Don´t look down. The road to Arica.

South America » Chile » Arica & Parinacota » Arica
April 29th 2012

Published: April 30th 2012

Before I start my musings I am sending much love to Ainsley Reynolds, my cousin in law ( if there is such a word, who has had a traumatic couple of weeks and is now home resting after surgery. Speedy recovery Ainso and see you on the beach for Sangria and Jonny SaTrinxa. (and maybe a smidgen Pasha) xx

 Sunday . So fare well Iquique. You were wonderful but it is now time to cross into the last of the 12 regions of Chile to the city that lies on the border with Peru, Arica. Most of the people staying in hostel are bailing out today onto various destinations so last night it was a good excuse for an 'it's been good bumping into you' BBQ and party that went on to the wee hours. Two Dutch girls, Astrid and Ingrid,used it as an excuse to celebrate Queens Day, their national day. Good times and great company. Even better is that the clocks went back overnight and so we get an extra hours sleep. Result. Even had time to sit on the beach one last time this morning before heading off to catch the bus. Two people who were not at the party were a couple who seemed to think they could 'do' South America in three weeks, and who arrived the night before and left the following evening. . I do not understand the mentality of it all. I have been in ONE country now for two and a half months and still have not made it to the top. I know it's each to their own but for heavens sake they will see the nothing from a bus window. Now I don't wish to be stereotypical here but in almost all cases of 'If this is Tuesday this must be Belgium' syndrome the participants are German. They seem to think the continent is the size of Luxemburg or something and can whizz round in 21 days. The syndrome named after a film from the 1970's I believe, taking the piss out of a bunch of disparate Americans, led by a Brit, who think they can 'do' Europe in that time frame by bus.

 I first came across Tuesday/Belgium disease in Punta Arenas where two German women had spent 33 hours on a bus to get there. 33 hours? That is insane. In my hostel in San Pedro two German girls had spent 25 hours on a bus from Valpariso to get to San Pedro. They stayed one night then off again for Bolivia. "vee have a skedule and vee are already behind" said one of them. It is almost as if they are just ticking off countries with typical German efficiency. The lovely German couple at the hostel in Iquique said to me, "Zo David, you hav cum from zee south. Vot do you recommend " Thinking I was on safe ground here, and they were probing me for information I spent a few minutes talking about my experiences south of Chile and places they might enjoy, like Bahia Inglesa or the Elqui valley. " vee have to be in Santiago in one week to fly to Brazil" Are you kidding me? One week? Santiago is 2000 #ing kms away!! You will see nothing" They settled on a night bus to Antofagasto, arriving at 5am, then wait 4 hours at the shittiest bus station ever for next bus south. Complete madness. Readers, South America is huge. Do not venture here for three weeks, and 33 hours on a bus is not fun. I digress.

 Iquique is by the coast, and my destination Arica is also on the coast. In the way is a huge mountain range call the Andes. My travel companions are Rich the lumberjack (still OK, sleeps all night, works all day) and his sister Stacey. Leaving Iquique and looking out the window I felt as if I was in a plane taking off and rising above the city. Looking out at our hostel, the beach and memories of the last week in locations I could just make out. A steep road cut into the side of the mountain rising higher and higher until it joined the Pan-American highway. Then it's path cut into the side of a huge valley as I travelled north even higher. Looking out if the window to the valley floor, over 2000 meters below, I felt quite giddy. Sat on the bus, the wind swaying us from side to side I hoped the driver had a steady nerve. We were very high up indeed and seeing as I was on the top deck of a a double decker bus, was even higher. All along this stretch of road are small shines to those who have come to a sticky end driving it. The shrines resemble little dog kennels with a cross on the roof. Occasionally containing fresh flowers, it is a reminder of how dangerous this stretch of road is as it twists and weaves it's way over the mountain range and along the valley north. Route 5, cut into the driest desert on earth. The road builders really knew their stuff when this single carriageway road was built.

 Arrival in Arica and find the Sunny Days hostel. As there are three of us and it is a public holiday weekend emailed ahead two days ago to confirm a room. Glad we did, place is almost to capacity. Amongst those here is Duncan, a guy from Manchester. He shipped his 20 yr old motorbike over to Argentina with visions of riding around South America a la Che Guevara in 'Motorcycle Diaries.' And just like the book he has had bike trouble. In fact it would appear that since his arrival in South America in February he has spent more time sat around waiting for parts than actually on the bike. He is currently waiting for a clutch part from Japan and anticipates being in Arica for four weeks waiting for it. Still, fantastic way to see the continent. (when he gets it going).

 Some good news to report. Having learnt the word for bacon in Spanish, tocina, I found some in a shop. Not the British sort, thick slice, smoked back bacon, but a tiny lump of tocina wrapped in cellophane. Took it to the hostel with an egg and a fresh roll and hoped for the best. Sliced the lump of tocina as best I could into five pieces and threw into the pan. Instant bacon smells filled the room. Added the egg. Buttered the roll.

Result?

The best bacon and Fried egg sandwich ever. The salty bacony juices, the crispy smoked pork meat, the runny yolk, the fried white gooey bit, butter and a fresh roll. It was like a taste explosion in my mouth. I savoured every mouthful. All that was needed was a cup of PG Tips and would have been paradise. So Arica. The border town with Peru where it never rains. Some good beaches and fine surfing. First impressions, looks OK. Hope to visit the national park whilst I am here for some culture and cave paintings. There is a professional surf instructor linked to the hostel so might just give it a go. Will report back. No photos with this blog. Forgot to charge batteries. Disco out

Don´t look down. The road to Arica.

to Arica

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