

We were not even 1KM out of San Pedro when Wouter got a flat tire. Cactus on the road, the most random thing to happen in Northern Chile. As the tourist agency already cashed our money, they didn’t see the need to provide any form of service. So after we biked all the way back and changed his bike into an even crappier one we were off to go. While sweat poured out of our bodies the unbelievable landscapes kept us going.

Black volcanoes, yellow sand fields, pastel vegetation and Disney-blue skies swallowed us and left us speechless.

After an intense ride our reward came in the form of Laguna Cejar: a blue and pink lagoon with an indescribable level of beauty. This lagoon is as salt as the Dead Sea and as soon as you jump in you immediately lift to the surface and float: You feel weightless. When you get out and dry up, you can put down your swimming suit straight up like a statue, as it’s stiffened with salt.

While Floris started his high-speed drinking challenge to get ready for a desert-party, Wouter and I jumped into our beds at a very Christian time to catch some sleep before our 3:15AM alarm would brutally awake us. To get the best view of the Tatio Geysers it’s recommended to arrive before sunrise, and as it’s a 2-hour drive, 4AM is the suitable pick-up time. As expected, we were not picked up at the promised time though… this was the time the guide woke up. Honestly not cool at this time of night.

What was cool was the geyser-landscape.

From 30-35 degrees in the desert we suddenly were tortured with a shocking -7 (Celsius of course). I basically wore all the clothes I brought on this trip. With freezing eyeballs Wouter and I gazed at the squirting geysers and the colours that revealed themselves during that magical thing called sunrise. It was nearly impossible to take bad pictures, even though the wee hours of the morning were not beneficial for my looks.

The height caused some dizziness and lack of appetite, so I decided to do as the locals do: suck some coca leaves. Apparently the tour wasn’t ended yet, as we were taken to some thermal baths, vicuña farms (weird version of a lama) and some stunning natural sights. Chile gets the first price when it comes to incredible nature, I’m getting too spoilt in this country.

Some of our lovely group members envied the fun and laughter Wouter and I shared… you know those people who have the permanent look on their face like they are about to sneeze. Yeah, that’s why I hate organized tours. I wasn´t going to let the fun being spoilt by the snappy comments of a man with a camel toe though. The landscape required a better attitude.

Could it get any better than this? Actually yes, yes it can. As the next destination was... Salar de Uyuni at the Chilean-Bolivian border.

Read along!

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