Fear and loathing in Antofagasto

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The bus descends down from the hills and drop into Antofagasto which on first impressions is Spanish for 'Ghastly unholy mess' . Oh my giddy aunt. How can i best described it? Even the word Ghastly is in the name somewhere.
Imagine waking up one morning following a really good night out. Maybe a really decent curry washed down with Indian beer, or fine dining washed down with an equally impressive wine. You sit on the toilet and you know you are about to evacuate something pretty spectacular.(come on, we have all done it) You then stare into the pan and gaze at your achievements. A battleship royal of a turd lies in the pan Huge and magnificent, one that fills you with pride knowing you have produced a fine healthy specimen. If you had a flag you would stick one in and then salute this king of stools before pulling the flush and watching it disappear.You pull the flush but instead of curling itself majestically around the U-bend the pan fills with water. Up to the brim your battleship turd is turning into a flotilla of tiny little vessels. The water is browning and the toilet paper, stained and sodden is mixing in with this watery brown mess. You examine the manhole cover at the bottom of the garden and it is bone dry. You call a man who can who quotes £250 plus call out fee and VAT to fix it.
"# this you say, I will do it myself, how difficult can it be". Rummage in the garden shed, locate hose and shove it up the pipe. After about two feet you meet resistance. The blockage! But despite all the water from the hose it will not work. Just a trickle comes down but the smell is awful. You start asking yourself all sorts of questions.
"how long has this been like this?"
" what the # us up there that has caused this?"
Determined not to call the man who can again you know that if the blockage is only two feet up the pipe you can probably reach it. Don the rubber gloves,lie on floor and with some sort of implement start attacking the blockage with gusto.'£250 plus call out and VAT? What sort of mug fo you think I am. Soon have this sorted'
Of course the man who can, can. High pressure hose, overalls and safety goggles, and years of experience. Oh and white van no doubt. "
You?
A pair of rubber gloves, a kitchen knife or similar to cut into the blockage, a weak spray of water from the garden hose which normally you water the flowers with, putting your thumb over the end to increase spray and no experience of what is about to happen at all. Lying prone on the ground with your arm up the pipe cutting into the blockage you cannot see what is happening, trusting in blind faith and smiling that you do not have to give £250 plus call out and VAT to a white van man.
The stench is now becoming overpowering and a small lump of vomit begins to form in your throat but it seems to be working and you soldier on. Then a large piece dislodges and runs up you sleeve and into you rubber gloves. You pull your arm out screaming and cursing, covered in shite and all things unholy that could be weeks, months or years old. The smell makes you wretch. But success?
You check your toilet pan. Nothing. Still completely full of a now brown sludge with little pieces of undigested food in it. The peanuts you had with your pint, sesame seeds with the burger from two to days ago when you could not be arsed to cook. You comment that the burger you ate probably started life like this.
You reach for the phone. Defeated, dejected at your inability to clear a blockage that you accept is now bigger than you could have ever imagined, with a kitchen knife and garden hose. You have been covered in shite, all your senses attacked by the stench from the pipe and now you are soon to be £250 plus call out and VAT down as you reach for the phone.
"Right O boyo" says the man who has in a broad Welsh accent, "be round in a jiffy"
30 mins later a white van appears outside your house. Man who can dressed in overalls and googles steps down. Drawing breath over his teeth, he assesses the size of the problem and how best to tackle it.
Within minutes the high pressure hose is down but nothing. No movement (pun intended).
"I am going to increase the pressure. Stand well back! " he shouts.
And with that he shoves the high pressure hose back and forth turning the pressure to maximum.
Suddenly an massive explosion of festering shite blasts down the pipe finally released, having been jammed for months and months. Huge lumps that were one fused together and now free. It is as if a comet has hit a small planet, smashing it into a million pieces. This lumps hits the man hole wall at light speed and erupt like a volcano into the air spraying everything around it in a brown disgusting stinking turdy mess.
You survey then scene. A large area around the man hole is now a putrid mess. The smell is overpowering and you step back. Where it has not fallen to the ground it has landed on everything else.Huge lumps of it. In the tree, on the shed the fence, next doors car, #ing everywhere
A truely ghastly unholy mess.
Welcome to Antofagasto!
A sprawling metropolis of festering shite.

"right o, that will be....." says a voice with the broad welsh accent.
"yes I know, £250 plus call out and VAT. Can you do anything for cash?"

I knew this place was a large mining town but after the beautiful beaches of Bahia Inglesa and the wonders of Pisco Elqui nothing had quite prepared me for this. I have been to some cities in my time, and downtown Kingston, Jamaica springs to mind. The shanty towns of Tivoli Gardens and Demin Town, but even that city has its charms once you drive out of downtown, into New Kingston and the beauty of the Blue Mountains. Antofagasto is downtown everywhere. It would be impossible to hop in a cab here and shout "somewhere beautiful and make it snappy" to the taxi driver. He could take you nowhere at all. It mirrors the shape and dimensions of the country in which it sits, squeezed between the sea and the mountains. It is only a ten minute drive wide but it would take almost two hours to drive its length. Not that I would want to take a ten minute drive mind you, unless I fancied another trip to the Police de Investigations and British Embassy in Santiago. Try explaining that one.
"you know that emergency passport you sold me three weeks ago?"
"yes?"
"well I need a new one"
"I see?"
"yes I went to Antofagasto"
"you know in English Antofagasto means fucking shit hole?"
"I do now. Can I have an emergency passport to replace my emergency passport por favor?"
I have arrived in a town of ugly highrises that stretch along the coast.As far back as I can see to the dusty brown and lifeless mountains, there is a mining shanty town of a million box houses rising up from the surface. It is like a Russian town built in the 1960's along the sea front. Grey, square buildings put up with no thought at all. Utterly charmless. Behind that a million tiny cubes housing the population.
I have desended into a cesspool of shite.
When I came to Chile I wanted to spend time here and see it worts and all but for the first time on my travels I do not feel at ease in my surroundings. This is not a city on the backpackers trail, and I can see why. It is an ugly brutal city and i think I am the only gringo here. There are only two occupations to do here it would seem. Mine for the copper and other deposits in the desert or drink alcohol, and lots of it. There are drunk miners wandering the streets or collapsed in shop doorways. With a town like this comes all the extras too. Prostitution, drugs, poverty etc. all is evident to see.
My hostel has all the charm of a backstreet abortion clinic. The TV does not work and has a large hole it it where it would appear to have recently caught fire. Grotty green curtains and a double bed that has already got me itching. It is a conveted garage. The garage doors still in place with a small window cut out the top.The grottiest room I think I have ever stayed in.
It's on a busy main street, Ave Argentina. I ring Janet to arrange to meet up later to say hi. It would be rude to jump on the next bus out of here as I promised to say thanks for helping me out in Santiago those months ago, but if I was not such a nice chap I would.
"how is the hostel?" she asks. It was Janet who managed to find me a room, having rung around for most of yesterday for me. "a shithole" I replied."I am leaving tomorrow". 10,000 pesos too. Pisco Elqui cost me 8,500!!
Looking back the last time I felt like this was last year when I was 60kms east of Hanoi, Vietnam.A wonderful trip from Mui Me, South Vietnam up the Ho Chi Minh trail for 17 days to Halong Bay in the North on a motorcycle ridden by an easy rider, Mr Water.
Trouble was North Vietnam was in the grip of a really foul spot of weather and whereas I had spent most of the trip in nothing but a thin T-shirt, shorts and flip flops I now had four layers of clothes, gloves and wooly hat purchased on the way and I still #ing freezing, and was stuck in a shitty little town in the middle of nowhere. It was time to abandon plans of visiting Hanoi and bail out.
That night I asked my rider and friend Mr Waters to enquire what the weather was like in Nha Trang, 250km north of where I started my amazing journey in Mui Ne. "A Sunny 27 degrees" he replied.
Next day up at 6am and rode straight to Hanoi, we put his bike on a bus, took a taxi to the airport and we flew off. Result. Within six hours gone from a freezing cold shite town to the warmth and wonders of Nha Trang in the south. A bike ride that took 17 days covered by plane in under two hours. Happy times.
I have that same feeling now. Antofagasta is warm but it is worse than anywhere I have been on my travels. Time to sort this out.
Maybe a better hostel in a slightly better area tonight at least. I know I gave Janet a price limit but might need to exceed that now. Also I can check bus times for tomorrow, and find a forensic suit and bottle of bleach for the night ahead in my bed if not successful in my quest for new accommodation?
Luckily there is an Internet cafe round the corner.
I check hostel world for hostels better than the one I am in, looking to move ASAP.
Antofagasto is not even listed, let alone any hostels. That's it, I am out of here. Plenty of buses to San Pedro de Atacama tomorrow morning. Meet Janet tonight, then taxi to the bus station first thing and get the hell out of Dodge city.
Disco out.
So, Janet meets up with me at at 10pm at my garage/abortionclinic/hostel. The cumpleanos party in Santiago seemed a long time ago and It was good to see a friendly face in a town devoid of grace.
"how do you like Antofagasto? " she asks "it is an ugly city. This area we are in now is the nice part."
"the nice part?"
"Antofagasto" she continues " is THE most expensive city in Chile. Everything is expensive here."
I commented to her about the price of the room and compared it to my hostel in Pisco Elqui which was beautiful and had a swimming pool.
"this was the only room in a decent part of the city at a decent rate"
I can believe her too. Glad I have decided to leave tomorrow.
Walked down hill to the ocean, past the grey concrete buildings, across the Pan American Highway. Finally something to cheer me up. The smell of the salt in the air as the waves crashed to the shore.
We chatted some and practiced our Spanish and English on each other over a beer.
I do not regret coming here, but I won't be back.
Up early the next day, pack and taxi to the station.
"queiro una Pasaque para el proximo auto bus por San Pedro"
Ticket bought. Bus arrives on time. Adios Antofagasto

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