Arrival to Chile

The arrival to Chile started with the usual hostel hassle in Argentina: the late and slow breakfast.  Although I found this hostel (Pequeno Inti) otherwise perfect, the breakfast subtracted some points. At most other hostels it was self-service.  Here it was not, and they warmed the water for coffee and tea one-by-one in a microwave.  I wouldn’t have been that impatient, if I hadn’t been rushed.  Breakfast started at 8:30 and I had to be at the bus station at 9:15 and it was quite a trek away.  The breakfast room was full with others of my about my age.  They looked at my photographic vest as if I would be just out from a UFO.  I would’ve liked to stick my tongue out, but didn’t.  Finally I got my tea and 3 crackers, ate 2 of them, pocketed the third.  I drank the mate and was ready to go.  To his credit, this guy was willing to call a taxi. 

On my ticket, the bus was leaving at 9:40.  According to the tourist office that pointed out the section along the highway where it would stop it was 9:15.  The bus showed up at 10:30.  I put on everything I had, it was freezing in the shadow, the sun reached the place only a few minutes before the bus, which as it turned out, came from Salta.  The conductor checked my passport on the spot, and provided the Chile immigration forms.  I had again the panoramic seat at the front of the top level (all these buses are double-deckers), it was great for the view, but completely exposed to the sun and to the glasshouse-effect; by the end I took off everything I could without being indecent.  We crossed again Las Salinas Grandes, in about 10 minutes, thus I overestimated the width, it can’t be more than about 10 km.  The flat valley itself is a lot wider, might have been 1 hour to traverse it.  We saw may animals, mostly llamas and vicunas, they were standing along the road and didn’t get exited by the bus.  The there were goats and burros. 

The Argentinean immigration was at Paso de Jama at 4400 meters, where they removed the tourist form from the passport and stamped the exit.  There were fellow passenger (Dutch boys) with extra apples; I helped to eat them. You can’t take any fruit into Chile. Thereafter the bus climbed another pass and the conductor distributed lunch – the usual ham and cheese sandwich on white bread – with the warning to eat it right away, because it can’t be taken to Chile.

The Chile immigration is in San Pedro de Atacama, in my destination, in a building along a dusty road, a line for the passport, and another for customs.  I declare the coffee and the chocolate, and get green light.  I’m out on the dusty road, and the bus doesn’t take us to the center of the village.  It goes straight on to Calama.  Thus I take off along a dusty road, no fun to pull the backpack, and nobody knows where my Hostel, Casa don Esteban, might be.  Finally I see a hostel named Annex don Esteban, but that’s not it.  However, they are extremely kind, call my hostel, figure out the directions, and then get a taxi for me – after slight pressure to take a room there.

The taxi accepts dollars and I think gives more change back than the value of the dollar was.  Casa don Esteban is a real flashpacker place, big room, desk, real desk chair, lots of lights.  The same price as the hostel in Purmamarca. 

I go to town to exchange money and to buy food.  The sky is pink; the sun just goes down.  The first man, whom I ask to confirm directions, offers me a ride.  Which is kind, but not optimal, it’s a lot harder to memorize a route when driven.  When I finish dinner (which was sort of expensive, goat cheese quesadillas for 10 $), it’s pitch dark.  I find the street leading to the hotel, but after a while the lights run out and it looks totally strange in the dark.  I stop a biker and ask for directions.  He looks at the map and calls the hotel.  After getting the directions, he decides to walk with me.  It turns out that I was on the right track, and after a few minutes recognize the hotel’s lights.  But now they must think – this stupid old woman always gets lost…

Now I go and check out the flashpacker breakfast – then Granny does Chile.