Day 13. Pirate Bays and Desert Cities

---

Day 13. Pirate bays and Desert Cities.

Woke up early feeling quite strange in the bed and cabin I found myself in, in a place called Bahia Inglesa, so named because of the English pirates who hung out there. Weird because the night before, I thought I had come across some beach holiday paradise. I was excited and already working out how we could stay there an extra night. In retrospect, it was dark when we arrived and the rest of the family didn’t seem to share my enthusiasm. In the morning I realised we had stumbled across a less-cheerful version of Butlins. Rows of chalets with paper thin walls so you can hear everything the neighbours say, wash and eat. The chalet had a feeling of neglect and of a hundred different families passing through it each one leaving behind its troubled complexity. I escaped down to the beach whilst everyone else kept on snoring. The beach was a crescent of stones, seaweed and rotting fish. No one else in sight. I walked along feeling both virtuous at being up early and doing some exercise whilst at the same time feeling very, very alone and slightly afraid. I was in such a bizarre, other-worldly landscape that I thought I was running the risk of being abducted by aliens.

We had been travelling through the desert for a while now, surrounded all day by sand and rocks and empty nothingness. Every so often a town appears out of nowhere, vomited out of the sand in a random, haphazard fashion. As the desert is bereft of visible life but you know it is there hidden under rocks and piles of sand, so the towns are devoid of people although their wooden shacks tell you they are there. Just the odd dog wanders aimlessly through the sand blown streets.

Anyway, I decided on my walk, that I wanted ‘out’. Sharing the car with my family seems safe and cosy in comparison with the awkwardness I feel in this desert seaside resort. We are not good at getting out quick. We left at 11. 45 minutes down the road we came across some orange clad men waving frantically and speaking to every car driver except me. Perhaps as in Bolivia, women don’t drive cars when their husbands are present. We looked puzzled and drove on only to have to stop completely a couple of kms later. They were blowing up rocks to widen the road and had closed the road for an explosion. It would be a while. I’ve never seen Gray react so quickly. Before I knew what was happening, he was off down the beach with his stove, leaving the boys complaining behind. He was very hungry and had decided to seize the moment to try to make some fried egg sandwiches with his burner and a frying pan that he had brought with us for just such an occasion.

It was a delicious egg and ham sandwich. I sat munching it contentedly on a rock by the sea whilst the boys were frantically waving and shouting to let us know that they were letting the cars through. We missed our chance to get through and had to wait another half an hour. Much to the boys’ dismay. I thought it was worth it though.

Our destination was Antofagasta; Chile’s second largest city. We had decided to find a campsite mentioned in the Lonely Planet to save some money. The outskirts of the city came as a big shock. We stopped at a petrol station practically hidden under a thick layer of dust and largely used by the most enormous trucks imaginable. We had just passed a giant ugly ‘acid’ works (not the drug) and all around us were several huge cement factories. Throughout the desert there are numerous mines, mostly copper. People work and live in these places. I find it hard to come to terms with. I admire and feel sorry for them. I can’t help thinking that Chile hides it’s poorer, working class ‘relatives’ away in the Northern desert, where not so many visitors will come across them, whilst parading the richer and more acceptable looking ‘cousins’ further South.

We escaped the petrol station and headed down the hills towards the sea looking for our campsite. When we found it we were even more shocked. There were plenty of people there but it was the ugliest looking ramshackle collection of beach huts I have ever seen. There was not a blade of grass in sight. The children began pleading with us to move on, but Gray and I were intrigued enough to ask more. No space! We all sighed with relief and moved on.

We fled towards the city centre passing more grisly campsites; each one less attractive than the last. We looked at a couple of slightly better options but they were too expensive and so we decided to spend our budget on a good meal and drive on through the night. Unashamedly selling ourselves out to Western consumerism and comfort we sought out a shopping mall in that desert city and within the mall found a TGIs Friday. We were starving and the food was delicious. After our indulgence we trudged back up the hills to the dusty petrol station to continue our journey. This time under the stars. Oh my gosh! The most incredible, amazing, awe inspiring stars. Andrea/mum

---

Comments

[boyzee]

Desert experience
I must book that desperate Butlins tribute desert experience... Good to see the spotty hanky is being worn with pride. Good writing Aib Mx