Tacna-Arica-Calama

A few days ago, we returned to Arequipa from Cotahuasi. The bus ride was perhaps the most eventful yet. Around midnight, the bus stopped and the lights went out. After receiving no information for 15 minutes or so concerning this curious development, I got my flashlight and clambered out of the bus. It turned out that the bus ahead of ours was stuck in a patch of deep and remarkably adhesive mud. There was a group of men digging out the wheels of the bus, and another group of people watching. The landscape was utterly surreal, as we were in the middle of a 15,000 foot mountain pass, well above the timber line. It was raining, and we seemed to be the only lifeforms for miles and miles. I went walking off to the side of the road into a field of boulders and large mounds of green moss. Finally I got back onto the bus, and within another 10 minutes we were moving again. Another part of the road seemed to have turned into a river, and though the small pickup truck behind our bus stopped at the side, we went barreling through. It made me sort of jumpy, but seemed to work out fine.

Despite the delays, we wound up in Arequipa at the projected time of 4 AM, and almost immediately boarded another bus to Tacna, which is the Chilean border town. As the sun came up, we were passing through sand dunes littered with red rocks. Food and newspaper vendors started boarding the bus around 9:30 and hawked their wares, and the steward deemed it the appropriate time to put on some absurdly violent movie. The desert spread out into long planes with hills in the distance. In one place there were dozens of dust devils in the distance, some seemingly towering up to 50 feet or so. The sand was dotted with little oases occasionally, and one large one toward the end that turned out to be Tacna.

We checked into a hotel in Tacna, took baths, and then walked around town. It had a different sort of feel than any of the other towns so far. Maybe a little more European. There was a sand colored cathedral on the plaza with beautiful, circular stained-glass windows. Some of them had masonic imagery for some reason. Further down in the plaza there was a large cast iron fountain that had been made by A.G. Eiffel and shipped over to Perú. He apparently made quite a mark on the towns in the area.

The next day we bought tickets for Arica at the quaint train station. It seemed to have been relatively unchanged for years, though a sign painted onto the traincar proclaimed that the Peruvian government was “on the edge of the future” or something like that. We rode to Arica in a combined engine and passenger car. It was bright yellow and green, and carried us through a familiar landscape of amazing desolation. Eventually I could see the sun reflecting in streaks in the Pacific. We arrived in Arica at about 7 o’clock with the 2 hour time difference.

It was immediately evident that we were in a different country. Chile is much more European in feel than Perú. There are many more privately owned cars, and thus many gas stations with coffee and junk food, including delicious packaged flan. It also seems to be more consumer based, with lots of pedestrian malls selling clothes and electronics. A lot of the youth are painfully fashion conscious. In general, it felt more like the U.S. than anywhere I have been so far. The prices are accordingly high across the board. I cannot understand Chilean Spanish nearly as well as Peruvian; it seems much more rapid and slurred together. After spending a night in a french owned hostel, about which roamed a cat named Napoleon, we got on an annoyingly expensive and uncomfortable bus to Calama. We were stopped twice in the middle of the night to get out and open our bags for inspection by the police.

Calama is in the middle of the Atacama desert, which is the most arid in the world. It is a fairly nondescript city, apparently the retirement place of miners from the nearby hills. It has a large shopping mall and a small downtown that is somewhat unattractive. When I hopped on the wrong bus one day, I saw the paved streets dead end in the desert. While the downtown is crowded with ostentatious construction, the people out in the far reaches of town live in corrugated metal shacks. Groups of stray dogs roam around. While walking in the plaza one day, I saw a dog show that involved a bunch of the unfortunate beasts being dressed in tutus. I thought of it as just one more reason to be in Argentina soon.

Cotahuasi

We came to Cotahuasi in order to get off the beaten track to some degree, and also to see what is apparently the deepest canyon in the world, Cañon del Cotahuasi.

The bus ride there was pretty incredible. At 5 PM in Arequipa, we embarked on a 12 hour journey over rocky roads and through a 15,000 foot mountain pass in a bus that was absolutely stuffed with people. Some had apparently bought standing room tickets and were standing/sitting/sleeping in the aisle. One man opted to use my shoulder as a head cushion for most of the night in the sweltering bus, despite my frequent squirming in the opposite direction. At least they played Legionnaire, starring Jean-Claude Van Damme. It was dubbed in Spanish.

At any rate, the ride was beautiful. Before it got dark, we rode through rolling desert hills and martian landscapes of red rock partially buried in white sand. There was an amazing sunset of vibrant, hot-pink hues.

We came to Cotahuasi around 6 in the morning and stumbled into a 3 dollar/night hostel. Alojamiento Chávez. The town was beautiful. We didn’t see any other foreigners for several days, and the Andes towered up all around us. You can buy the ingredients for several meals for about 2 dollars in one of the many small shops that line the main street.

I went on several walks down to the edge of the river gorge outside of town. The road wound through thatch-roofed buildings, fields, and pastures full of sheep and cows. Everyone I passed seemed to say hello, and though I got some negative gringo-oriented attention, the people were for the most part extremely kind and polite. Anyway, the rude ones were drunk 15 year olds wandering around on Año Nuevo-eve trying to impress girls, so I suppose they can be forgiven.

It rained every day in the afternoon, and rivers of cloud flowed over the tops of the mountains. The thunder echoed between mountain slopes in the distance and sounded to me like the rumble of coal cars running into one another on the train tracks in Dagsboro.

One day we took a walk past the bullfighting arena and cemetery down to the riverbank. There was a suspended cable bridge there from which I could see the rushing river below and throw rocks in an immature manner. The walk there was very interesting. We passed many people on the way who carried large bunches of mint and water containers. Part of the path was a tunnel carved through the side of the hill, which was made up of some sort of ancient conglomerate of rocks and mud. It evened out into a plane of boulders and cacti.

In Quechua, Cotahuasi means: “Star House.” When the clouds of the rainy season did not obscure my view of the sky, I could see why they gave Cotahuasi its name. The stars were amazingly beautiful.

Our next destination is Tacna, via Arequipa, to cross into Chile. There is an antique train that goes across the border for $1.50. I am very excited.