Charlie and Steve's Excellent Adventure

December 30, 2014

While you were working – Parque Huerquehue, Chile

With the haze of Christmas drawing to a fine point in the rear view mirror we set our sights on offsetting the recent heavy drinking we’ve bravely endured. There seems only one true option here, and that’s to take on a few days camping in the nearby Parque Nacional Huerquehue; and we’re still unsure how to pronounce it so feel free to bump over that one dear reader. We’d geared up with all that we would need in Santiago and Boxing day saw a cooking bonanza to make Maggie Beer proud so goodbye adolescent drinking, nature here we come.

On the bus we are loaded and ready to go before realising that we don’t have a lot of cash on us, oops. We shouldn’t need much money if any, but a quick sprint through Pucon streets with seven minutes to spare on the bus sees us all cashed up. Safe to say not a lot of people go sprinting down the main street of Pucon at 8am, got more than just a couple of weird looks. With typical Chilean bus efficiency we leave right on time and we’re off, I can just about feel the alcohol concentration ebbing from me.

After a quick stop at the park office and a surprisingly cheap entry fee we shrug laden shoulders sporting our mobile homes for the next two nights. Starting along a beautiful lakeside is not a surprise, Pucon is in the lakes district of Chile. This whole region of the Andes is tightly packed with endless lakes tucked high in mountainous pockets and hung valleys. Fresh alpine air, birdsong and crystal waters are the hallmarks of this region, picture perfect postcards at every point it seems. But to get right into the park we are greeted by a surprise ascent first up, we had it in mind that this was going to be a more casual trek; wrong. At this point I have very mixed feelings about the cooking bonanza on boxing day with more elaborate food seeming too enticing to pass up. That was then. I’m sure that the 2kg of Ratatouille for one meal will be delicious but right now the weight is kicking us in the ass: think of eating becomes our mantra. Thankfully the climb is first up so while we’re fresh we eat it up like the celebratory chocolate at the crest not without a bit of huffing and puffing to be honest.

Into a small saddle we take in the deep breath of the wild. On the climb up we were treated by glimmering views of a foreground lake to the rising Volcan Villarica beyond, throw another postcard on the pile. As picturesque as that was, the now present sense of separation from civilisation is really what we’re after and it washes over us like reuniting with an old friend. The first thing to strike us here is that we are in the Andes but it’s not the mountains that are captivating us as is the norm. For now our usual obsession is easily swept aside by the trees that have taken over from the lower lands more prominent scrub.

The first captivating factor on show is the size, they’re genuinely big trees and I confess to a bit of a big tree crush. The humble feeling of standing at the base of a truly intimidating tree is uplifting and pure, grace and power are rarely better balanced by nature or otherwise. We wander through gentle paths staring wide eyed at entire groves of Monkey Puzzles and Araucaria trees standing tall all about us. The awesome sight of these trees is amplified by uncontrived repetition, it’s truly awesome; the mountains can wait. At many stages we stop to stare upwards like loggers waiting for a hippie to come down, admiring the lichen slathered trunks stretching beyond where our eyes can reach.

And the trunks do shoot from the earth like arrows from a bow, straight and bold finding their target in the sky. With bare trunks the upper branches twist laterally like tortured bonsais that all got too big for their pots, Japanese elegance in Andean scale. Breathtaking. I can’t help but have thoughts to a drunken conversation on Christmas day, a fellow traveller declaring that Tasmania should just be opened for logging, jobs are important. I ponder now seeing this sight if that headspace could be possible? It raises the dilemma I had in this very same town nine years ago: what value is apportioned to something without a share price and how in fact do we separate and define the coexisting ideals of value and price? Far too heavy a thought for now, considering defined price for this seems like an ideal we left behind at the crest of the climb; there may it stay.

And on, the postcard pile is getting very tall with every turn throwing us at another lake, another mountain peak or another grove of trees all gawk-worthy. We stop a little too often to take photos, lunch by a mountain lake and allow our minds to escape to the places that only the wilderness seems to allow. This escape into the romantic along with our yet to be appreciated heavy food does take its toll, we are spat out of about three hours of bliss into a clearing atop a severe drop into the valley that will be our campsite. Now bathed in sun we stare across at aggressive stone peaks bursting from the tree-line with waning slivers of snow the last remaining defiance of a winter that now seems so long ago. In a step we are no longer sheltered by our giant caretakers, now into the awe striking mountains we know and love.

We grudgingly give up all the altitude we had gained on rapidly fading legs descending into the valley. It’s been six hours with carelessly heavy packs and we’re stuffed, this hike far more of a slog than we thought but exactly what we needed. We set up camp and immediately settle in for a nap, we’re so far from anything that could object to the welcome sleep that takes us. We crack out the new gear we’ve bought as our thoughts turn to relishing food and lighter packs in equal measure.

Sat on our moss covered fallen trees we soak up the serenity we have found ourselves in. The day-trippers, such a dirty word, were left behind hours ago, only 2 small tents share our cathedral of overhead peaks and the sirens call of running water. All around us is a sea of electric blue flying insects moving rhythmically along invisible highways that now have two more roundabouts. They don’t seem to land much, more intent on their monotonous movement and creating a bizarrely surreal tinge to the fading day. And it was all worth it; the curses of the day quickly become the celebrations of the evening with steaming hot ratatouille sating our hunger.

Signing off our first day into the wild we pay our first ticket on the indulgence super highway happy to part with the currency. We are now trading in the etherial marketplace that makes us all human; there’s no share price on things with this much value.

December 27, 2014

While you were working – Feliz Navidad, Chile

A hush descends around the ground, the sun beats down on commentators and spectators alike giddily waiting to see who will win the toss. Will we get to see Australia bat or bowl today? While it’s still Christmas day here in Chile the boxing day test is set to start a little later, the best of both worlds. But forget Boxing Day for now, far more important at this minute is the now famous Pucon Christmas day test. With a healthy dose of Aussies, a Kiwi and even a couple of poms we take the heaviest bat ever fashioned out of a piece of 4×2 timber to educate the rest of the world in the essential machinations of an Aussie Christmas. The heavy club a perfect metaphor to ‘educate’ in the British imperial sense, be it used for cricket or otherwise.

In the crowd of people here it’s become customary to name each other simply by nationality. With the anticipation of cricket swaying from excitement to uncertain fear based on your current name, a snapshot of the UN gathers for Christmas lunch. Over the whines of northerners opining the necessity for cold at Christmas it becomes clear that the education must begin early. Kiwi is making the warm weather case for the southern hemisphere and Costa Rica is shunning the cold weather doomsayers with gusto as fifty or so nomads pack into a hodge-podge front lawn dining hall. The lake glistens before us and the volcano towers above to the sound of muted hunger being swept aside in a sea of turkey, salads and so much more. The worlds children put aside differences over the most common of shared interests, food. And a delicious spread it is; there’s no seafood but not a southern hemisphere voice rings out in objection, we’re stuffed to bursting and it’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. Having many of us well into the alcohol reserves already does nothing to hurt the mood either.

This glorious lunch however is metaphorically little more than getting the chips and finding your seat in the stands, the first ball is about to be bowled. Australia takes the first cherry to the USA and it’s a disastrous start for the tourists with USA taking a crude slog to cow corner leaving the bat somewhere just wide of mid-on, unbelievably landing safely on the road. Thats out USA. Costa Rica shows determination taking a series of blows to the body from well directed beamers off the intimidating Australian attack; it’s possible that might have been me: Australia well on top. But Portugal, France and Mexico bring hope for the tourists with strong partnerships while Germany and Brazil put aside recent soccer world cup bitterness to right the ship for the unenlightened, the ANZAC stranglehold on this match is loosening.

The tide turns further as marauding Australians pad up to bat for the visitors; the bowling change is called. The wicket keeper strides to his mark to a hushed surprise, history in the making and you’re hearing it here first on BitJealous radio 702. Steaming in to the cheers of the footpath stand the steepling tennis ball like bounce; of the tennis ball, climbs past the edge of the bat, the crowd salivates. The slips cordon sledge on the pressure as the fired-up bowler extends his follow through to glare face to face with the marauding turncoat from the ‘free state’ north shore. This test has it all, flourishing batting, determined fight backs and now some Aussie intimidation to make Lillie shed a tear. Ok, that might have also been me, test cricket is alive and well ladies and gentlemen. Bowling in tight partnership with Kiwi we manage to send the free-stater packing to the cheers and vexatious howls of the parochial ‘home’ crowd.

This game of cricket has it all. An on-drive elegantly lofted by England ends up sliding unbelievably into the slightly open window of a ute parked on the long-on boundary. To the raptures of the footpath and jetty pavilions the vehicles timing is perfect and the driver begins to pull away from the kerb chased by the howling fielders from short mid on and deep square leg. The ball is eventually retrieved; play resumes. Off the dodgy arm action of USA’s bowling the resident dog Tiki fields and even does a bit of good old fashioned Pakistani ball tampering, running off into the lake chased by an exasperated wicky. Through a torrent of first ball mulligans, one hand one bounce catches, sixes and outs and the customary visit from the police the Pucon Christmas day test is indeed the best possible advertisement for the game. It also serves to silence the northerners lament for the cold with all nations embracing an Australasian christmas in the most typical of fashions. Yes, it’s definitely feeling a lot like Christmas and the crowd is getting their moneys worth.

Neither side is quite taking control of the game as umpires call drinks. Sadly drinks take longer than usual today and that means it’s stumps on the first days riveting action brought to you by the BitJealous radio team. It’s a really long drinks break.

The haze of Christmas day descends on our first attempt at making Pisco Sours and enough mixing of alcohol to prompt a national awareness campaign. Safe to say that your humble author will skip through any attempt at sharp detail of this period in time for obvious reason; ahem. We’re missing loved ones from home as is unavoidable at this time of year and without internet strong enough to make calls our minds are instead filled with the people we know and love. What is certain though is that regardless of where we are or our company, this is an Aussie Christmas for all money, our lament drowned in the comfortable succour of the familiar.

But this day is not done, not by a long shot. With Charlie safe in bed for a few hours now I head off at about 4am to our little camper van of luxury. Climbing in and slamming the door with all my might as is necessary to close it, I wake up Charlie along with the entire hostel I’m sure; sorry about that. Charlie takes the chance to get up and stand stark naked in the night and have a pee: still drunk it seems. Fidgeting around with his foot into the ground for a long few minutes and swaying like a squat poplar in a southerly I enquire if he’s ok. The conversation goes like this:

C: Incoherent murmur.
S: What?

(repeat seven times continuing to sway naked in the hostel yard)

C: See… River.
S: What?
C: River.
S: Babe, what are you talking about?
C: River (insert exasperated tone)
S: What fucking river?
C: Get me the river
S: The river? What do you mean ‘the river’?
C: RIVER!

(I’m barely controlling my laughter at this point)

S: Are you speaking Spanish? River means running water, I don’t have any of those on me right now. (I can’t resist taking the piss here)
C: Fuck off Steven. (yes my full name was used)
S: Do you want to go to the river? (seriously going to wet the bed now)
C: Incoherent murmur

This is too funny not to explore, it seems we’re off to the river.

S: Ok lets get dressed and go to the river
C: Incoherent murmur

Charlie waits freezing with only shorts on in the hostel common yard.

S: Do you want clothes
C: (Pause) Yes please

And we begin to walk out of the hostel to a place Charlie only knows. There’s no rivers near here as far as I can tell so this should be interesting if nothing else. As the gate clicks behind us Charlie partially seems to snap out of it, the drink spiking from Germany or Brazil seems to be wearing off. I am not controlling myself at all here but he’s too incoherent to really notice I think. I suggest we go to the river just to see where he goes. Off to the lake it seems. Over the next twenty or so metres it seems the ridiculousness of the situation is starting to dawn on Charlie. We pause at the end of the jetty with my entire body gripped in a seizure of suppressed laughter, I need a panty liner badly. After a pause I offer that we might want to go back to bed. It seems that the river isn’t all it was cracked up to be and Charlie simply turns from a dazzling crescent moon over the lake to retreat to our hippie camper van of love.

Funniest. Moment. Ever… Ever.

We sign off a long day of food, drink, laughs, cricket and a type of comical drunken story that christmas wouldn’t be complete without. That ocean to home seems little more than, dare I say it, a river as we fashion what can only be described as the purest Aussie Christmas ever witnessed abroad. Indeed, feliz navidad.

December 26, 2014

While you were working – Pucon, Chile

Nearly a decade ago we journeyed to what seemed like the end of the earth, in a country called Chile. It was our first holiday together, inspired by atheist revelation in the beauty of the Andes we were set on a course that would guide us here today. We spent Christmas in this magnificent part of the world then as we will do again now, a cycle of symbolism rich and comforting. That first foray was highlighted by an ascent of the glorious Volcan Villarica, the instigator to our lasting love affair with volcanos. As I type this now seated by the lake I can cast my eyes skyward to Volcan Villarica once again similarly inspired all this time later.

We arrived in Pucon, this little town at the base of the volcano on another overnight bus that we are slowly getting used to. Checking into our hostel gave one surprise to us, it seems our private double room neither double, private or indeed a room. We’re sleeping in a converted vintage van, this was not on the website. After politely hiding our initial shock we begin to appreciate the reason for this seemingly too affordable ‘room’. This hostel does boast a killer location and great kitchen so we manage to find good humour in this twist of events, an adventure at every turn it seems, I wonder how Geeves would show us around this one.

The lakes district here is a particularly picturesque place as contrasting to the equally amazing Atacama as could be. The desert has bid farewell to any influence over this area as cool breezes, lush greenery and sparkling waterways take over the surrounding vistas. Buoyed by memories and nostalgia there could be no better location for a Christmas away from our families and loved ones, indeed Pucon is far more than just picturesque.

Before the Christmas binge we dive into a bit of local activity and go for a canyon. Joining four others we embark on the familiar jaunt into wilderness and a taste of alpine streams, waterfalls and adventure. Alarmingly this canyon looks and feels a lot like the canyons we know from home despite the opposing terrain. There seems to be a pre-christmas theme developing here as we’re assaulted by all imaginable images from home. Abseiling down waterfalls and clambering through some of the best up close scenery nature has to offer we’re feeling more and more relaxed by the minute and relishing being in Pucon again all these years later.

For the first time this trip we manage to stumble into a huge group of Aussies staying at the hostel, this could be interesting. We’ve come across enough Germans to populate a nation but not many Aussies thus far, but that has all just changed. Usually happy to avoid the familiar and soak up new experiences we slowly accept a style of conversation and interaction that further brings us a feeling of home to accompany the Christmas cheer. With New Zealand, Mexico, France, Costa Rica and of course Germany among many others also represented we thankfully avoid an enclosed expat singularity despite the conversation inevitably turning to cricket. The resident carpenter, yes this hostel has one of those, spends the day carving out a cricket bat for what the other nationalities are learning is as necessary a part of christmas as a tree, presents and too much food.

As this day extends itself the distance to home seems less and less. We might not be going home but that doesn’t stop us bringing a bit of home to Pucon. So complete is the picture that a rousing discussion erupts about the current test series in play, an Indian-Aussie passionately lamenting the demise of Indian batting. I politely agree.

And on, with a day of cooking, eating and enough red wine and beer shared liberally to make any Aussie Christmas proud we relish simplicity in celebration. In a year that is one big long holiday we have somehow managed to find a small holiday within the larger, an escape from our escape.
Yes we are flying south for the summer but for just a little while it seems we might be making a slight detour; an ocean separates us from home but it now seems no wider than an alpine stream, we can nearly smell the seafood and hear Richie calling the first delivery.

December 25, 2014

While you were working – Flying south for the summer

Southern hemisphere migratory birds may fly south for the summer; we aren’t afforded the freedom and grace of flight, overnight busses are the less romantic version of our seasonal migration. Before that can happen though we need to fatten up our stores for the journey into the cold, namely gathering our appropriate clothing and gear for the environments that await. Part of the reason for our stop in Santiago apart from delicious food is to purchase gear and pick up credit cards and clothing sent from home. The last few weeks have been a travellers version of the nesting instinct as we regather the range of supporting guff that allows us to continue our adventure.

We’ve booked into an expensive hotel, at least by our current budget and we’re shown around by a Chilean guy with the highest most sculpted hair we’ve ever seen. He didn’t introduce himself but with his carefully studied British accented English lets just call him Geeves. So as Geeves flourishes around the hotel room in a carefully blended mix of edgey fashion, gay camp and royal stiff upper lip we somehow manage to hold our faces straight. Comical as he is it’s extremely commendable for him to go to the effort of studying not only a language but an accent which stands him apart from the standard American Latino accent that seems more the norm, good show Geeves old chap.

The hotel presents a little scare though, we had confirmed that replacement credit cards had arrived but it seems now that the staff can’t find them which isn’t exactly panic stations; yet. It is shopping time again though, it seems we can’t quite get off this treadmill, trapped within a never ending activity which typifies everything this holiday provides escape from. At least this time we’re acquiring, not only replacing, a tent seems necessary now for the type of hikes we are salivating over. In addition to the shopping spree, hopefully the last of its kind, we are hanging on for a package of clothing sent over from Australia. Safe to say we’ll never be using DHL again. It’s nearly a week late and we take the option to pick it up from the airport rather than sit and wait, at least gaining some sense of control into our own hands.

Cards finally located after a small but polite huff the journey to the airport seems simple. We awake to an email advising us that we need to go via the DPI (Department of Police Investigations) to get something called a Certificado de Viaje (Certificate of travel), at least thats how we understand it. OK, a tad annoying but we can jump through the hoop it seems. It feels not worth pondering at this stage how we could be anything but tourists and what this certificate could possibly prove beyond the visa and stamped passports we already have; alas. Thankfully we are up and about early, as we confirm all we need, pack up and check out before 9am, plenty of time to meet our 12:30pm deadline to be at the airport.

That is until we enter the DPI and gaze across the sea of people painfully waiting in a queue that would make any RTA or Centrelink feel like an exclusive day-spa. Oh dear. And here emerges the whole moral to the story, Chileans are strong contenders for the nicest people in the world prize. We remember this phenomenon from our last travel here, Chileans seem to effortlessly discard the ‘looking after number one’ self determination that often permeates cultures where existence is a little tougher. In truth, opposed to some of Latin America, existence is a lot smoother in Chile as a credit to this nations relative rejection of corruption, good governance and great work ethic. Yes we’ve resisted gushing for over a week now but Chileans are just a cut above, full stop.

The Chilean spirit is in full flight for us today, we are essentially walked through the whole DPI fiasco by an Argentinian Chilean girl named Laura and her partner Mariano. Interpreting, cutting through tape, demanding to see supervisors on our behalf these guardian angels have us out of the administrative jungle in about an hour. We send our farewells across the sea of despondent people as we rush off to the metro, one step down. And it doesn’t stop there, two guys help us out with directions on the bus, one walking us through the maze of the airport and adjoining freight depots to deliver us personally to the queue we need to wait in. Throw in another guy who again makes demands on our behalf and we scrape it in, arriving at DHL with less than half an hour to spare.

We end up waiting at the airport depot for an hour and a half for a small forest of paper to be produced along with our clothes. Never entirely sure that the seemingly impossible completion of this freight will ever happen, the building tension is beyond draining. Losing all our possessions seems to be the pain that keeps on delivering, this close to resolution the resilience to accept difficulty wears frustratingly thin. Accompanied by a dismissive explanation from a DHL staffer to customs over the stupidity of the hold ups we are on our way, not without one slightly embarrassing public cheer a little louder than planned.

Finally we have done it, we feel a little like we have just completed a gruelling mountain ascent such is our exhaustion. This holiday now occupies our minds more with future and present rather than past, a blessed tilt in balance. Looking back on this day in particular it’s undeniable that we could not possibly have gotten to this point without the vivacious kindness of Geeves and accompanying Chileans. A nation of kindness to correct the hurt of a self-interested few. Some kindness needs to be sought, bargained for or coerced; Chilean kindness is as unavoidable as breathing, infectious and relentless. Gleefully this broken record spins, bravo Chile; may it continue its welcome soundtrack on this long migration south for the summer.

December 24, 2014

Gluttony Expedition – Welcome to Chile

The nine years since we’ve been in Santiago has been a busy time with the city growing up a lot since we were here last, particularly in terms of its cuisine. Our previous edition of eating in Santiago was punctuated by three main factors that come to mind all these years later; horrid amounts of equally horrid cheese, bread I’d described as better used for self defence than eating and western fast food, no more needs to be said on that matter. In all honesty the bread still isn’t too flash but it is now sadly useless in a home invasion, the argument for gun control laws has lost an ally it seems. I’m sure the cheese ‘issue’ is also there in some measure along with the poxiness of fast food but all of these factors are blessedly far from the perch of dominance they once held.

Or are we just a bit better at sifting through the rubbish? Indeed we are, and being far more equipped with Spanish is no hinderance at all; although Spanish is not Chileno, Chile still defrauds the world by saying it speaks Spanish, this hasn’t changed it seems. What is unmistakable though is that the diversity of Chilean food has swelled immensely in the nine years, we’ve been in the country just over a week and this factor is already undeniable. Chile, you now have more to the repertoire than a plate of lamb chops, delicious as they were.

In Valle Elqui we found Chilean comfort food, slow cooked cheap cuts that are favoured by us as much as they are new on the radar here, at least in a broader sense. We had goat and rabbit all cooked in traditional simple methods to carry us straight back to another time, this feeling repeated on our first night in Santiago with Osso Bucco in white wine; delicious. As in Ecuador we have so far seen an abundance of embracing what the country knows and does well in favour of chasing an attempt at exotica for vanities sake. It seems so obvious doesn’t it, but how often it fails.

Another gem we have found is some of the most heavenly fish stews and soups to grace a bowl in front of us. Overflowing doesn’t begin to describe the manner in which the seafood bursts over the rustic traditional bowls that are lifted straight from the stove top and onto our table. In a busy fish market in Santiago city centre we absorb the flavours and scents to the backdrop of hurried bargaining, a salty fresh sea smell and chaotic energy. The food is to die for and the atmosphere is what we live for, it’s authentic, local, fresh and joyfully simple, exactly what anyone could possibly hope for eating at home or abroad. And just for nostalgias sake again in Santiago we’ve had the lamb chops, they come out on a plate with nothing else, just a big pile of meat. These little slabs of heaven don’t need a supporting act, they’re seasoned to a salty perfection embodying all that can be so wonderful about a nice piece of meat treated well.

Accompanying the improved parks, monuments, streetscapes and suave European atmosphere is also a bar scene that has leaped forward in sophistication. Swept aside are our memories of a city with beer and wine and little else, now there is a bursting array of options to sate any intoxicating vice. Of course we have a Pisco Sour with dinner in Santiago which is nothing short of heaven in a champagne flute but the real winner is the atmosphere, in simple words, Chile seems to just get it. We wander through a bar area after our first delicious dinner with a Pisco and a bottle of wine between us, not really needing another drink as much as we don’t need an excuse to have one. A random bar above a restaurant oozes all the atmosphere, design aesthetic and vintage class we could hope for. For a place this perfect for indulgence we expect to share it with a large crowd, but not here it seems. Another Pisco Sour even better than the first accompanies the best gin Martini I have ever had, yes who needs an excuse.

We swerve our way the few blocks it takes to get back to the hotel and fall into bed full in the belly and more importantly with souls equally crammed. Tasting another country, another culture is often a succinct window into the culture itself and in this regard Chile remains an impressive place to be. It could be us, it could be luck, it could be a lot of factors but what is unmistakable is that the taste Chile is serving up is among its greatest advertisements as a nation. With assets like the Atacama and Patagonia on the national identity list the cuisine of Chile is elbowing into some exclusive company. It may not be pushing in front just yet but to be rightly in the same sentence is more than outstanding. May the gluttony continue to be drowned in Pisco and seasoned to perfection.

December 23, 2014

While you were working – Pisco Elqui, La Serena, Chile

Rejoice all functioning alcoholics among us, today we indulge in Chiles own Pisco, the potent liquor distilled from wine that I’m fast developing an addiction to like an ex-pat to gin. With team Poland off jaunting in Bolivia for the moment we’ve sadly developed under-utilised livers, a condition that needs immediate correction. So it’s off to Valle Elqui today, home to the small town Pisco Elqui, the famed heartland of Pisco in Chile and indeed the world.

Hang on, do I hear objections from the peanut gallery?

Indeed I do, and we’re glad you asked. It seems that among long standing border tension, national distain and a few wars thrown in for giggles, Peru and Chile have long fought over the proud mantle of being the inventors of Pisco. Ignoring that we learnt this in Chile it seems that Pisco was a registered production in Chile five years before it was in Peru; conclusive I say. Peru can now add Pisco to the long list of factors in which it comes second to Chile, not that we’re biased at all.

And it doesn’t stop there, In the Atacama we were sipping on a Pisco Sour gazing at a salt flat sunset when I teasingly prodded to the guide, ‘who makes better Pisco, Chile or Peru’? Well let me tell you that Queenslanders have nothing, not a Bob Katter brain cell when it comes to vexatious distain for a neighbour. Apparently there is only one country that makes Pisco, and it’s not Peru, ouch. I knew I was poking a bear a little but the extent the bear would growl was a surprise; allow me to paint the picture. Chile is arguably Latin Americas most stable, secure and prosperous country with Peru safely nestled somewhere comfortably in the shallow end of the social pool. I can’t help myself as a New South Welshman; Queensland and Peru have more than just a few things in common. We’ve even noticed that the bus from Arica (beside the Peru border) went through enough security protocol to defuse the IRA but as we head south it’s business as usual, I reckon there’s something in that.

But back to the alcohol, Chiles favourite. We score a random bus and we’re off for the roughly two hour trip to the Elqui Valley. Entering the valley we begin to see grape vines, that familiar feeling of elegant rural romance a welcome assault. Pisco grapes are grown slightly differently here, trestled up quite high and forming a canopy unlike the rows of wine grapes; we keenly soak up every detail we can see. Past a dam the valley narrows, the mountains rise, the trees thin and the linear pitches of lush green vine plots take charge of the vistas before us like a green river winding through the valley. The landscape here is still very dry and desert like lending a stark contrast between the valley floors lush green and the imposing harsh mountains that rear up either side.

Pisco Elqui presents like a wine town for all money, every building and public space is peeled from the pages of Vogue Country Living magazine, charming rustic aesthetic captured throughout. Parking at a small local restaurant we soak up some shamefully alcohol free natural juices waiting for our Chilean comfort food. And the pickled rabbit and slow cooked goat is simple, morish and falling off the bone, a worthy substitute for a Pisco craving that would give Martina Hingis’ cocaine urgings a run for their money. Literally licking fingers clean we sign off from probably our best meal in Chile so far and the time for restraint is over, Pisco here we come.

We amble down the street to Mistral, a very flash distillery known for very premium Pisco, eager to get onto a tour and find out a little more about our newest vice. No English tour for another hour: not happy Jan. Fast forward now, we’ve scoped out hire bikes for later and Charlie has purged himself through a foul coffee so Pisco time it is finally. Through the hour long tour we get a great dose of history, production and technical information about Pisco. And yes, we have a tasting so we’re happy little campers. The tasting was straight Pisco which is a little like a gentle scotch, quite potent but not entirely full on, not bad at all really. Of course we finish with a Pisco sour, the most popular way to have Pisco and indeed the form we/ I am becoming obsessed with.

With heads full of information and bellies full of Pisco we venture off on our bikes for a jaunt up the valley. Welcome fresh air greets us along a hillside road overlooking the sweeping vistas of the agricultural valley. Again we’re struck by the contrast of lush crops that burst from a valley that seems too dry to support such intensity of colour. Elqui Valley is really a postcard at every turn. We make it to Los Nichos, a distillery known for producing Pisco the old fashioned way but we skip the tour and opt for a leisurely ride back to Pisco conscious that we have quite a journey back to La Serena.

Stopping at Vicuna, the main town in the valley we scoff down a huge meal at a restaurant on the fittingly picturesque Plaza. We’ve soaked up more than just Pisco in this day of indulgence, Elqui Valley is a place that is fulfilling just to be in, beautiful, simple and elegant. So much for La Serena being just a stop off on the way to Santiago, big tick from these happy little soaks.

December 22, 2014

What you’d rather be seeing – Northern Chile

Parque Nacional Lauca
Up here we see the most water we’ve seen, lake Chungará sits at the base of two volcanos, Parinacota the grandest at 6350m. This is just rude, just rude. A salty altiplano lake with crusty white and yellow trim supports flamingos, ducks and god knows how many other birds enclosed by a stellar mountain range that look like a drop in movie set, it’s just; rude.

Arica

Atacama Desert – Salt Plains
As we pull up the first thing that strikes us is the harshness of this place; the sun punishes everything not in shade which is everything and all about a scarred plain of crusty salted scree stretches as far as the eye can see. And it does stretch as far as the eye can see, the north-south dimension of the Salar de Atacama (salt plains) is more than 300km and apparently the curvature of the earth can be seen in the geological lines marking the mountains all around.

Atacama Desert – Geysers
All around there are holes in the ground bubbling and frothing with hot water pushing bursts of steam and boiling water into the air. Very close beneath us there’s volcanic activity with molten lava colliding with cold water, the extremes of the Atacama in plain view. Despite the scarred landscape and magnitude of natural power right before us this place doesn’t intimidate, it feels quite serene.

Atacama Desert – Valle de Luna
As we journey around this valley we can see nothing but two things; there’s rocks and there’s rocks which have been ground into sand. Where we’ve become quite accustomed to a meagre but ever present life all around, the barren starkness of this burnt jagged region offers simple beauty in singularity. And beauty it is, that much is indisputable. We’d had a preview of the lunar or Martian landscape before but this is the real show, no wonder cinema make scenes on Mars here. Scalding sun, violent geology, scarred red sand and massive sand dunes with perfect complexion transport and visitor to either the Moon or Mars, I can’t quite tell which one.

Atacama – Altiplano Lakes
And there are the lakes in all their glory. It seems a little too impossible to be true, on the plains the barest puddle clings to survival yet 2000m higher there’s large lakes of glorious blue; is the world upside down here? And they’re beautiful, the genuine vision of an oasis. The surrounding mountains are bereft of trees, only some have a neat consistent mat of hardy grass tufts painting entire slopes in a golden tone, art in bold shapes. The simplicity and smoothness of the mountain shapes combined with the magnitude gives every vista a feeling of minimalist art and architecture, grand abstract shapes with no clutter to mar the grander message.

There’s what we saw of the Atacama, do you have a favourite?

December 21, 2014

While you were working – La Serena, Chile

Of course the 16 hour overnight bus takes more than 17 hours, just for giggles. As if when finish time at 10am rolls around you’re not keen to get off so staying till eleven is just joyful. All fun aside we arrive in La Serena, a town that is to us little more than a stop off point on the way to Santiago and hopefully the remaining gear we need to get from home. Moving south we are starting to see a touch more plant life springing up as if the desert is slowly releasing its grip with the slowly diminishing support of an overhead sun.

We check in and fall like stones onto a nice soft bed. The tent and beds in San Pedro were quite comfortable but after a long bus ride this touch of comfort and welcome cooler temperature is a blessing we aren’t too proud to welcome. Arriving into more familiar comfort is a final extraction from the craziness of the Atacama; the heat, dust and scalding sun makes for a heady mix to expel familiarity. What is still a long way away from leaving us so easily is the simple uncomplicated amazement of what a place it is, a pinnacle of Earths unique and extreme environments. To absorb the experiences we’ve just had will no doubt take a while yet.

For now it’s errand time, off to do some shopping, find coffee, buy bus tickets south and take a look around town. La Serena is a bigger city than we’d expected boasting a notable number of grand colonial buildings, a pleasantly attractive town. With streets bustling in the rush to acquire christmas gifts we are the fish out of the pond here, extensive christmas shopping is as far from our minds as it is from our travellers budget. We wander in the midst of it though enjoying soaking up the atmosphere of good will, cheer and generosity. Chile is unwittingly delivering for us all that we could possibly hope for in experience and in a therapeutic sense. I’d never really thought much about travellers confidence consigning it to the realms of giving a name to something not worthy of such credit. For now though it’s coming back to us at a rapid rate and it feels more tangible than it has a right to, bravo Chile.

This travellers confidence is given another shot of Chilean panacea in the form of a card. After visiting the ATM for hopefully the last time on a blocked card we’re so excited to be close to Santiago and a full stock of equipment; our awaiting outdoor gear an emotional gateway for us to finally head south into the mountains. In all this excitement I do the unthinkable and leave my card behind in the ATM; the appropriate word starts with S and ends in HIT. Although we should by all rights have new cards before we need an ATM again this remains our only worldly way to get cash so it’s a comfort we’d rather not do without. Charging back from the bus terminal to the bank I’m greeted by warm giggles from the bank staff and a security guard. The security guard produces the card with a comforting smile and guides me over to a desk to show my ID and sign for the card. In just a minute or so we’re on our way with no hint of an opportunistic chance to rip us off. When you’re feeling a little like the good in people might be getting overrun by the bad it’s small uncomplicated acts like this that help your headspace back to right. Again, Bravo Chile

We even have a little bit of freight luck, our replacement cards have arrived in the hotel in Santiago and it appears we’ve just sorted our issue with customs holding up our clothing; ladies and gentlemen I believe we may have just turned a corner. Bathing in the warmth of welcoming smiles and tourist friendly Spanish we allow ourselves to be elevated by a town that displays the positives of human collectivity. We even have a good long conversation with a woman in Spanish without a single awkward stumble which is very exciting. La Serena is pretty, clean, friendly and with two for one Pisco Sours it’s enough to erase any memory of a long overnight bus. This little pocket of beauty is no stopover, more so a gateway out of the amazing but harsh desert into the embrace of beyond.

It’s worth saying again: Bravo Chile.

December 20, 2014

While you were working – Farewell Atacama, Chile

With heads still reeling from the past few days we have a quiet day at the hostel to relax, cook some food and mentally prepare for the hateful 16 hour bus ride to come tonight. With some time to comprehend it all we can begin to try putting some perspective on what we’ve seen in this place. We arrived in a bit of a hurry from Peru thankful to get our travels back on the road hoping to obliterate the relative boredom that was being holed up in Lima. Victory was declared on day one.

What followed from that initial victory was a long tumble down Alice’s rabbit hole into wonderland with no hopes of slowing the fall, but it shouldn’t have been a surprise. San Pedro is a well advertised location and we knew what was here but it seems that knowing is not being. I say being rather than seeing not to be faux spiritual but as a pragmatic statement, so many senses are smashed together, tossed about and chewed up. We can see a photo, we can’t honestly see the Atacama as we know it now.

The geological ingredients here were described as a perfect storm, Charlie is right in that respect. Any one highlight of this place is the type of phenomenon that people base entire holidays on; here they’re not only numerous, they overlap, contradict, clash and compliment. The perfect storm creates not just an amazing place, it mashes together natural wonders that feel like they should never go together; but go together they do, and what a spectacle it makes. Where else can you float on a salty lake which looks like a tropical reef that has been plonked in the middle of the worlds driest desert with one of the worlds greatest mountain ranges right before you? Crazy enough but consider that this insanity is just one of five genuine world class wonders you can easily visit in one day. You get the idea.

One interesting tid-bit of information we found interesting is that just a few years ago there was a huge earthquake in this part of the Andes. It apparently threw the Earths axis off by .08% and now the tropic of Capricorn is 6km further south. Locals say that after this event the Atacama is more humid, who knows what effect this will have on this areas delicate natural balance as the years roll on.

But this all doesn’t come for free. North of here in Peru we saw vast deserts that were nothing more than wasteland rubbish tips, literally pecked over by vultures in an unhumorously cliche scene of despair. Contrast that with our guide in Valle de la Luna who ruthlessly tore strips off some cheeky tourists drinking beer in the valley, a national park and the connection is a simple one to make. As the bus drives west into the blazing sun it is this contrast that grabs us right now. Not that the deserts in Peru necessarily have the outrageous collection of phenomena as the Atacama, no doubt they don’t, but could they be beautiful and majestic? You bet they could.

Depending on which side of the border you are here there’s human triumph or failure in drastic measure. To think of the scenes in Peru visited upon the Atacama is enough to make one weep but how easily it happens, and so often. Here is just an example of what happens all around our world; wasteland or wonderland is a yawning chasm separated only by the hairs breath of attitude.

December 19, 2014

While you were working – Valle De La Luna, San Pedro, Chile

After a blessed sleep in this morning we stumble out of our tent and amazingly we have sunny skies and a hot day, what a surprise. This morning it’s time to get metaphorically off the tourist bus and do little more than simply hang about in San Pedro. While indulging in organised tours in San Pedro we retain our traveller integrity, a blessed lack of contradiction for us. While most tours come with an air conditioned detachment which often undermines the very reason to do what you are doing, San Pedro is a fairly warts and all experience. In a place like the Atacama it would not only be a travesty but near on impossible to shelter from these elements; although I’m sure there are those who try.

With a few days at altitude now we’re feeling a lot more energetic, the town of San Pedro losing a little of it’s harsh edge but not that sun, that never goes away. The town here sets a lot of the scene for the traveller experience; it’s tourist friendly but with enough dust, chipped edges and simple life to retain plenty of charm. I guess the extremes of the Atacama attract the more adventurous souls, not a single tour has been tainted by a culturally disrespectful companion. Yes San Pedro is touristy but not at the expense of the entire reason you come here: to experience one of our planets harshest and most captivating environments.

We have this small break to mentally place some of the things we’ve seen and experienced but the fun is not over, we’re off to Valley de la Luna today, the moon valley. This will be the final stop on our tour whirlwind and who knows what it will throw up at us, the Atacama remains the ever playful tormentor with us the wilful toys.

So quick geology lesson. The Cordillera de la Sal (Salt Mountains) is the mountain range west of the salt plains which is the more ancient range here. To the east is the baby of the family the Andes; and the lowlands were all under the ocean at some point. So when the ocean decided some millions of years ago to be about 2500m lower than here, as you do, the Cordillera de la Sal acted as the worlds biggest dam, trapping an inland sea. Throw in a geological blink of time, a few million years, the water dries up and voila, we see the wonders we have today. We’ve been in the Andes and on the plains so now into Valle de la Luna we go into Cordillera de la Sal.

The initial entry to the park shows up one plainly obvious difference between the Andes and Cordillera de la Sal, there’s not a whole lot alive here. Where the Andes throws down snowmelt providing life giving water, these mountains don’t seem to have that crucial element. Much of this area has an ever present struggle for life in an environment that allows little opportunity for growth but no such balance appears here, death won long ago it seems.

As we journey around this valley we can see nothing but two things; there’s rocks and there’s rocks which have been ground into sand. Where we’ve become quite accustomed to a meagre but ever present life all around, the barren starkness of this burnt jagged region offers simple beauty in singularity. And beauty it is, that much is indisputable. We’d had a preview of the lunar or Martian landscape before but this is the real show, no wonder cinema make scenes on Mars here. Scalding sun, violent geology, scarred red sand and massive sand dunes with perfect complexion transport and visitor to either the Moon or Mars, I can’t quite tell which one.

Again this is an exercise in being somewhere that seems unlike it belongs on our planet as we know it. This really is natures convention hall and the exhibitors are out in full force, a virtual reality journey into a reality that’s in no way virtual. At one stage we allow the group to go on ahead to admire the isolation in this place surrounded by ever dissolving mountains of salty crust seemingly too frail to stand.

We venture slightly off the paths to catch a high-ground view, not sure how far we are really allowed to go. Before we know it, an eager German guy goes bounding up the hill and that’s all our conscientious restraint needs, we’re off like kids in a playground to get to the top. Crunching up the salty sand like meringue crust we reach a peak to be greeted by a never ending vista of red salty peaks resisting the all consuming cannibalistic sand, the dissolving desert swallowing itself. At some points the red rock is rounded in decay, at others it stands defiantly jagged striving for the surface, a vision of an ocean blinked away in an instant.

This valley retains all the ridiculous extremes that this region possesses but this time without the conflicting juxtaposition that exists elsewhere, life. Out here battling forces ceased combat millions of years ago, weapons were sheathed and the defeated sank back to the plains. The victor now sits his decaying throne; dry forbidding heat has won the day and rules with an iron fist. Yes we are intruders just grateful to see a place too beautiful for us not to come; even if we don’t belong.

What a place. We’re back in the bus excitedly chatting with other travellers, Hendrick and Sebastian are our new German mates and we recount the wonders we’ve all just witnessed. Is the day done? Of course not, we’re in the Atacama and there’s always another trick. Back in the bus we scale up to the crest of the headland on the eastern side of the valley for more views to expand the imagination and of course the sunset.

Atop our cliff we stare down at a birds eye view of what we saw before, this perspective filling in the gaps even more comprehensively than before. Below us is a former lagoon, flanked by the headland we are on scooping around in an arc and dammed by ridges of spiky salt ridges running in lines like ribs of a slain beast. Little imagination is necessary, below us I see the lagoon teeming with flamingos, steepling ridges rising from the salt crusted shores and the winding tributaries beyond. But not now, a lone scar meanders to the crack in the ridge where the dam burst, a final flourish of the artists brush in the death throes of life’s lost battle.

With beer in hand the sun sets on another day of reinforcing the singularity of this domain, burning sun on Mars or the Moon going to sleep we still can’t tell. We take for granted that nature always balances, always finds a medium. As we look on to the burnt blaze of the sun we witness a final lament for the living. It’s beautiful and enticingly easy to appreciate. It seems that in nature there’s not always a true balance, sometimes one battling factor vanquishes all others. This area retains beauty on the basis of its rarity; a place this forbidding can only be appreciated through the lens of comfortability that death’s victory is confined to the convention centre, not your lounge room.