Swing low over the toilet bowl

December 19 1997


Well, here I sit, back from nearly a month of travel and suffering from the worst diarrhoea I have ever had, and am convinced that it is in fact dysentery, of the bacterial kind. But I am still feeling in high spirits despite the frequent and not too pleasant trips to the toilet. Much has happened in the last month or so, and I have seen some truly amazing places. So to bring you up to date, here's what I have been up to so far. I left Mendoza on a morning bus on the 13th of November, bound for Santiago. The drive from Mendoza to Santiago must be one of the most amazing 300km of road anywhere on the planet, and I don't think I'll ever tire of it. After the cumbersome climb up to the border post, one clears the Chilean customs and twists done the 30 odd hairpins to a quaint mountain valley, which one follows, alongside a gushing mountain river all the way to the surprisingly South African looking broad alluvial valleys. Then, the mountains behind, you drift into the truly lovely city of Santiago. Here I spent a couple of days, sorting out the travelling things like visas and money, before making my way up the increasingly arid Pacific coast. My first stop was at the holiday town of La Serena, where I enjoyed a swim in the Pacific (not all its cracked up to be I'm afraid!!) and got to chat to a few locals. Then it was off to Antofagasta, an arid copper port town (they have rain once a decade if it’s a wet spell!!!!). Still, they had a nice beach and more friendly folk, so my couple days there were greatly enjoyed. Chileans are incredible friendly and earnest folk, and I have an ever increasingly high opinion of them. I still had the urge to keep moving though, and it was only when I arrived in San Pedro de Atacama that I finally slowed down. In this rather touristy town I ended up for over a week all told. Although hardly an interestingly unique place to visit, it is touristy for a reason and thus worth spending time in. Fortunately I found accommodation far from the normal gringo haunts, so didn't have to spend too much time making small talk with the self absorbed "trendy" backpackers that invariably haunt such towns. Whilst there I did a few walks in various directions, and thoroughly enjoyed the landscape. Very dry, and rather high, the air in unbelievably clear, and one loses all sense of perspective. Distant peaks appear close and one can easily see for over a hundred kilometres. The town itself is nestled against a bizarrely eroded hill range on the north side of A large salt pan (Salar de Atacama). The little stream of San Pedro keeps the oasis supplied with water in an environment otherwise totally devoid of any moisture. To the east, giant volcanoes, some still smouldering, stretch from the northern to the Southern horizon. Behind them lies the Altiplano and the Puna, barren and isolated country, high, remote and utterly fascinating. Tours regularly leave to explore this country in Bolivia, and as they are cheap at 70 dollars, I decided that they would need doing. However, before I got around to that, I thought I'd try to see the Chilean Altiplano, and a bit of the Puna. Hence I did a rather ambitious hitch across this high beautiful world into Argentina. Yellow grass, fed by melting snow, covers the higher ground. Old volcanoes, long since blow themselves up, expose a thousand different earthy hues to the uninhabited world. Saline lakes, in odd colours, startle here and there, dotted with flamingos. Utterly surreal erosion patterns in the volcanic lava's and ash result in a sometimes totally extra terrestrial feel to the place. After getting a lift across with three mad but wonderful Brazilians, I hitched the 350km back with a jolly truck driver. We drove in a convoy of three, with the other two trucks streaming ahead. The sight of these ships of the desert, leaving great comet trails of dust, hurtling on through the enormous landscape is one that words cannot describe, and not even the widest of wide angle lenses can create the sense of endless space it engenders. Once back in San Pedro a couple of days later, I made my plans and took the tour across into Bolivia. Blessed with an exceptionally knowledgeable and fun loving tour guide, not even a dour Swiss fellow could dampen what was a truly worthwhile trip. Red lakes, flamingo's, boiling mud and endless gravel deserts at 5000m remain fixed in my mind. The last day on the unimaginably vast Salar del Uyuni, was on its own worth the money. The world’s largest salt pan, it covers 12000 square km. Even then, you can still see the distant peaks, some up to 200km away, peering over the otherwise linear and featureless horizon. The only down side to this trip, if there was one was the fact that I got left in the dusty dump of Uyuni for 3 days before the Calama express could return me to Chile. Eventually thought the train was due , and I spent a fitful night in the station waiting for it. The trip itself could take ages to describe, but not half as long as it took to complete. This, surely could be the world’s slowest trains. Not only did it leave 6 hours later, but they insisted and dragging reams of empty and useless rail cars everywhere. This hinders an already lethargic engine, and although the trip to the border is 100% flat, it took a wearisome 4 hours to do the 180 odd kilometres. So much for setting land speed records on salt pans!!!! The border itself is where the really fun and games begin. This particular train seems to owe its existence entirely to the smuggling trade. And considering this is Bolivia, and there were 100 dollars bills floating around in exchange for carrying little packages across the frontiers, I somehow don't think that cigarettes were all they were trying to get across. The gringos on the train got a thorough search, with them looking in every nook and cranny in my bag. After that it was the smugglers turn. Marshalled by three matriarchal women, bribes passed freely, and the enormous pile of contraband somehow all found its way back onto the train. We watched with growing fascination as somehow each suspicious parcel got coaxed bribed or perhaps just plain smuggled into Chile. However this was obviously no one off, as soon one realises that this is how the majority of the people on the train make what by Bolivian standards is a good living. All this took time though, and it was over 9 hours from when the train stopped at one border, to when it slowly pulled out of the opposite one. 9 rather painstaking hours. More follow, as we headed with renewed apathy to Calama, arriving there after well over 30 hours from when we were supposed to embark. A little trying for a 350 odd km trip. I hardly paused, heading rather to the duty free haven of Iquique. After a day there, it was south along the coastal highway to the Rio Loa. Here I stopped and explored deserted river valleys and a barren but marinely wealthy coastline. I think that free camping on the beach here, I may have picked up the nasties that presently trouble me. Clambering over guano covered rocks, and picking at decomposing dolphin skeletons, although fascinating, is not advisable ways to avoid stomach bugs, especially if you have little water, so can't spare enough to wash your hands properly before cooking. The following day, hitching back to Antofagasta, I broke into a high fever, and by the time I was on a bus pushed on for 2000km, in a seemingly never-ending series of bus trips, until at last I gained the comfort of Robs house, complete with endless supplies of toilet paper and sympathetic gestures. Besides, Rob was overjoyed at my return, as I had lugged a cumbersome and weighty whale vertebra all the way from Rio Loa just for him. Thank goodness they didn't check my bag at customs, because I have no clue how I would have explained to them in my still abysmal Spanish why I haul 5 kilograms of bleached bone around with me!!!!3 days later the fever and other symptoms have left, but I still can't pass anything more solid than a strong coffee consistency. Oh, the joys of travel!!!!