Charlie and Steve's Excellent Adventure

December 18, 2014

While you were working – A journey to somewhere, San Pedro de Atacama, Chile

I hate alarms I really do, especially when they’re at 4am. Dispelling fleeting annoyance we both focus more on the reason for the early start, we’re off to see the geysers, the highest and one of the biggest in the world. As if that wasn’t enough we have a dip into a thermal spring straight afterwards, something that we’ve had on our radar a few times this holiday but it’s never quite eventuated. In no time at all we’re in the bus doing the rounds of town picking up all the other adventurers and we’re off for our one and a half hour bus ride and hopefully a much needed little nap.

Napping in this scenery is a little tricky. We’ll end up at 4200m at El Tatio, the site of the geysers and as always elevation seems to be defined by crazy scenery. Our eyes are ever conflicted: captivated or heavy, we can’t decide.

Dawn threatens but the sun remains hidden as a scarred pan of barren bleached land emerges. Everywhere in this desolate space funnels of steam arise from nowhere to cast the vista into an eerie mist, we’re here. It occurs to me that I’ve never actually seen geysers up close; never swum in an open air natural hot spring either so it looks like we’ll be ticking few ‘first ever’ boxes today. The first thing that strikes me is the size of the space here, the geysers take up pretty much the entirety of a small valley, a welcome relief against the convoy of busses we made the journey with. Even though there’s heaps of people here a huge number hover around a single large geyser like penguins huddling against the cold, who knows why but they do. Thankfully for us that means that we can venture off feeling relatively unbothered by the hordes we’d feared.

And venture off we do, the landscape here is otherworldly. 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. In a surprisingly warm zero degrees temperature at dawn, the warmth of the steam is a comfort against what should otherwise be a bleak scene. Indeed it is a bleak scene but it’s strangely welcoming, a puzzling flip-side to yesterdays harshness.

We wander around taking photos and simply take in this place. Surrounded in an amphitheatre of mountains this is another small cup of parallel nature that this area seems to dish up with consummate ease. This is indeed the natural world, but not as we know it.

Next stop, hot baths. The temperature has crept up to low single digits now, so we strip off and take the plunge into the warmth and potent smell of minerals. With the hot water only trickling in from one end most people are huddled up to the heat, this time we decide to join the penguins to experience the full super heated effect. We perform the polite shuffle as best we can trying to jostle as close to the hot stream as possible while avoiding the faux pas of a suggestive awkward underwater touch. We manage the shuffle better than some it has to be said, lets just say we’re happy to give up the ground. Having secured a fairly good spot we get good doses of the heat which comes in unexpected waves, everyone around seems to randomly leap up and screech when hit by a super heated gust of water. This comical dance is emphasised by the motley crew of people here, it’s an inter generational multicultural cast gleefully being scolded by mother nature in a scene that can only be called bizarre.

Time to get out and the cold outside that we were comfortable in before becomes far more stark. In the mad scramble to dry off it becomes clear that cold is far more flattering for girls than it is for boys; enough said on that matter.

On the journey back we stop to take in a few spots of wildlife and stop at a small town with a population of ten, seriously just ten. But they do make a wicked llama meat skewer and goat cheese empanada which we simply have to try to help support the local economy, conscientious tourists as we are.

Again battling the desire for a sleep with the eye popping scenery we sit in the bus taking in the place we have just seen. The small valley of geysers screams of everything that forbids life, a heady concoction of volcanic forces, pungent minerals, scarred earth and lifeless soil. On the other hand in this harshest of places life overcomes and thrives, small patches of mossy marsh and pure alpine streams make a mockery of the scenes of desolation that share the same canvas. The opposing messages we get from this region is jarring and strange to say the least, the Atacama seems to enjoy being everything that we know our planet not to be.

As they say in the infomercials: but wait, there’s more. It’s just after midday and this afternoon we’re off to see Laguna Cegar, a small lagoon plonked randomly it seems in the middle of the desert. For now though it’s time to rest, take in a bit of the town and continue the ever present process of getting our heads around the disorienting nature of the Atacama.

This day just keeps on going, and giving. We’re off to Laguna Cegar a salty lagoon where the salt density is 68% greater than the regular ocean so we should be able to float like in the dead sea, something else we’ve never done before. We take the bus along the salt flat getting possibly our best views into the distant forever that we’ve had this trip, it’s flat and endless which is bizarre being in the worlds longest mountain range. The lagoons are pretty close to San Pedro so in no time we’re there. We simply can’t wait so we basically run from the bus across the salty crust to the lakes, amazed that they’re even here. Charlie detours to take a few photos but I can’t wait, I strip off like a honeymooner desperate to test the buoyancy, I find it hard to fathom the difference it could make.

I walk across what looks like a small coral reef to the awaiting lagoon, but it’s not white coral it’s moulded salt dropping off into an aquatic abyss, a tropical reef for all money. We are in the tropics I guess, with the harsh sun beating down on me I stand at the edge of the ‘reef’ to gaze about at the mountains that surround me and the makeshift sea of salt I have before me. We love scuba diving and we love mountains, I just never thought I’d have those two scenes colliding in one location, for obvious reason. Imagining the marine wonders that await below I take the plunge, half anticipating to turn around and signal to the dive boat that I’m ok.

Holy crap the stories are true, this is insane. My fantasised marine wonderland will remain a fantasy as the unbelievably warm water spits me out to sit on the top with invisible forces that seem too strong to be true. This is like being in the ocean with a big wetsuit, but even more. I can lay on the surface on my belly with my head at no risk of getting wet, barely even needing to crane my neck back at all. Who needs a pool lounge when we have this; I sit atop a pure lake in the middle of a picturesque desert absorbing breathtaking scenery being held aloft by the water itself. Now this is a holiday. As Charlie returns I wait with anticipation for the inevitable amazement, it’s so good to share moments like this. We’re both grinning ear to ear in a rare instance of needing to just observe and be in this moment, so full, so complete it seems all we could possibly need in life and we can’t drink it up fast enough.

It seems now that there’s so much salt in these lakes it’s a wonder its a liquid at all. our entire bodies are crusted with a dry white sheen and any fabric, shoelace or bag strap that touched the water nearly instantly attains a thick coating like icing on a tuck-shop cupcake. We shower off in outdoor showers gazing over the grace of the slat flats allowing the pure cool water rinse us clean. Warning: pretty close to having a spiritual moment so at the risk of being sickly romantic, let’s move on.

Next stop, two eyes. Two eyes are two nearly identical lagoons again just plonked in the desert like a random prank. The difference here is that they have no preceding shore, no gradual dip in the land, they’re 2-3m deep carved away sinkholes cut from the jagged dustiness of the desert. The water here is only mildly salty and much cooler. And yes it’s obligatory, we simply must make a big running jump from the mini cliffs that drop steeply down to the refreshing desert water. This swim evokes much of the same emotion of the salt lakes in the craziness of where we are, it’s difficult to believe its real and more so that we’re actually here having a leisurely cool swim, it’s crazy.

Crazy is not crazy enough it seems, today is not done by any stretch, nearby is a salt flat of course which we are off to just to keep the broken record turning, we’ve never seen this before either. We cross the vastness again still amazed at the stretch of flat nothingness that lays out before us before we arrive at next stop, Antarctica. This day, this place is all getting a little bit rude, the salt flats are lapped by gleaming turquoise water to look like a frozen wonderland if ever there as one. Except for the dusty red clay crust that runs on forever, that’s a bit of a giveaways that we’re not in Antarctica but in isolation it’s snow all the way. Not allowed to go on the ‘snow’ we have to keep looking on in amazement to get the vision of arctic grace we see before us and place it in this desert, at the foot of the Andes.

This all seems a little weird to be true, and indeed it is. But no Iowaska or mushrooms were harmed in the making of this day, it’s all unnervingly real and right before us; I promise. We wander the edges of the salt flat taking photos and do our best to put this place into some kind of mental normality we’re yet to achieve. The sun is dipping casting long shadows across the salt signalling an imminent close to the junkie like endorphin bender we’ve just been on. We know very well that nature can be amazing and inspiring yet this level of disorienting misplacement of sensation is a trick we’ve never had played with such drama.

So lets recap where we’ve been today. Volcanic geysers, thermal mineral baths, salty tropical reefs, holes in the earth, Arctic looking salt flats and a desert sunset. In this one day there’s a long list of things we’ve never seen that people often shape a whole holiday around, but not in the Atacama, it’s a one day event in natures showroom.

We stand to gaze over the desert and what better way to do it than sipping a Pisco Sour, the guide plays a final trick to complete the scene. In a moment of romance we are gently lowered from the highs of the day back to something closer to our normal state of mind. The desert drifts to sleep and the skies catch fire while we stare on in a lazy embrace sinking into each other as the sun into the mountains so far away. This is indeed what we take holidays for, this transportation from the unfathomable and back again, the bubble of our entrapped understanding of this world is pushed out a little further today.

And what a day it has been, it feels like we’ve witnessed visions of heaven and hell in one day. Nature has laid out for us a few options of what sits on its extremes, nothing in the middle; it seems she doesn’t like to be boring around here. In the Atacama it’s not four seasons in one day, it’s four planets in one hour, nothing here seems to belong on earth as we know it. We thought we were going around the world but in the Atacama we’re going far beyond that. Call it spiritual names like heaven and hell or call it something cosmic; just don’t call it Earth.

December 17, 2014

While you were working – Flamingos, Salt and Lakes, San Pedro de Atacama, Chile

The first day to get out and about around San Pedro is upon us and we’re a little bit excited to say the least. We’re up at 7am for the bus to take us up to 4500m and the Altiplano lakes a little over 100km south-east of San Pedro. The anticipation is heavy in the air, this is one of the things we’ve been looking forward to for a long time and now the day is upon us, we’re like kids before Christmas only a bit more tired. There’s always a bit of trepidation in looking forward to something on a holiday, it so often fails to live up to expectations while spontaneous events so often stand out as favoured memories when the plane touches down at home. Thankfully we don’t really know a lot about what we’re doing today apart from going to see some nice lakes, open eyes means little expectations so an adventure is what we have.

Surprise number one, we are stopping by some salt flats which wasn’t in the brochure. It’s something I’ve never seen before so lets tick that box shall we. 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. The plain we are standing on was once under water of course and excepting small undulations the salty deposits are a perfect level surface, a horizon seems a little hard to get your eye on. It seems like the nearest humanity is further away than we could walk creating a sense of isolation that is unavoidable.

A short walk from the entry point we see some shallow water struggling to maintain enough body to call itself a lake. I guess this is all vast bodies of water could hope to be in a place like this, in relative terms it’s an ocean. Highlighting this rare space is a neat trim all around the waters edge of blazing white crust as the rich salt freshly dried punctuating the winding shoreline. The scene here is a complexly interwoven mesh of beauty and oppressiveness with both contrasting elements coexisting in an easy manner that belies their division. The plains here can just as easily kill you as enthral you, conflicting characteristics that are nothing dull or meek, everything here is at full volume.

Just when the balance between fright and wonder seems poised you can throw in flamingos, a perfect animal to convey grace, beauty and elegance. Does it really belong here? It seems it does, flamingos dine on the brine shrimp here along with the rich minerals and algae in the water giving these otherwise white birds their familiar pinkish red tone. And the Chilean flamingo seems to be the one that lends flamenco dancing its name, we see just one elegantly bouncing its pencil thin legs to stir the lake bottom to feed. The imagination doesn’t need to go far as the elegant bird shimmies and shakes its way around in a tight circle, it really is more dancing than feeding. With only 1000 Chilean flamingos in the plains this sight is a bit of a treat, the Andean flamingo is the far more common sighting around here.

And we’re off to the altiplano lakes, the diversion of the salt lakes is a wonder on its own but it seems the day is not done. Passing through a small town we begin to climb through the ever changing landscape, a surprise around every corner. We’d heard that when Hollywood wants to shoot a scene set on Mars they do it here and on the incline to the lakes we pass one of these regions. Burnt dusty red earth devoid of anything but dirt and liberally strewn rocks, rolls and steeples in aggressive formations. Just a few kilometres away the Atacama reveals a completely different flavour of harshness, salt plains or lunar-scape, seems like a game of choose how you want to die.

And the ever present companion here is the sun still beating down, a victorious boxer that will never tire raining down punishment on we the beaten.

Cresting a small hill we’re thankful for the respite of the bus, the metaphorical bell between rounds. 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.

With two similar lakes beside one another we take a walk around and in between uncertain if we should look at the golden hills, the dark volcanic shapes or the glowing blue lakes, all at once seems to be just too much. The beating sun can just do its worst, there’s no way we’re taking this in from a bus. And to throw in a bit of a bonus there’s a few Vicuńas for good measure, the wild smaller versions of the domesticated Llamas. They wander the white shore of the lake with not a care in the world for our ogling presence; like the flamingos they’re an added touch to an already unreal scene. We could stay here for a lot longer but the bus is going and the boxer is winning, we must farewell and go back to San Pedro.

It’s barely 4pm and our day is already done, we’ve boxed one too many rounds and we didn’t fare as well as the promotional signs had suggested, we’re spent. But we’d do it all again. Visiting the Atacama is a date with death, it’s all around and it stares you in the face challenging you to be the life within it returning the gaze. But great rewards await those who do indeed stare and challenge the desert right back; the Atacama offers scenes of death but all our eyes can see is wonder. Out here there is no victory for us so we relish the bell, another round of staring back at all that is delivered.

December 16, 2014

While you were working – San Pedro De Atacama, Chile

I feel a need to express how much I love overnight busses. Although this one was probably one of the most flash buses we’ve been on there’s no escaping how painful the journey is, eleven hours of wanting to be elsewhere. This trip also had an added feature to make the journey all the more memorable, a small matter of a security checkpoint. While a security checkpoint isn’t a big deal it does puzzle us as to why it has to be at around 3am and why we have to take our bags off the bus ourselves and run them through a scanner. We’re completely confused, it seems like an arbitrary stop but Chile is generally very safe so I guess that comes at a cost, particularly close to the Peru and Bolivian borders.

As day breaks just that little bit too early we sit through the daze of a few hours before we arrive able to marvel at the scenery. The expanses are barren, vast and dramatic; with the Andes forming the backdrop to this region it’s a combination seemingly purpose built for vistas. Blue skies and dry desert heat greet us as we step out of the bus into 2500m altitude lacking the usual cool that should accompany this elevation. The tropic of Capricorn is marked locally by a nearby mountain peak and just a few days short of the summer solstice the sting of the sun is immediate and unforgiving. I think immediately of sunscreen.

San Pedro reveals itself to be larger than we expected but still a small town by anyones measure, just a handful of streets provide order to the vast majority of the inhabitants. Navigating the tight streets flanked by tall adobe walls we delve into this well known tourist hotspot looking for anything to give us directions or WIFI, the Plaza Da Armas will do just nicely. Through the main street it seems that the tourist reputation isn’t undersold, we’ve seen nearly nothing other than tour operators, cafes, restaurants and hostels, I wonder how many people actually live here. It’s dusty, dry and all together charming, the street scenes look like rustic cinema sets evoking tranquility just waiting for the juxtaposing gunfight or someone to be thrown out of old fashioned saloon doors. This place promises to be interesting if nothing else and we can’t help but notice, it’s comfortingly clean.

With just enough time to down a coffee around the surprisingly picturesque plaza we stagger through town in our tired state to find our hostel. With garden beds in the plaza flooded with water and small aquaducts busily rushing about town the desert harshness is very present but far from overwhelming. We’re staying in a tent at this place as San Pedro has the tourist price tag to go along with its many attractions, and with the clearest skies in the world we are quietly looking forward to a bit of camping. But the tent isn’t quite ready yet so we relax for a bit before heading back into town.

Again we are struck by the quaint aesthetics of this place, an oasis in the harshest of places that manages to deliver an inviting feel in a manner that few others possibly could. The heat is a shock to us cold weather folk but it’s all together not unbearable with the sun punishing all in its sights with the shade temperature not so bad, it’s like a hot day at the beach. We are also getting better at this coffee thing, we make our way into Marley Bar which is a bit of a hipster meets rasta mashup. Although the coffee isn’t great by any means it’s at least proper espresso and it goes into the ‘sugar makes it better’ basket that we’re getting used to, so overall it’s a booming success.

With coffee and food under our belts we head on back to the hostel to get into the tent and start some investigating on trips around here, the large images outside tour operators doing the trick in getting us excited. Most of the activities are a short while out of town so San Pedro is more of a base than the attraction itself so we find ourselves in a kind of weird semi-hipster traveller hostel multicultural eclecticism. There’s a few things we’ve had recommended by other travellers so we book in four tours for our stay here: Geysers and hot springs, Altiplano lakes, Valley of the moon and Cajar lakes. We have high hopes here as the desert bug continues to bite and San Pedro seems on the surface to be the perfect place to see it all from.

Through a hefty post overnight bus haze we settle into our canvas mansion sporting a few small holes; we figure that in the driest place on earth we’re probably safe. And the verdict; the tent is actually great, spacious and comfy with Charlie able to stand up. I drift off to sleep considering why this most unlikely of places seems quite inviting. It occurs to me that we’re surrounded by sand, the sun is beating down, there’s water all around with a healthy smattering of hipsters and tourists: we’re in North Bondi. It’s a marketing tagline from some surfing brand I think but in San Pedro it’s quite easy to live that old fashioned dream: life is indeed a beach.

December 15, 2014

While you were working – Parque Lauca, Arica, Chile

The desert is calling us, words I never really thought I’d say let alone type to be immortalised to the world, but call it does. With scant time to spare we are desperate to launch ourselves however possible into the desert and indeed an environment we’ve been eyeing off like a good looking chap at a school dance, keen to make an introduction but trapped on the other side of the room. We’re at altitude zero and these little alpine ducks need to get on a bus to feel quite at home so it’s onto a local tour we go. There’s not much adventure on this trip, more of a sight seeing journey but it’s all we have on offer and it should more than suffice. Arrival of the bus confirms our suspicions with a gaggle of old Chilean ladies aboard we’re at little risk of breaking a sweat today.

Stuck at the back of the bus with a Polish couple, yes there is a trend developing here, we are quickly identified as the non-locals of the day, good fun for all involved it seems. The first to break the divide is a tiny little pocket of a woman who charges up to the back of the bus and starts going crazy in Spanish. She’s offering us Coca leaves which help with altitude and also act as a mild narcotic. While she chews away like a hero on a western movie on tobacco I begin to wonder about the term ‘mild’ in the description of the narcotic effect in play here, she’s going troppo. The Polish refuse politely but we’re game, we take a couple of leaves each and begin to chew as she howls back down the bus in gleeful celebration of a triumph we can’t determine. Note to the world: coca leaves aren’t a gastronomic highlight. Wow they’re bitter and potent but chew we do, happy for anything that embeds this first real desert experience into our minds.

Oh and by the way mums, we believe one or both of us might possibly have agreed to marry a small Chilean woman, news to follow on that one. We can only hope that coca induced proposals on a cramped tour bus aren’t legally binding in Chile.

As we climb the heights the view is puzzling in some respects. There’s no doubt it’s captivating, evocative and powerful but for me this familiar mix of emotions comes with the juxtaposition of being delivered by a vista that opposes the usual origins of this mix of sensory invasion. Feeling this response comes to me from big mountains, cliffs, jungle and all things green or snowy white; here is everything opposite. It takes a short while to see past the messenger and take the message on its own; it is only then that I start to ratchet up the joy at being in a place like this. The picture comes into place and the messenger takes form as we climb a little higher, the passive slopes of dunes gives way to the more aggressive scape of true mountains with sharp gorges carved out of the desert landscape in all of natures dramatic fashion. At the risk of sounding super camp I feel a little like Judy Garland: There’s no place like home.

The trip carries on and the higher we get the more at home we feel, the final ticking of boxes comes with the presentation of a volcano, a big conical snow capped beauty. Indeed there’s a bunch of them up here, it’s becoming more and more obvious why this drive into the mountains is so highly rated, it’s awe inspiring. Completing this picture of contrast is that there’s a fair bit of water about. Don’t get me wrong here, it’s a desert for all money, dry as death itself but it seems that maybe just underground there’s plenty, we see water seeping out of rocks, small marshes, streams and even waterfalls all seemingly laughing in the face of the desert about it. This is really strange and an intriguing element to the landscape here. The Atacama desert is the driest place on earth in terms of rainfall but not in terms of water itself it seems.

At the peak of our climb up the mountains towards the Bolivian border we’ve reached a hefty 4500m and breathing isn’t the easiest thing ever. Except for our new fiancee, she’s still high as a kite but no news on the nuptials just yet. Strangely enough right up here we see the most water we’ve seen, lake Chungará sitting 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.

There should be better words for when childlike wonder slaps an adult in the face and reduces you to a gaping fairground clown. Charlie is also a kid in a candy store with his new camera going nuts at anything that moves, and I mean anything; lets just say that we have enough pictures of flamingos to choke a pelican. Jokes aside this is a place to engender imagination with so much to see that seems like it’s too bizarre to exist and it’s all right before your eyes.

Yes indeed the desert is delivering in all manners that the more lush mountains do. Replacing the gently imposing power of mountain ranges as we know them is the more openly aggressive harshness of the desert; a similarly powerful message delivered with an iron clad fist. Now there’s a new environment rapidly pushing into the crammed space of places we chase, mountains, diving, volcanos, vineyards and glaciers now have new company in our itinerary. And in such an extreme place as this people do thrive, the small town of Putre, site of our lunch, stands defiant to the desert and all the extremes it musters.

In societies like mine, we live in a comfortable middle ground of comfort, we shy away from environments of extremity. With so much of our lives spent creating buffer from the sharper edges of nature it’s no wonder that the harsher places engender such reaction. Do we romantically see ourselves thriving in such places, a comment on our lofty self assigned and conveniently unchallenged sense of power? Or are we truly appreciative and humble in the face of what is clearly more powerful than we are? I wonder now if that’s a line of questioning I’m even able to honestly ask myself.

December 14, 2014

While you were working – Farewell Peru

We’re finally heading out of Peru, this day cannot have come soon enough. We have thankfully been able to stay sane and not get a divorce during the most painful travel week ever and now metaphorically it’s time to finally flush this toilet. The stubborn unnaturally buoyant turd that is Peru has been preventing this holiday from moving on but now we wash our hands blissfully to the heavenly sound of the cistern refiling. Of course we’re being glib here, we’ve had one bad incident among a lifetime of good ones so it’s completely unfair to paint a whole country on the basis of this. On the other hand we use our small tourist insights to speak praisingly of countries so I guess honesty cuts both ways; Peru has been anything but kind to us.

So lets sum up the things we remember from Peru. Horrible dirty wasteland, good food, condoms in the water, dead dolphins and birds on the sand (delightful), being robbed, going insane in Lima, Peruvian post not working and now we’re done. One lasting memory that will last is the rubbish, how Peru needs a ‘clean up Australia day’ initiative. We hear a lot of great things about other parts of Peru but I guess that might have to be another time, for now it’s lessons learned and a harsh smack in the bum. Rant over I guess that’s part and parcel of travel if you choose not to hang with the luxury resort set. Even after recent dramas we’ll take our chances thank you.

The mild nerves in the taxi to the airport are pleasingly minute, the feeling of giddy excitement is infectious. Baggage checked, security cleared, snacks bought and we are under way ladies and gentlemen, I feel like singing a Freddie Mercury song really loud. The flight gives us a great view at the landscape of Peru while we skirt the coast toward Chile, it can only be gawked at, the desert is punitive in its harshness. The dusty brown colour stares back at us like the canvas of an over eager artist that only has one colour to work with. It sinks in to us now that we’ve seen very little other than this in our entire time in this country, nothing but this brown with scant dapples of much else to combat a colour now synonymous with defeat.

Off the plane we’re into Tacna just 50km from the border so not quite out of Peru just yet but we might as well be, our heads are already tasting Chilean pisco. It seems that there’s a long running debate between Chile and Peru about who invented Pisco and we’re easy sales for an excuse to try another pisco sour, or more. We do score a deal with an Austrian couple to split the expensive fare on a posh direct taxi over the border to Arica, money well spent anyway but even better spent when it’s half price. With the obligatory pfaffing around we’re through the border and I go through the process of checking with Charlie before I get excited. And yes, we are in Chile. We’re now less excited about leaving Peru and more excited about being in Chile, recent dramas are feeling more and more distant by the second. In a series of progressive steps away from the dramas this one feels the most significant in its possibility to carry the mantle as the last.

We arrive to a sun thats not so much setting but settling over our beloved Pacific Ocean and excitement akin to the first day of a holiday. The beach calls us as a beach so rarely does, the fresh salty air a heady contrast to the rearing desert dunes that backdrop this town. But not before cash out and $24 in bank fees, ouch, we are in Chile after all and we’d somewhat forgotten how much more expensive Chile is. But who cares really, this side of the border is notably cleaner and we can finally begin to get a better appreciation of what sort of beauty a desert can carry. We’re really just at the first town and far away from the grand expanses that give this desert its fame but the slimmest hints are there to warm our hearts like the first waft of Daphnes in spring.

We may not have had a bottle of bubbles in Lima but that won’t stop us feeling like we are siping a fine vintage now. We’re in a new country on the trip of a lifetime full inspiration for all that lays before us like it’s our very first day. The world is an oyster once more.

December 13, 2014

While you were working – Lima, The pretty bits

With the day into Lima centre resounding as a more impacting window into the city and possibly the country than expected we wind up our final painful days in Lima sticking to what can only be called the pretty bits of the city. While any city in the world has areas with more appeal than others, rarely is the contrast as stark as in Lima, where the divide between have and have-not isn’t a gradual scale, it’s a cliff. On our trip into the town centre we chatted to a local guy on the bus who helped flesh out the picture on regional Lima. In his words central Lima is rapidly being overtaken by other areas with little other than government administration remaining in the flagging centre of the city. Earlier in the week we went to buy new camera gear in San Isidro, shortly north of Miraflores which seems to be the main business district in Lima. Comparing the elaborate gardens, shiny tall buildings and abundance of cafes of San Isidro we can’t help feel that Limas historical heart is suffering a slow decline into disrepair.

For now we’re taking in the seaside suburb of Barranco which adjoins Miraflores, just a short walk along the foreshore. The city here sits atop ragged cliffs that meet very close to the shore with barely a road and a thin strip of beach separating the cliff base to the Pacific Ocean. These cliffs are made up from the typical sandy scree that dominates coastal Peru, seemingly far too unstable to support the buildings that sit atop them. But support them they do, with posh apartment blocks and even a mall carved into the cliffs along this strip of coast Lima seems to sit above the ocean, not quite meeting it, a separation that seems a little odd for an Australian. Along the walk we are surrounded by yet more lawns, gardens and promenades; there’s no mistaking it, we are definitely in the pretty parts of Lima.

And just because we’re not in Miraflores it doesn’t mean we can’t indulge in a good bit of coffee hunting. The modern hunter gatherer instinct is in full flight as we sniff the air and observe the wind; otherwise known as consult the iPad. Success. Coffee down we take the day enjoying being able to take the day as we please. On the way here we had been approached randomly by a German traveller reduced to begging on the street having just been robbed of everything from a taxi, sounds familiar. This guy was the definition of ragged, yet another victim to the long list of involuntary donors to the Peruvian economy. My heart goes out to this guy, he was us just a few days ago but sadly I have nothing to give. It’s a sombre moment, I can’t help feeling as though tourists are just fruit on the tree to desperate Peruvians, just bad luck if you happen to be on a low hanging branch, as we were.

The adventurer in me can’t help feel that we’re still well and truly in the bubble and not seeing Peru at all; the traveller who has just been robbed of everything is happy for the security and comfort. It’s a conflict that we’ve never really felt before having the good fortune to have travelled safely on many other occasions. For this very reason we are acutely keen to get out of Peru, hopefully the last big step in finally moving on. We’ve been waiting in Lima for a credit card to arrive but as we have now learnt the Peruvian post, being a government organisation, is slack beyond belief so we will not wait any longer. Finally making the decision to move on from Lima and Peru is a notable weight off our shoulders, a relief that we’re finally getting onto this trip again.

As we wind up our time in Lima I find it hard to really say what I think of this city, we’ve definitely been in the bubble. On the other hand, a fair bit of Lima is the bubble, many areas have been metaphorically thrown to the dogs creating clear divides between areas particularly in terms of security. Lima makes me think of a political election map with regions denoted by colour according to the political parties they support. Here though the colours represent areas worthy or not worthy of security and investment rather than political alignments: or do they?

December 11, 2014

While you were working – A day on the town, Lima

The time has come to view the mountain of administrative crap we need to do and realise that most of it is behind us rather than in front. Admittedly Charlie has been in spreadsheet organisational mode and I’ve, for the most part, just been looking pretty: and doing a great job of it might I say. None the less, with great teamwork ‘we’ have dealt with much of the pain we’ve had thrown at us so we now have some emotional headspace to get back into travelling. For this past week we’ve been doing nothing but having coffee, shopping and going out for lunch and it’s only just now that I realise that this is some peoples view of a perfect holiday. They can have it. This past week has been little more than an exercise in tedious entrapment. Although its only a day to get out and about its symbolic weight is immense, we are finally letting go of this recent turmoil, it no longer needs to own us.

Staying in Miraflores is perfect for us right now but it’s undoubtedly a bubble, a heavily policed sanctuary to those who can afford it. The true pulse of a city is so often in its historical centre, so it’s onto the 301 blue bus and off we go. In a cramped bus squashed for room the release in tension for being able do some good old fashioned sight seeing is giddily exciting. We do overshoot our bus stop so we end up on the wrong side of the river, metaphorically and literally, we’re not in Kansas anymore Toto.

If I were to take the desperation and despair of the sad deserts of northern Peru and impart that to a city scape; I present to you, Lima north of the river. There’s not a complete building to be found with rubbish simply everywhere set to the backdrop of that colour that is becoming synonymous with Peru’s desert coastal regions at least, dirty dusty brown. It’s possibly our headspace after the recent dramas but there’s no feeling welcome here and unwilling to even get the camera out, we make our way to the bridge. Are we becoming one of those tourists? With so much of natural beauty and wonder in Peru it does amaze me that this nation can do dog-shit ugly with the best of them, there’s nothing redeeming about this scene, not even an elaborate wordplay into gritty cultural underbelly seems possible. Its just simply dire.

And as we cross the bridge the true realisation hits us. To the north of the river, little more than an industrial stormwater, lies the post apocalyptic wasteland we have just left behind to those with fewer options. Casting our eyes a few degrees south reveals climbing church steeples, palm trees and a sea of formidable historical architecture. The contrast is as striking as it is offensive. It’s in this snapshot that a sad element to Peru that has been hinted at all along is laid out before us clearly, Peru is a bit of a mess. From Visa international blocking our cards because ‘there’s heaps of fraud in Peru’ to our hostel guy saying that you don’t use any government service as they don’t work among many other hints, there’s an unavoidable conflicting atmosphere in this country. And here is an example of economic abandonment that I’ve never witnesses personally before, and we wonder why there’s a safety/ crime issue in Peru; look no further.

We head south into greener pastures, or just some pastures that have some green at all. Again the contrast between north and south is staggering, mere minutes ago we were leaving a scene of despair we now walk streets flanked by grand architecture. Some of the rubbish issue that we’ve become accustomed to is still present but grand plazas and colonial buildings are the perfect way to overcome a bit of aesthetic disturbance. While central Lima isn’t in the realms of Quito it’s none the less all the things you want to see in a South American city: grand, historical and with centuries of stories to tell.

After a soaking up the sights and basking in the warmth of being tourists again we slowly sign off the day and head back to the bubble. Full of conflicting feeling our minds race with the sights we’ve just seen and the concepts we’ve witnessed. Outside of our own challenges in Peru the picture we’ve had painted is one of vast class gaps, corruption, crime and natural wonder, a heady mix of factors. This day trip has given us far more than the day of sight seeing that we intended, we finish with yet another small window into another part of the world, indeed a great reminder to the reason we travel. Much of the world isn’t nice, pretty or safe, but every part of it gives you a better understanding of how much you do not understand.<

December 10, 2014

While you were working – On the treadmill

The journey commences, we are wading through the seemingly never ending marsh of clerical joy, wiping the administrative bum ever hopeful for the return of a clean square of toilet paper. The journey now takes us to the Australian embassy, a necessary step along the way, we need to get a statutory declaration detailing the recent events for our banks, so much fun there just aren’t enough words. This promises to be a relatively easy tick-box on the way but a slice of time we can’t avoid none the less. Entering the offices we are stared down at by the warm fatherly face of compassion that we all know and adore, our fearless leader and wordsmith, Tony Abbott. Oh and there’s Julie, could there be a clearer image to inspire feelings of protective maternal nurture? I poke fun here of course, I can’t help it but it is undeniable that it feels nice to be dealing with ‘home’ at least in some way.

We’re greeted by Cecilia, the lady we spoke to in our anxious state from Trujillo, she connects the dots of who we are and we’re under way. We proceed to put flesh on the bones of the story she knows, explaining our difficult circumstances particularly relating to having a very hard time getting hold of money. Thankfully we do have passports so all we need is a stat-dec, a piece of A4 paper and we’ll be on our way. Soaking up the details Cecilia hands us the stat-dec form and directs us to sit down as she goes about her day. All going well we recount our events uncertain why the bank needs it rewritten when it’s all on the police report but anyhow, through the hoops we jump.

After a short wait we are called up and unless we’re completely misreading things here, we’re in business. Appearances can be deceiving. On handing over the stat-dec’s we’re informed that the embassy charges for notarial acts; um, excuse me? Yes that’s right this is a notarial act and it’s $26USD each for the signature. Did you hear the jaw hitting the ground too? Ironically there’s a promo plaque right beside the desk proudly declaring ‘Helping Australians Abroad’ to which I point as I repeat the line possibly a little too abruptly. After reiterating the whole don’t-really-have-money part of the saga Cecilia looks a little bashful and concedes that this is possibly a little bit of a unique situation so she’ll go ask if the two signatures really need to be paid for by, ahem, Australians abroad in need of help. Again we wait, this time more amazed than comforted, Julie I’m not feeling the love right now.

As we wait I can’t help taking a closer look a the plaque. Carefully worded it seems that the embassy can generate passports but that’s about it, they don’t ‘do’ anything. They proudly proclaim that they can advise and offer information available on the internet anyway but they won’t action or do anything, good to know. After seething for a short while we’re called back and told that the payment simply must stand which we expected, no exceptions. We’re pretty blown away and can’t help but express our frustration, but there is hope, we can file a formal complaint to the Australian Treasury Department if we feel we’ve been hard done by, code for get F….. if in any language. Because we have time enough right now to go on that wild goose chase, this really is an exercise in over regulated Aussie bureaucracy to write home about, literally. And this time it’s not even Tony or Julie’s fault, our anger wasted on the juggernaut of governmental red tape.

The small concession we are offered is to be able use a telephone to call our bank: the height of generosity. Across a table from a slightly embarrassed looking Cecilia we explain the embassies fee for a stat-dec to the bank and attempt to clarify if it’s entirely necessary. The bank here is pretty understanding and it looks as though it’s procedure to get one but we can do without it after all if getting one is quite difficult, take note Aussie embassy. And the circle completes, this entire visit is essentially for nothing more than the comic fodder to write a blog post, a worthy exercise in this otherwise monotonous week I guess.

With nearly half a day wasted we need coffee, this is set to be a routine theme for us this week. On the plus side we are getting some way into finding good coffee, two places now are producing tasty cortados so all is not lost. Sitting down to our delicious little cups of joy we find ourselves appreciating more and more just how fastidious this week is going to be. I sense two racing time lines here; on one hand we progress through all our chores and on the other we have dwindling stores of patience. We wonder now which timeline will reach maturity first? And indeed the result, time will tell.

December 9, 2014

While you were working – Miraflores, Lima

The sleep of champions is the only way to describe last night. Aided by having a more comfortable bed than usual we feel the draining effects of adrenaline to begin realising our fatigue from the last day or so. One thing at a time though, we need to go shopping and begin the escalation of the mountain before us, regathering possessions and getting this trip back up and running. For now we’re stuck in Lima, with little access to cash we are tied to the services that a metropolis offers, no favoured off-beat adventure for now it seems. It’s throughout this morning that the daunting process before us takes shape, between insurance and banks in a very different time zone it looks like we’ll get to know Lima by the end of this chapter of the story. Also keen to be done with Peru we are somewhat torn, we need to climb the organisational mountain before we can leave, a frustrating trap with no discernible exit.

Miraflores is known to be a nice area of Lima, an oasis in this notoriously dangerous edgy city that we’d usually shun; now it’s a blessing. Today is indeed a new day, one for us to indulgently enjoy the manicured nature of flower beds booming with colour and take on that very bourgeois past time of searching for coffee. After a quick jaunt through the manicured floral oasis of park Kennedy we settle down for a bout of caffeine and organisation, Charlie gets a little excited at the prospect of a spreadsheet in our near future, a little too excited perhaps.

Pushing aside the very present frustrations we enforce upon ourselves a positive spin to all this, we’re off to go shopping. Again a pastime that would usually induce shivers of discomfort presents itself as something that we can at least sink our teeth into as an upside. And lets be honest, Charlie has always secretly wanted to be Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman… with bigger legs. Today the theatrical little homo that has been bursting to get free has his/ her day in the sun, you go girl. There is a small hitch in the plan though; as in much of South America, retailers here do like to stay closed, our little princess held in the wings for that little longer. I wonder if Peru realises the diva-fit that is possibly about to be unleashed?

Tantrum avoided we walk, nay, sashay our way into a big department store, let the frenzy begin. It’s of course coming up to christmas but this place isn’t heaving with the pastel legging clad, tuck shop armed piranhas straight from the shopping tour bus that usually obliterate stores like this at this time of year, it’s fairly peaceful. Piling up a small mountain of this seasons favourites I can’t help but feel a little guiltily comforted by having some possessions again, surely symptomatic of moving on rather than an enjoyment of shopping; surely? Laden with a fresh range of clothes the journey into superficiality continues, it’s iPad time. Again we see this as a necessary tool to aid getting back to our feet but we can only confess to a small bubble of glee in buying something shiny and new. With no tuck shop arms I feel we need some pastel leggings to truly fit the part here.

When did this stuff become so bloody tiring? We’re happy to walk for days lugging packs up a volcano but a few hours of casually strolling posh paved streets is too much to bare, we simply must have more coffee. There we go again, we’re turning into the socialite shop-a-vultures we so haughtily look down upon. Right now though, this little deviation is admittedly a touch therapeutic. Completing the picture we find a cracker of a coffee shop, tiny and boutique of course to sip critically on our cortados (same as a piccolo in Australia) noting all manner of characteristics of the coffee, being experts and all as we are.

Throughout the haze of ‘being Julia Roberts’ we do manage to get a deal of organisation done but this day is also about a little guilt free indulgence. We needed a place that felt safe and allowed us to do all the banking and insurance stuff we needed to get to, in this respect, Miraflores ticks all the boxes. In a way it’s also an opportunity to take on a style of travel that our adventurer egos would never allow in a location equally dismissed. A silver lining there is on any cloud, surprising it is sometimes the form that lining takes.

December 7, 2014

While you were working – Getting into Lima

As the hateful events of last night settle into a greater sense of clarity, we begin to glimpse some forms of positivity; we have our health, we’re safe and we can start to get back on our feet. I chastise myself as I wade through the ever so boring process of changing passwords, erasing iPads and all the guff that goes along with rebooting a digital existence, this process is in truth a blessing. We no longer have to go to post offices, bank branches, solicitors etc, we can even bloody well do it all from a hotel in Peru. Banishing the even more boring first world-ness that we are bored with the expedience of this process we commence the rebuilding process eager to recommence a sense of normality. We are after all safe and healthy albeit somewhat shaken from the incident.

With banks contacted we turn to the Australian embassy for assistance and advice; with the cessation of that phone call comes the commencement of a greater feeling of isolation. We’re very well aware that as we have our passports thankfully and some sort of access to cash we aren’t truly in desperate need of action. What we weren’t expecting however was the relatively open declaration that the embassy does nothing, I repeat nothing. They can offer advice to Australians in need if very strict criteria is met; Monday to Friday, nine to five. A little unsure of what to make of this we take their advice and contact the local tourism authority who are very helpful, finally we’re gaining some clarity. We now have a flight booked so it’s Lima here we come.

The day stuck in the hotel is made no better by the fact that we have very little in the way of clothing, we’re sadly in matching grey hiking shorts and tight bright red underwear thermal shirts, with thongs. It’s good to know that dignity is the latest thing that we’re losing in this debacle. We do however get a visit from Ola and Piotr, they leave Huanchaco, by bus, early and spend the day with us in the hotel. Not only is it helpful beyond description to have friendly and familiar company, their visit also allows us the opportunity to cathartically recount the event, the gift of therapy right now is priceless.

With fond farewells we jump into the hotel car to get to the airport, there’s no chance I’m getting in a cab right now. The greater issue for me here is a lack of trust being that it was a taxi trip that set us up for all this in the first place, I just don’t trust taxis right now. There is a sense of invasive anxiety being in a car and on the road again, passing familiar buildings from last night brings it all back home, it’s unpleasant to put it politely. We’re not generally anxious people but a sudden halt on the highway from a car in front is not what we needed; if anyone comes near this car I am going to go North Korea on them! Not surprisingly this is a normal traffic occurrence like anywhere in the world, the variable is us in this instance, new found emotional baggage we look forward to leaving behind, in truth, I’m over reacting.

On touching down in Lima we are again helped by the local tourism authority, they are a true blessing. But, and there is a but; we have to catch a taxi. After some convincing we are assured of a range of safety measures, we’re off in a very flash cab just keen to get where we’re going. We do arrive without a hitch thankful that we have gotten right back on the horse, the taxi anxiety is a no longer a mountain that needs climbing.

So we’re in Lima and the distance we have taken is all things and more, the sense of security a flood of positivity that we can’t seem to drink up quickly enough. It’s just a little over 24 hours and right now we’re cautiously thrilled at how far we’ve come, we’re beginning to already feel a little like ourselves. It’s been a travel day like most others in most respects, boring, hateful and happily behind us. But this one is wiped clean of all the usual complaints in preference for a higher appreciation of what we still have. Tomorrow is a new day.