Chile

We arrived in Santiago a little weary after our twenty-four hour direct coach. We'd heard many people complain of how this city is horribly polluted due to the fact that 40% of the Chilean population reside in and around it's area, but as Londoners this ends up being a trivial gripe, and to be honest wasn't something we really noticed.

The political, economical and financial Capital of Chile is beautifully set, sitting in a wide plain with the magnificent Andes in full view. Compared to home, it's streets seem very neat and tidy, and it's architecture is very 'big-city' while the suburbs tend to exhibit large mansion style buildings, although some are in need of some serious repair.

On our first night we met up again with Tom and Lisa who we spent time with in Cusco, and also had one last night on the town with Tim (the more laid-back half of the warring couple from Iqueque). Finding a really nice hostel run by an American guy who had previously made his fortune in banking, we all contented ourselves for our last few days in South America; blasting, fighting and racing away on the chipped Playstations and X-Boxes, cracking balls around the full-sized pool table and table-tennis, or lazily slouching in the lounge in front of one of the eight-hundred movies on offer. It's safe to say we were all a little sad to be leaving the continent, but new and exciting things were waiting for us in New Zealand which kept spirits high, and the entertaining nature of our final sleeping place did much to keep the mood light. Along with their ridiculous cat and dog fight show!

Sightseeing around the area consisted of little for us: journeying to the metropolitan area by an ultra-clean, ultra-modern tube system that would put London to shame and quick perusals in the many shopping arcades and markets; a quick tour around the Plaza de Armas and a look in the huge Cathedral, in fairness, only to escape the strange guy who had taken up station some five-feet behind Sarah and was making strange movements inside his trouser pocket.

On meeting a girl from Wellington who was at a loose end, we all took an afternoon to visit the nearby San Cristobal hill, taking the Funicular to the top and it's panoramic views over the city followed by the cable car over the top of the hillside park. At it's base lies the bar and restaurant infested area of Bellavista, where we sat and whiled away a couple of hours in the small market and one of the many streetside cafes.

Our last few days in South America were probably not as exciting and wonder-filled as the rest of our journey here may have been, but it dealt us a pleasant last few days in which to relax in preparation for the hectic month to follow and the new experiences that waited on the other side of the Pacific. Our time here will be something we will never forget, and definitely one we intend to repeat in the near future. With still so much to see and do, there is no doubt we will have plenty to choose from...

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After a particularly cold and uncomfortable twenty-two hour bus journey we arrived in the Peruvian town of Tacna where we were transported across the border in a rather splendid old-skool american cadillac. From there it was another four hour coach ride through the desert pampa of northern Chile to our destination.

Iqueque is an attractive port and city sheltered by sandy-looking headlands and the high Atacama desert beyond. With the unfortunately named Plaza Prat as it's main square it still contains many historic buildings, despite being partly destroyed in the earthquake of 1876. At sunset, as we made our way down the winding road and looked over the town to the golden beaches we knew that this was the kind of place we had been looking for. Heading for our hostel which was located handily across the road from the beach, we took a short stroll around town and after our arduous twenty-eight hour trip, turned in early for the night.

A couple of lazy days on the gorgeous beaches quickly ensued, the first however being slightly tainted by the fact that both of us had to run back to the hostel every ten minutes for some zero-warning bowel relief. The combination of fatigue and apparent safety of being in a more civilised and well-to-do country meant we had let our guard slip the previous evening and opted erratically for a chinese which was now going through us at an alarming rate.

With the imodium thankfully kicking in, Sunday morning came and I sat around for nearly eight hours awaiting the all-important Spurs versus Chelsea showdown which I had seen advertised the previous day. It was only after getting frustrated at having to watch other random sports shows that I took a quick look on the internet and discovered that my Spanish was still a little rusty, and that I was waiting for a show that wasn't broadcasting until Tuesday. My disappointment was slightly helped by the fact that we won 2-1 (Come on you Spurs!), but as many of you can imagine, I was suitably chastised for 'wasting the day away'.

Having met up with a varied but not unpleasant crowd at the hostel and spending our evenings cooking, drinking and being generally sociable, we all decided to hire a car and take it out to see the surrounding area. Together with Beni and Dom, a pair of slightly unhinged Swiss lads with a Queens of the Stone Age addiction, Jordan, our emotionally volatile Canadian room-mate, and Alice and Tim, a couple teetering on the brink of separation with the former having nothing nice to say about the latter and his evident drink problem, the seven of us set out with nothing but a few cold six-packs and a heavy dose of optimism for the coming day.

First stop was the geoglyphs set into one of the surrounding sandy hills. Consisting rather unimpressively of a series of rocks organised into the shape of a stick man, this was supposedly the last evidence of a people long vanished. Moving quickly along, we visited the now abandoned nitrate town at Humberstone.

Although now essentially a ghost town after being shut down in 1961 when the nitrate workers were made redundant, the remnants of the old church, theatre, school and other ammenities can still be seen and explored. This made for a couple of hours of entertainment before we headed off south in the direction of Pica and it's thermal spa. Quiet, tranquil and surrounded by citrus groves, this was a great spot to finish the day with a relaxing dip into the warm waters.

As the day had progressed, we had all come to the conclusion that the Toyota Jeep we were using for transport was a bucket with a lawnmower engine; something which was sadly confirmed when it broke down on us half way home, luckily in a small town in the desert. While Beni, our only moderate Spanish speaker, negotiated with some local mechanics to take a look, the rest of us sat in the back and sampled a modest variety of the local beers. Three hours later we were finally on our way back to the hostel, most of us well and truly smashed.

After our successful day out (depending on which was you look at it) it was back to the coast for a few days and some beach football and body-boarding. With just two days to go until our planned departure, the arrival of two arrogant Austrian blokes with zero-manners and matching personalities, and a relatively unpleasant english girl who "doesn't bother talking to couples" and a rather annoying habit of putting "ah?" onto the end of every sentence whether it's a question or not, managed to spoil the vibe of the place. All of our crowd were moving on however so we made the best of the last couple of nights.

Our final day arrived, and we only had one mission left to complete before we caught our bus to Santiago. We had sat on the beach for the last week watching the paragliders descend onto the sands next to us, and despite not being massively keen on running off the edge of a large cliff, decided that we couldn't leave without having a bash.

Booked in for a 1:30pm flight, we were transported to the 1200m high jump-off point at the southern end of the resort and kitted up with our suits and helmets. Not knowing a thing about paragliding, we presumed that the strong wind was just what was needed for such an activity. Sarah was up first, and strapped to an ageing german man they attempted take off. As soon as the sail went up and the strong sea-breeze caught, the pair of them were janked powerfully backwards.

The guy charged with the task of holding them steady had absolutely no hope, and after a couple attempts, one of which managed to take the two of them about ten feet into the air before smashing them back to earth and bouncing Sarah's protected head like a basketball along the hard ground (Obviously, I did not find this amusing at all) they decided enough was enough and that today's flight would have to be cancelled. Suitably disappointed but undeterred, we booked again for the following morning in the hope we could have another go before our coach left.

The following morning, with the wind a little less blustery, take off was a little more smooth and we were soon up high above the desert hills and the busy highway leading into town.

Being our first time, it seemed very reasonable to look around at the sights, snapping as we went. Soon however, I discovered that combined with the ups and downs associated with finding the required thermals, this causes a rather uncomfortable feeling of nausea. Although a good time was had by all, the overwhelming urge to chunder tends to spoil the experience slightly, something we are told is very common among first time flyers.

Landing gracefully on the beach just a few yards from our hostel, it was no surprise to discover that Sarah had been as sick as a dog whilst in mid-air and was feeling pretty rough as a consequence. With no time to spare however, we said a rushed goodbye to our friends of the past week and headed for the bus station and our awaiting coach which would take us to the Chilean capital, and sadly, our final South American destination...

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In an oasis on the Rio San Pedro sits the historic town of San Pedro de Atacama. An obvious tourist hub, the dusty streets surrounding the quaint main Plaza are packed with tour agencies, restaurants and internet cafe's, whilst the stray dogs are in such an abundance that each tourist could easily take one home. The town itself takes on a more Spanish-Indian feel than is apparently usual in Chile and the climate ranges from scalding hot in the peak of daytime, to below zero during the night.

The long bus journey and thorough bag search at the Chilean border had really taken it out of us, and arriving at our accommodation was sweet relief until we discovered that the tour company hadn´t booked us in and we´d consequently rolled up to the wrong hostel. Tails firmly between our legs, we trudged wearily across town to what we were told was our alternative accommodation.

On arrival at Eden Atacameno, the very first thing that struck us was that it was a hell-hole, but after all the confusion, we didn´t really have the energy to argue, and so we decided to lump it for a couple of nights. After a quiet night, we awoke early, mainly due to the fact that our exposed heads were being dive-bombed by a dozen or so overly exciteable bluebottles.

Two luke-warm showers later and we made our way into town and our first trip to the Valle de la Luna (Valley of the Moon). Caused some 23 million years ago when they were pushed and folded by movements in the earths core, the wind and minimal rain erosion (20mm per annum) received here has since that time scuplted the rocks to create some truly amazing landscapes. Driving through Dinosaur Valley and its carved peaks, and walking down through the Valley of Death with its deep canyon and gigantic sand dunes was a surreal and awe-inducing experience. Not the kind of terrain you see on an average stroll around town.

Lastly, it was off to the Valle de la Luna itself, declared a Sanctuary of Nature and named because of its apparent similarity to the landscapes of our only moon. Here, the absence of animal and vegetable life, combined with the lack of humidity, make this the most inhospitable corner of the earth. We were shown the randomly named Three Maria's rock formation (and it´s Dinosaur head), and were finally advised to walk up the steep sand-dune path to watch the setting sun.

Not something that usually rocks our boat, but a beautiful sight none-the-less, and complimented nicely with the full moon rising in the east with almost precision timing. After the short drive back to town and a quick dinner, it was off to bed for an early 4am start of our tour to the Geysers del Tatio.

Dressed for arctic conditions, we awaited our coach pick-up outside the hostel and it was here that we were fortunate enough to participate in our first ever earthquake. The ground shook beneath our feet and the gates we were standing next to rattled violently. Harrowing times, where our survival depended solely on staying upright and not falling and cracking our heads on a conveniently placed rock. We later discovered that these 'minor tremors' are quite a common occurance, and that the centre had been in Santiago, some 600 miles south. What the people felt there we can only imagine, although the locals didn´t seem particularly concerned for their fellow countrymen.

Our journey to the geothermic national park at around 13,000ft above sea level took just over an hour, delivering us to the gates at just after 05:30 for an 06:10 sunrise. This is when the Geysers are at their raunchiest, with many of vapour flows steaming some thirty or forty feet into the cold morning air. Caused by the reaction between the hot rocks from nearby vocanoes and frozen underground river, the near-boiling water is pushed to the surface where the vapour can be released via some 40 geysers, 60 springs and 70 "Fumerolas" that extend over 3 square kilometres. The below-fifteen degree temperature makes for a refreshing experience, and we made a point of standing next to the bubbling pools of eighty-five degree water, braving the toxic fumes in an effort to keep mildly warm. It has been known for people to fall through some thinner layers of rock around the geisers so we took care with each step.

Once the natural spectacle had subsided a little, our guide arranged breakfast using a neat trick of boiling eggs and heating chocolate milk in one of the nearby Geyser pools before driving us over to the natural thermal pool. It was a toss-up as whether to brave the cold (which by this point had risen to a reasonable minus-five) and bathe in the hot murky water or stay dry and remotely warm , but in the end curiosity got the better of me and I took a quick dip, whilst Sarah waited usefully with a towel and a smirk at my stupidity. Unfortunately, not all it´s cracked up to be, with the hot water from the flowing geiser scalding you in one breath, then the slightest move away in the opposite direction freezing you to the bone in the next.

Once dried, it was time to take our tour back through the route we had come in the pitch black some three hours earlier. Skirting mountain lagoons with flocks of pink Flamingo's, Llama´s grazing idly in their hilly pastures and various rocky terrains, we stopped in a small village called Machuca, where we had a very disjointed chat with a local woman knitting woolen garments outside her tiny abode and tasted some Llama meat. Arranged and prepared nicely in Kebab format, the meat itself has a very chewy consistency and strong taste, although this apparently depends on whether the slaughtered animal was a youngster or reaching retirement. Either way, it´s no fillet steak, and in future I´ll be sticking to snapping rather than eating...

Returned to our hostel in one piece, we later went for a dinner with a couple from North London who had unwittingly made a mistake of staying in the same dirty hostel. There were many more tours to take around the area, but we weren´t too displeased to leave as our next adventure would hopefully see us take a trip, culminating in the Uyuni Salt Flats, which was to be one of the many highlights of our South American journey...

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