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| airport tarmac |
The nice part about having an abroad program with a budget for travel is that you can go on an official program trip and miss class for it. So we met on campus with our program director and our bags on an especially nice Thursday morning and headed to the airport on an expenses paid trip to Northern Chile. The flight transported us from the smoggy and urban-jungly Santiago to the middle of the driest desert on Earth (aside from the main ice cap of Antarctica). OR, as I like to call this part of Chile: Mars. The airport is actually in the town of Calama, which is known for really only one thing: copper and the largest open pit copper mine in the world:
Chuquicamata (say that five times fast). Its an enormous mine, but we didn't get to see it. So our plane touched down on this dark black strip of asphalt, an island of civilization in the sea of red earth and sand that flows between 15,000 foot snow-capped volcanoes. This is the high desert of the Atacama. After collecting our belongings, we met our eccentric tour guide, Leo, and left for the tourist hub of
San Pedro de Atacama, some 1.5 hours to the southeast. As the sun set over some of the most immense volcanoes I've ever seen, I soaked up the sights and what little oxygen there was in the air and relished the uniqueness of this place.
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| The very cool gate |
Friday came early indeed. Our accommodation, the Hotel Terrantai, was very nice, but fell short of preparing me for the 7:30am wake up call. Then, at 8:30am on the dot Leo the tour guide and now the most punctual person in Chile appeared at our breakfast buffet to usher us to the van for our day's touring. We drove out of town, back down the same road on which we had entered San Pedro, but turned off down a dirt road just outside of town. As the sun finally showed itself over the mountains, we were told our destination was the humble hamlet of Rio Grande. On the way, we encountered a large gateway erected over a small pass that then descended into the river valley that gave Rio Grande its misleading name. The gate, however, was spectacular. Adorned with two towering indigenous pan flute players at either side of the road, the structure welcomed us to the land beyond and encouraged us to make an offering at the altar to Pachamama (constructed at the side of the road, by the gate). So we offered a little water to the indigenous life giving god and headed down to Rio Grande. Evidently, the Rio is more like a stream and, in fact not grand or grande at all. Thus this poor town was a misnomer. The van pulled over at the local church, where we got out and took pictures of it - the church itself was closed. Well planned. The girls of the program decided to simultaneously head to the local bathroom, leaving me, the sole bearer of a Y-chromosome and a bladder larger than a golf ball, to fend for myself for fifteen minutes in this itty bitty town. I discovered there was nothing to do. Thankfully, we moved on soon after my revelation and drove back up the valley and out the cool gate. We then passed through a valley which apparently was only meant to show us the geologic formations of the area (if they weren't apparent already). The notable thing in this valley, whose name escapes me, was an enormous green rock outcropping. And thats about it. We wheezed our way back to the van and left. But, much to our ambivalence, there was a tourism center down the road where, of course, we stopped. The building is the guard house for the petroglyphs that are carved on the adjacent rock. So we observed llamas, foxes and flamingos carved into the sandstone. Little did we know that these glyphs are a mere 500 years old and have, in part, been defaced over the years. So, while the Europeans criss-crossed the Atlantic, the Atacaman people were etching pregnant llamas into large boulders. Interesting, but not as interesting as the smoked salmon and mushroom sandwiches we had for lunch that afternoon. Needless to say the van ride back to the hotel was a welcome endeavor, but not so much as the comfort of a bed and a toilet.
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| petroglyph |
That night we were fortunate enough to have the opportunity to go on a star tour. San Pedro, and well, the whole Atacama Desert, is known for its lack of light and air pollution (and high altitude) that allow for ideal conditions to view the heavens. It was an incredible experience. The stars of the Milky Way are more brilliant and defined in the souther hemisphere and it was apparent. We were able to look through about a dozen telescopes that were pointed at various parts of the sky. The night was capped off with hot chocolate and a couple stories from the astronomer.
Saturday was my favorite day of the weekend, by far. It was an early and cold morning as we left San Pedro. At 8:30am the sun still hadn't risen over the horizon of high mountains in the east. The van crossed the valley in the low light of the predawn morning and began to climb the slope of the mountain ridge on the other side. I, the genius of the group, has decided it would be a great idea to wear shorts because having a jacket would be enough to fend off the cold. I was wrong. We pulled over for our first stop just over the first mountain pass to look at a beautiful lagoon that was filled with deep blue water and green grasses and stood in stark contrast to the bright red mountain around it. But, much to my chagrin, the weather was a balmy REALLY COLD and the lagoon was in fact covered in a layer of ice. We continued on and I thawed a bit in the van. Following the road, the van zigzagged over hills and through valleys, behind these enormous volcanoes and other worldly landscapes. The altitude wasn't terribly pleasant. Giving everybody at least a throbbing headache, if not nausea, lightheadedness and dehydration, the van continued to climb into the sky. The guide announced that we had hit the highest point of the day (this news coming only a couple hours after we woke up, but still welcome news) at 4,830 meters or 15,850 feet above sea level. That was the highest elevation I had ever been to (higher than the elevation from which I went skydiving...).
The van pressed on, though I'm sure many of our group wish it hadn't. Soon, we left the comforts of the paved road and tore across the open desert. Even though I wasn't driving, the freedom of driving without roads and restrictions across the desert was thrilling. Out the windows we could see herds of vicuñas (a relative of the llama) running in the distance or foraging for a scrap of vegetation. We had another opportunity to walk around and see some impressive geologic formations that looked like huge rock columns sticking straight out of the ground. I dared to venture off on my own, away from the group, to get a feel for what this place looks like without anyone else. Its beautiful. And silent. There was no wind, not a single bird, no noise at all. Just unadulterated silence. The kind of silence that is oppressive and intimidating. I was actually scared to make a sound that would disrupt it. Eerie, but very unforgettably cool. The van driver and guide later showed us pieces of volcanic glass (obsidian) that very hidden among the stones all over the desert floor. The day continued on and we drove and drove through the desert terrain. We reached an area called the Cathedrals which was a valley or a gulch that was lined on one side with towered rocks that, I suppose would look something like cathedrals. I don't know, maybe. This valley terminated in the final destination of the day: The Salar de Tara. It was an incredible landscape once again. The Sala de Tara is a large salt lake fed by a fresh water spring and sits below a volcano, providing a home for migrating flamingos and local vicuñas and llamas. We walked around the area, soaked in the sights, ate lunch and began the loooong ride back to San Pedro.
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| The Cathedrals |
That night, I was treated to a nice and lively birthday dinner at a local restaurant with the whole group and much food and drink. It was a great time and at the expense of WashU which made it all the better. I was given an interesting group of gifts most notably the bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey and a carved wood penis bottle opener. A night worthy of a 21st birthday party I should think.
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| Sejar - Salt lake |
Sunday morning and the last morning of our trip to the desert was sunny and brisk. After breakfast, we departed for the final time with our guide Leo to see the ruins of a fortified town from the days of the Atacama people. It wasn't that interesting and the angle of the sun meant that the lighting was terrible to take pictures of the view. We climbed and descended the town, which was on a hill, and boarded that van once again. The second place of interest was less interesting than the first set of ruins. The van stopped at the ruins of a complex of indigenous houses that had been buried by the drifting desert sand and lost for centuries, only to be accidentally rediscovered. The narrow and newly constructed boardwalk afforded us great downward views of a few circular sets of stone walls and little else. Nonplussed for the second time that morning, we left for the final stop of the day: the salt lake (called Sejar, I think). I get the hype. Swimming in salt lakes is awesome. It wasn't the Dead Sea or the Great Salt Lake, but I was floating with my shoulders out of the water without even trying. The drawback is that every cut or laceration or even bug bite begins to burn and itch after a few minutes in the water. We had to cautiously wade out into the lake over basketball shaped mineral deposits to reach the center and deepest part of the lake. It was like reaching the edge of an abyss because the shallow two foot deep shore area just dropped off into a bottomless pool. It was obvious that nothing considerable could live in this salty environment, but you still had that lingering thought that some crazy Chilean high altitude salt lake monster might rear its ugly head from the depths of the water and swallow you whole. Didn't happen, but almost did. After we had sufficiently salted ourselves, we dried off and were left with a lovely white brine, everywhere. Still worth it.
The van ride all the way to Calama was tired, salty and dehydrated. We were sad to be leaving, but just as happy to be headed back to Santiago where we wouldn't have nagging altitude headaches all the time.
Awesome trip overall and great birthday weekend.
More pictures in the Just Pictures section!
So we departed and a quick nap later we arrived. Pomaire, as we saw it, was a dusty little town with overgrown trees and a surplus of pottery shops. The van bumped up a long driveway to a large and gaudy house. The hosts warmly welcomed us and quickly showed us to the outdoor oven where they were preparing fresh bread for us to eat with our unexpected breakfast. AWESOME. Food surprises are some of the best, especially on a sleep-deprived Saturday morning. Breakfast consisted of fresh baked bread, with fresh eggs from the property or fig jam and a steaming hot cup of coffee. The meal gave us a chance to look around the house, which they say had been built ten years earlier. It was filled with everything. I mean everything. There was an 80s KISS themed pinball machine (which quickly became the object of all my envy). There was a circe 1950s baby blue beauty salon hair dryer being used as a coat rack. A large collection od locks and keys hung from a wall. An old radio was mounted to another wall whose dial was the light switch. I can't even attempt to name everything, but it was very cool. 
Filled with hot and delicious food, we were given a brief talk about the history of the town. A notable tidbit that came from this talk was that the families in Pomaire refer to the other families by their respective specialties in pottery. Comical, especially when she admitted that most people don't even know the real names of their neighbors. So we tucked that in our cap and set off down the road to play with clay at a workshop. At some nameless, signless, storefront-less garage, we encountered a stout man who was touted as being member of one of the original families of this artisan town (and thus, by extension, famous and very good at making clay crafts). After we gaped at the sheer volume of clay pots and candle holders and vases and umbrella holders, we turned our attention to a demonstration, lead by the man of the hour. We were going to be making piggy banks! Thankfully the body of the pig had already been made into a perfect round shape and we only had to tack on the features that make a football look like a pig. Ten piggy banks later and we were sitting behind a spinning wheel shaping the soft wet clay into bowls (or something that should have resembled a bowl).
So we departed and a quick nap later we arrived. Pomaire, as we saw it, was a dusty little town with overgrown trees and a surplus of pottery shops. The van bumped up a long driveway to a large and gaudy house. The hosts warmly welcomed us and quickly showed us to the outdoor oven where they were preparing fresh bread for us to eat with our unexpected breakfast. AWESOME. Food surprises are some of the best, especially on a sleep-deprived Saturday morning. Breakfast consisted of fresh baked bread, with fresh eggs from the property or fig jam and a steaming hot cup of coffee. The meal gave us a chance to look around the house, which they say had been built ten years earlier. It was filled with everything. I mean everything. There was an 80s KISS themed pinball machine (which quickly became the object of all my envy). There was a circe 1950s baby blue beauty salon hair dryer being used as a coat rack. A large collection od locks and keys hung from a wall. An old radio was mounted to another wall whose dial was the light switch. I can't even attempt to name everything, but it was very cool. 
