Iquique and strange days in a ghost town

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Question: how do you get from 2800 meters above sea level to sea level in a large bus?
Answer: very very slowly
The journey to Iquique was a negotiation of the Andes and its valleys. Long a steep 'S' and 'U' bends. Outside the bus window nothing but dust and a railway track following the line of the road. Away in the distance mines producing valuable nitrates, bought down to the railway sidings and transported to the coastal port town of Tocopilla.
Once at Santa Lucia the bus follows the coast. The sun actually sets this time making a fantastic journey along the coast. This time I am sat on the correct side of the bus. The colours of the sky as the sun disappears meant I just stared out of the window watching it turn from red through orange to purple and then darkness. Sat alone at the back of the bus, my own personal light show through the window.
Arrived late at night around 11pm and taxi to hostel, a fabulous homely joint called 1920. Quickly checked in and went for a stroll to find a bar. It had been a long 2 days travelling from Bolivia to here with minimal sleep and a quick beer should help. Having been up at 4.30am in Uyuni for the salt flats took 4x4 back and arrived at tiny hostel at 9pm. A quick supper as had to be up and away at 3pm. Travel though the night to Bolivian border and arrived in SP de A later that afternoon.
The smallest person I have met on my travels was in the 4x4 all the way. An elderly Bolivian woman called Maria.
The hostel in which I stayed that night was noisy and so little sleep in SP de A
So basically little rest for the past 2 days and basically on the road for most of it.
Wandered into town and first impressions, looks good and happy I made the decision to return to chile to complete my journey north.
Walked past a bar and saw a stage with microphones and drum kit. Spoke to waiter outside and established that a band was due to play in 30mins.
Suena bien. .. Sounds good.
Quick beer, watch the band and then a good sleep as I am the only one in my dorm so no disturbances.
Suffice to say I rolled out of the bar at 5am!!
The band were great. Sat with a Chilean woman Elizabeth and her work friend Noni, rock and roll to the core. After the band great Latin American music. Danced the night away. A teacher of Latin dance was also in the bar and gave me a few lessons on how to shake my hips Chile style.
So much for an early night.
A very tired and extremely pissed Disco stumbled to a collectivo. I had not a clue where I was, nor where my hostel was. I waved the contact information of the hostel under his nose which included a map and crossed my fingers.
Things did not look to good when he stared to turn the map upside down and rubbing his chin.
"hostel Uno nueve Dos zero" I said
A passenger in the collectivo looked at the map too.
Nothing.
I remembered then, through my drunken stuper that the Spanish say the whole number,
"señor, hostel Mille neuvecientos vente" said I. Fingers really crossed now.
Suddenly "aha" and he pointed to the map having worked out were we were. A quick finger line drawn out to hostel and off we set. Straight to my hostel.
Amazing. A first for me. Faith restored.
Collapsed.
Disco out.
A lovely Sunday morning
After shower walked down to the sea to check out where I was. All I can say is Iquique ... WOW.
What a fantastic town. Trapped in a small area betwern to mountains and the sea. Yellow sand, the Pacific rolling in, surfing dudes, water skiers. Buildings from the 1920's to the modern day all carefully put together. I think I will stay a while.
Walked around to the peninsula where I had arranged to meet Elizabeth and Noni for lunch. Here are all the fishing vessels, bringing in the catch of the day. Also here are pelicans and seals waiting for the remains of the catch of the day.
Dined with Elizabeth at the sombrero restaurant. All you can eat for 20,000 pesos. Amazing variety of fresh fish cooked in hundreds if ways. Sat by the sea in the sun with a decent bottle of white. Glorious afternoon and reminded me of the time I spent with Riss and Ming at Rose Bay, Sydney. No rush at all. Tomar mi tiempo.
Suffice to say I think I had my 20,000 peso worth as after 4hrs of fish, sushi, meat and puddings I was stuffed. Have not eaten so well since Santiago and Victorias cooking.
Early bed.
Disco out.


Iquique is a town that was built on the wealth of the Nitrate industry in the 19th and 20th century.
Houses are in the hacienda style and no better example of this is the main street which has been pedestrianised. It is a bustling and vibrant city squezzed between the mountains ans the sea. but unlike Antofagasto it is a charming city.
On both sides of the street there are wooden walkways stretching down to the main square, with its theatre and fountains. This is a lovely place and think I might just stay a while.
On the outskirts of town is a place called Humberstone. It was a huge nitrate production village and mine from 1860 until it closed in 1961. It is now a ghost town. Declared a world heritage site in 2005 there are tours there but it is expensive.
Mike in the hostel tipped me off that the bus there and back is about a fiver and going alone meant no hoards of tourists.
So set off to the market to find a bus.
After much checking of stops and asking around I had almost given up. Bus drivers were pointing down the street and talking in rapid Spanish but I could not find the correct 'parada'.
I sparked up a ciggie. I was not to be defeated and wanted to save some cash. Whilst stood in street saw a small sign on a shop doorway marked Humberstone. Turns out that I was not being directed to a bus stop but to a bus shop!. Sorted. Private bus goes in 10 minutes. Cost £2.50.


30 mins later I arrive following big climb up the hill to the desert and flatlands. A barron place save for a small township of crumbling buildinds I can see from the window "umberstun" shouts the driver.

I paid my £1.50 entrance fee and walked into a ghost town. Not only were there no tourists, there was no-one else around. Just me. Really spooky. The town is how it was when abandoned in 1961. Some of the houses have exhibits in them but because of the arid atmosphere here the buildings are unchanged since the first building were erected for mining in the 1860´s.

A church, theatre, liquor store, school, hotel, built around a main square, all as they were when contstructed in around 1936. Around five thousand people worked and lived her, miners, their wives and children. There was also a huge swimming pool built from iron plates so that the nitrates in the soil could not destroy it. Being a desert water had to be pumped up from Iquique.

The mine itself is set behind the town. Here people toiled in harsh conditions to make the saltpetre for their masters. With no elf and safety they suffered terribly as over time the chemicals destroyed their skin and eyes.
All alone in the mine/factory area you could almost here the ghosts of the past as the wind passes through these crumling metal edifices.
I must admit for a historic timepiece in South America I was a little disappointed because it was an remarkable and facinating place to wander around. Undamaged and had not caught fire. But, where was my South America twist? Where was my hot water from the cold tap, my make your own coffee, my map readers, my Two Maria's?
Folks, I am happy to report that having wandered around for an hour I found my South America in Humberstone.
Saw the sign saying Museo and wandered in.
Was this a museum of artifacts? No.
Was it a museum of pictures? No
Was it a museum of the lives of the inhabitants? No ( that was by the main entrance and very interesting)
My dear readers, it was a Museo of DOORS. Not the fabulous beat combo from the 1960's, The Doors. You read it right the first time - DOORS. F #ing hundreds of them!
Big doors, small doors, Single and double louvre doors. Front doors and back door man. Doors with panels, doors without. Some even had numbers. One door had the number 12 on it. Facinating. Doors with paint intact, some it was peeling away and others just plain. All made from wood. Some of the doors were still in their frames and were taller than me, some were so small that I would have bumped my head on the frame if I were allowed to break on through to the other side! Quite stunning, simply amazing collection of doors.

And on the walls hung......window frames. Absolutely brilliant. Four pane, six pane, you name it, they were there. A museum of old doors and window frames. Rather than chuck away the doors to the houses to allow easier access for the public to look around the buildings they would make a museum of them.Well done South America, you have not let me down.

Overcome with this experience I walked to the little coffee shop for a drink and time to relax and reflect over which door had impressed me the most, my favourite style of door, and which door number had touched my heart strings. Cerrado. Closed. Ah well, I guess I am the only one here. Asked the man at the gate if the cafe would be open. He spoke so fast it sounded like hello, I love you but when I asked him to slow down I worked out he was saying "non lo siento" (no, sorry). I wonder if it was his idea for the museum of doors. People are strange after all.

Had enough of wandering around with only ghosts to talk to. Thought about going to see the doors one more time but there was no way the ghost of Jim Morrison would appear for me in a museum of doors. To busy in his own museum I bet.*

So just hopped on the next bus and listened to the band instead on my MP3 player. Now that's more like it. 'Light my fire' through to 'Roadhouse blues' blasting all the way back on my headphones to Iquique.

* I guess there is a Doors museum somewhere in the world. Will have to add that to my bucket list. Now I have stood in marvel and amazement at a museum of doors, it would be only right to do the same at The Doors Musuem. Probably in America somewhere, run by a passionate L.A Woman no doubt. The End.

Disco out.

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Photos

little and large
Maria, who shared a lift back from Bolivia

town square
really picturesque

pistols
toy pistols made from wire by the children of Humberstone

painting of town square
dated 1950

the town square
50 years on.

door museum
wow

Comments

[brizo]

doors
one door shuts fella another few hundred old ones open.