San Pedro to Santiago, a brief ola to Chile

We have finally reached the final leg of our South American tour. So much these eyes have seen, yet so many wonders we have missed, so many places still to be discovered and so many cuisines that have sadly skipped our lips. The list for the next trip grows and grows. Our tour through Chile was no exception, a whirlwind visit that lasted only 6 days, took in only two destinations, yet covered nearly half the length of the longest country in the world.

We descended from the top of the Bolivian Andes, at the end of our journey through Salar de Uyuni (guest blog report due any day now!). We exited Bolivia through a small hut perched on a deserted lunar landscape at 4,500 metres. Other than a few straggling tourists passing through, it was just us, the Andes, two disgruntled immigration officers and a few circling vultures for company.

 

Immigration, Bolivia style

After boarding a rather forlorn-looking bus, we began our descent down the mountain to our destination San Pedro, and immediately noticed the sudden change and increase in economic wealth that is so often only observed at border crossings. Within 5 minutes of leaving Bolivia, the roads became paved, speed limits were introduced, passing trucks had all their parts intact and road signs listed distances and destinations. Our journey down to San Pedro consisted of one straight road that descended 2000 metres in 30 minutes; a drop so steep that our driver was limited to a speed of 40 km-an-hour so as not make us all sick from the increase in air pressure. With the Andes to our right and the Atacama desert to our left we entered the small desert town of San Pedro complete with security scanners (no coca leaves welcome here...), cash machines, pubs and a very alive and kicking tourist scene, which wouldn't look out of place in Australia. We had re-entered the first world in less than an hour, making the juxtaposition between the poverty of Bolivia and the richness of Chile seem even more distinct. Of course I understand the economics of differentiated wealth between nations, but when you observe such a gaping economical and cultural divide over such a short distance, its difficult to understand how money, wealth, food and education could not be better shared between countries and people.

Over-bearing tourism and overt wealth aside, San Pedro is a beautiful small town in the north of Chile at the southern end of the Atacama desert. Complete with adobe brick mud houses, a beautiful sunny Plaza de Armas and heaving nightlife, its easy to see why hoards of tourists, both Chilean and travellers alike (we have never seen so many never-go-homes in one concentrated area*) swarm to San Pedro to feel its desert-like temperatures.

'I just want four walls and an adobe house for my girl...'

San Pedro's attractions are varied and numerous, adding to its charm and popularity. It has its own salt flats, a lunar valley complete with Dali-esque rock formations, large dunes for sand-boarding, lakes of varying colours and the clearest night sky for miles around. Well, this was the desert after all. My interests were firmly rooted on the last of these options, having already experienced all of the former in some capacity or another, and being the space geek that I am. San Pedro is home to some of the largest telescopes in the world and will soon be the proud owner of the planet's largest radio telescope. This made me feel like a kid in a candy store and I eagerly signed up for the best space tour the town had to offer. Ais even signed up too, such was my enthusiasm to put a crick in my neck in the hope of seeing a few distant galaxies and star systems.

That evening we were trundled off to a small observatory just outside San Pedro to meet a Canadian astronomer who was the proud owner of eight telescopes and an enthusiasm for his subject matter that is usually reserved for brain surgeons and avian vets. After pointing out some commonly known nearby constellations with a bright green laser that seemed to stretch far beyond the star matter he was trying to show and on into the depths of space (I want one. I mean really, really want one), he moved on to demonstrate how to spot the difference between stars and planets. He also provided a rough history of humans' understanding of the night sky and how astronomy became so ingrained in civilizations the world over, from the Mayans to the Khmers to Aborigines (it is no coincidence that recurrent astronomical themes, ideas and stories appear in cultures that were completely isolated from each other). Finally we were shown where each of the zodiac constellations are positioned in the night sky. As we stood in the darkness, gazing up and open-mouthed, we witnessed more shooting stars than I have ever seen in any meteor shower - over 30 in two hours. We were watching our own personal light show. In addition, each telescope pointed to a different point and time in space, ranging from nearby and distant galaxies, to a star recently gone supernova, two nebulas, or star nurseries, and our personal highlight - a close-up view of Saturn with its glorious halo of rings reflecting brilliantly off the light of the sun. We finished the evening with a Q and A in our host's house, complete with the biggest personal skylight in the southern hemisphere. I, being completely awestruck, blurbled a totally dumb question that I can't even remember, but which I know made me feel particularly stupid about a subject I like to think I know a tiny bit about. Maybe I should stick to horoscopes...

On return to our hostel our delightful evening was somewhat marred by the arrival of four Chileans in our dorm who were on a short vacation from wherever they belonged (you can always pick out the people who aren't travelling; the size of their luggage is a dead giveaway - ie, they usually carry more than people who are on the road for six months, and they have no understanding of dorm etiquette). At 2 am our room-mates came crashing in, turned the lights on, proceeded to play drinking games and sing songs for the next hour. Neither of us was impressed, so unfortunately for them, after they'd gone on an excursion the next day, we relieved them of several personal items that would be really frustrating to lose. You know, nothing serious, just inconvenient: one flip-flop for example, disappeared into the ether, a hand towel became an excellent mop for the floor and a few pieces of clothing made their way under mattresses and underneath each bed. Basically, don't mess with a tired Lucy and Ais.

The next morning we hastily departed our hostel and headed to the bus station for a 24-hour journey that would take us to Chile's capital, Santiago. We have grown accustomed to rather luxurious buses in South America, it being the main mode of transport for most people, but this bus took the whole experience to another level. Leather seats that reclined to horizontal that could have fitted two of us in, constant movies, although sadly in Spanish plus dinner and breakfast. I now feel like I finally know what flying business class must be like, yet without leaving the ground and without the free booze...

In what seemed like only a few hours and not the laborious 24 we were dreading, we had arrived in Santiago, navigated the metro system, and found our way to our rather plush hostel in the suburb of Bella Vista, the Fitzroy of Santiago. 

Hipster graffiti in Santiago

Santiago has a distinctly European feel to it. Its architecture is rooted in Spanish colonialism, coffee shops line its leafy boulevards, while a rather large population of better-than-average-looking middle-aged men wander the streets in smart suits with Marlboroughs at their fingertips. There aren't any obvious tourist attractions (other than the aforementioned), so its beauty is found in wandering the streets, soaking up the atmosphere, drinking coffee, watching the beautiful people walk by, eating copious amounts of food and hanging with the students pretending we're younger than we are and reaping the benefits from cheap beer. 

Our first stop was the mercado de pescado, a large indoor fish market where stalls and restaurants jostle for space and your custom. Here, you really can try before you buy. The atmosphere was electric and we savoured chowing down on fried fresh fish and traditional clam chowder, washed down with a Chilean white while congratulating ourselves on dishes that would make Antony Bourdain proud. 

The next day we boarded the local funicular and pullied ourselves up for spectacular views over the immense, if somewhat smoggy skyline and a close-up view of one of the many over-sized Catholic monuments that seem to overlook all South American cities with 'loving grace'. South Americans certainly love their grandiose Christian paraphernalia.

We descended the mountain in time for happy hour micheladas and the last ceviche we were likely eat for some time (turns out the Spanish don't eat the stuff; I discovered this after making a tit of myself in a supermarket in Torrevieja the other day and doing the age-old trick of repeating myself louder and more slowly when they didn't understand me). Our last evening was a lovely end to what has surely been the most exciting, breath-taking, jaw-dropping, tiring and perhaps weight-gaining 3 months of my life. 

I can't lie. I'm incredibly sad to be leaving South America, not only because I know there is so much we haven't seen, but also because I've discovered in myself just how much I love the adventure of the unknown, experiencing cultures so different to my own small existence, and being surprised and amazed at what we've seen day to day. No matter how much I'm looking forward to the rest of our trip, our onward journey is familiar to me, and I know the extent of what it will be through the places and people I have encountered in years gone by. Of course I will love it, it just won't have the unique other-worldly feel of adventure that only comes with newly discovered places. Something that I have come to relish and pursue on this glorious continent.

Adios South America. We will be back.

But, hang on. What am I saying. We're about to get on to plane to NYC, quite possibly the world's greatest city. Hello shopping, hello food, hello dreams... Oh, how fickle I am!

*never-go-home - a traveller who makes it his or her career objective to never return to their place of origin; instead choosing to travel indefinitely selling hippy jewellery on the side of the road, singing in bars, or even worse, juggling on street corners for cash. Such beings can usually be identified by an aromatic clump of dreads that descend down their backs, tie-dye clothing and an animal, usually of the canine variety attached to a piece of string that lags along behind them.