The ferry office was open today and I got my ticket! Maybe all I needed was some good luck, a change of scenery, and a little self-reflection. I took the bus just 20km from where I was in Puerto Montt to Puerto Varas and what a world of difference it made. This town has a much smaller, slower, quieter feel to it. It definitely reminds me of Cape Cod in Autumn with quaint wooden houses that wear a coat of bright paint to appear a little less battered. It gave me just the familiarity I needed and I had a slight spring in my step again as I walked around the town, just peacefully wandering.
Kasey, thank you for your kind words, they keep me afloat. And Michael, it`s all your fault, and though it sucks sometimes I am really glad for what it`s teaching me. In the end I really should just stop bitching. I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to take this time for myself to explore new places and learn new things. But sometimes it just gets lonely.
I`ve been entertaining the idea of going to Torres de Paine, or the End of the Earth as it is often called. This would require taking a 4 day ferry or flying. Once there I would take a 4-10 day trek through ice fields, fjords, and battle winds that are frequently blowing at over 100mph. I would need to rent gear as I am grossly unprepared (tent, a real sleeping bag, camping stove, etc), not to mention probably needing to buy some essentials like socks, gloves, a fleece and other warm weather things. Everything about this endeavor would put me way way way over budget. It would be a great feat for sure, especially if I completed it solo. I might never be this close to the end of the earth again. But even though I would be proud beyond words after completing this type of journey, I think I would enjoy it much more if I had someone with me to share the amazing views, keep my sleeping bag warm at night, and to pick me up when the wind sends me toppling. Deep down I know I probably won`t take this trip alone, and I kind of hate that about myself. Maybe I will get another chance to do it someday.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The Traveling Spirit
I know I am supposed to be off on this great adventure and that I am supposed to be having fun but it hasn`t felt like that so much lately. I feel like the traveling spirit has left my bones, at least for now. I keep finding myself in a new place with absolutely no inclination to explore it. Just struggling to arrive at my hostel is all I can muster. Once there, I just want to sit, and do nothing. I don`t want to see the sights, I don`t want to explore the market, I don`t want to walk through shady parks. I just want to sit in the hostel, surrounded by people who speak at least some level of the same language I do.
Sometimes, having every day be unexpectedly different than the next is just tiring instead of exhilerating. Almost every day I pack up my things and then wrestle through a web of confusing transportation systems with no regularity between them. Then I lug my things through some unknown place and get stared at where ever I go. I`m sick of using guide books that provide mis-information or don`t give the information I need. I`m frustrated with my ability or inability to speak the language. I`m oscillating between wanting to learn Spanish and wanting to give up completely and just speak English and pretend I know nothing. But greatest of all I am disenchanted by not being able to express myself and being continuously misunderstood. It is endlessly frustrating and has stifled my desire to go on many occasions. Discovering the web of obscure buses to take to reach some pristine natural park or town at times just seems like too much work.
Yesterday I arrived in Puerto Montt. I needed to come to this port town in order to buy my ticket for the ferry to the farm. Afterwards I planned to go to a more pleasant town with hiking opportunities located nearby called Puerto Varas. I asked for directions to the ferry from the bus terminal (because my guidebook didn`t provide this information) and luckily it was a straight shot down the road along the water. When I got there, the office was closed. This really pissed me off. I`ve spent so many of the last few days with this damn ferry ticket consuming my mind and I just wanted it taken care of. Tomorrow is Sunday and though the security guard maintained that they will be open, the chances of it being true are slim to none.
But just in case the security guard was right I figured I better stay in Puerto Montt for the night so I could get up in the morning and hopefully get this ticket business settled once and for all. The listings for hostels or hospedajes (usually local people who rent out space in their houses for a low cost) in my price range was limited to only two. Both is the same price bracket I chose the one that was closer to the ferry terminal. Too bad it was located out of the range of the map provided to me in the guide book. After asking about 7 different people for directions to Calle Pudeto I finally arrived. The `recommended, renovated` hospedaje was a strange place that didn`t look like much. The woman answered the door and provided me with a set of house slippers. I asked the price and she told me $12,000 pesos. That`s like $19USD! For a dorm room with a total of 4 beds in it!
I inquired about what was included with the outrageous price and was told that an `American´ breakfast, a towel, hot showers, use of the kitchen, and internet was provided. I wanted to know what this American breakfast was exactly. She laughed at me and asked where I was from. When I answered, `Estados Unidos´ she scoffed, `and you don`t know American breakfast?´ I wanted to tell her that an American breakfast is a granola bar eaten as you run out the door and that was hardly worth $20/night, but of course, I was limited by my language once again. I tried to talk her down about the price, explaining that I am a poor volunteer and tried in the worst Spanish imaginable to tell her my sob story about arriving only to buy my ferry ticket and then finding the office closed. She didn`t budge and laughed when I told her what the Security Guard told opening on Sunday. Usually, on principle, I would turn around an leave and not even dream of paying $19 for a dorm room, but I already felt like I was having a foul day and didn`t have anymore fight in me...so I shelled out my precious pesos and then went to the room. My book didn`t mention that for $19 the hospedaje come equipped with two little poodles wearing adorable homemade dresses that made them look like housewives from the 50`s. Nor did it mention that these dogs yapped at the slightest sound.
I gathered the energy to walk along the waterfront for a while and noticed mountains topped with snow on the other side. I couldn`t figure out why in such a lovely setting, I was still in a foul mood. Maybe it was the headache that chased me for 5 days. Maybe I am just worn out. I located a small vegetable market and picked up some things for dinner. I am still amazed at how expensive Chile is. Argentina doesn`t promise to be much less expensive either and most of the farms I have contacted there are expecting $10/day during my stay, which will be difficult to afford. I may freeze at the farm I am going to next. The highs are around 68 and the lows are around 40. My sleeping bag is only good until about 55 degrees. Hopefully there will be an extra blanket or three. But I won`t know unless I try to get that ferry ticket, which I am about to do right now.
Sometimes, having every day be unexpectedly different than the next is just tiring instead of exhilerating. Almost every day I pack up my things and then wrestle through a web of confusing transportation systems with no regularity between them. Then I lug my things through some unknown place and get stared at where ever I go. I`m sick of using guide books that provide mis-information or don`t give the information I need. I`m frustrated with my ability or inability to speak the language. I`m oscillating between wanting to learn Spanish and wanting to give up completely and just speak English and pretend I know nothing. But greatest of all I am disenchanted by not being able to express myself and being continuously misunderstood. It is endlessly frustrating and has stifled my desire to go on many occasions. Discovering the web of obscure buses to take to reach some pristine natural park or town at times just seems like too much work.
Yesterday I arrived in Puerto Montt. I needed to come to this port town in order to buy my ticket for the ferry to the farm. Afterwards I planned to go to a more pleasant town with hiking opportunities located nearby called Puerto Varas. I asked for directions to the ferry from the bus terminal (because my guidebook didn`t provide this information) and luckily it was a straight shot down the road along the water. When I got there, the office was closed. This really pissed me off. I`ve spent so many of the last few days with this damn ferry ticket consuming my mind and I just wanted it taken care of. Tomorrow is Sunday and though the security guard maintained that they will be open, the chances of it being true are slim to none.
But just in case the security guard was right I figured I better stay in Puerto Montt for the night so I could get up in the morning and hopefully get this ticket business settled once and for all. The listings for hostels or hospedajes (usually local people who rent out space in their houses for a low cost) in my price range was limited to only two. Both is the same price bracket I chose the one that was closer to the ferry terminal. Too bad it was located out of the range of the map provided to me in the guide book. After asking about 7 different people for directions to Calle Pudeto I finally arrived. The `recommended, renovated` hospedaje was a strange place that didn`t look like much. The woman answered the door and provided me with a set of house slippers. I asked the price and she told me $12,000 pesos. That`s like $19USD! For a dorm room with a total of 4 beds in it!
I inquired about what was included with the outrageous price and was told that an `American´ breakfast, a towel, hot showers, use of the kitchen, and internet was provided. I wanted to know what this American breakfast was exactly. She laughed at me and asked where I was from. When I answered, `Estados Unidos´ she scoffed, `and you don`t know American breakfast?´ I wanted to tell her that an American breakfast is a granola bar eaten as you run out the door and that was hardly worth $20/night, but of course, I was limited by my language once again. I tried to talk her down about the price, explaining that I am a poor volunteer and tried in the worst Spanish imaginable to tell her my sob story about arriving only to buy my ferry ticket and then finding the office closed. She didn`t budge and laughed when I told her what the Security Guard told opening on Sunday. Usually, on principle, I would turn around an leave and not even dream of paying $19 for a dorm room, but I already felt like I was having a foul day and didn`t have anymore fight in me...so I shelled out my precious pesos and then went to the room. My book didn`t mention that for $19 the hospedaje come equipped with two little poodles wearing adorable homemade dresses that made them look like housewives from the 50`s. Nor did it mention that these dogs yapped at the slightest sound.
I gathered the energy to walk along the waterfront for a while and noticed mountains topped with snow on the other side. I couldn`t figure out why in such a lovely setting, I was still in a foul mood. Maybe it was the headache that chased me for 5 days. Maybe I am just worn out. I located a small vegetable market and picked up some things for dinner. I am still amazed at how expensive Chile is. Argentina doesn`t promise to be much less expensive either and most of the farms I have contacted there are expecting $10/day during my stay, which will be difficult to afford. I may freeze at the farm I am going to next. The highs are around 68 and the lows are around 40. My sleeping bag is only good until about 55 degrees. Hopefully there will be an extra blanket or three. But I won`t know unless I try to get that ferry ticket, which I am about to do right now.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Cheese, blueberries, and beer.
I took an overnight bus from Santiago to Valdivia. They only had seats left in the Classico (economy) price level and it was less comfortable than the other bus rides I have had recently, but somehow, I managed to dream for the first time on a bus! Tommy Lee was there and so was Francesca Fenner. We were hanging out. It was awesome. I woke up feeling less tired than I expected and was happy to see mist rising off the rivers and lakes we passed by in the early morning light. I was thrilled at the sight of trees and bodies of water...I had finally beat the desert.
I set off to find my hostel in Valdivia, a town largely influenced by its history of German settlement. So influenced I would learn after finding my hostel, that I had arrived on the first night of the Chilean interpretation of Germany`s Octoberfest. Kunstmann Bierfest. Philly Beer Week, take that!
The hostel I am staying at is really homey feeling and the people who are running it are really friendly, helpful, and welcoming, qualities that are surprisingly hard to come by at many hostels I have stayed at.
I wandered around yesterday though the laid back town, got lost (purposefully and happily) and then found my way eventually to the main square and to the local market along the river side. There I found men and women selling all kinds of fresh, local goods. I stopped for quite a while next to a man cutting fish that was probably scooped out of the river that morning. A shopper picked out their chosen fish and then this man cleaned it, chopped it, and did whatever else it is that you do to a fish before wrapping it in newspaper and passing it to a woman who completed the transaction. At the end of all this, the man lifted a handful of fish `waste` and tossed it over his shoulder to the birds and sealions patiently waiting.
I wandered down through the market which sold all kinds of seafood on one side and fresh fruits and veggies on the other. I bought some nectarines, chard, onions, and a lot of carrots since the woman would only sell me one kilo and no less. Then I spotted the cheese. Real cheese, made by real hands. I was so happy. I asked the man selling it to taste a piece and he happily obliged. Though the cheese was nothing spectacular I still bought it because it was better than the shit I had been eating from the grocery stores. I was pretty happy with my purchases and then I saw the blueberry lady. Perfect plump blueberries. They were expensive but looked too good to resist. After passing over my 500 pesos for no more than a handful I began walking back toward my hostel, sampling a blueberry along the way. My goodness, it was the juiciest, sweetest, most delicious blueberry I think I have ever had it my life. Kim Wing, you would have pissed your pants in pleasure. It tasted like the muffin was in the blueberry. Wow.
I returned to the hostel and made some carrot/chard curry with the veggies I bought and added in some crushed peanuts (peanut butter is outragously priced), cilantro, and dried coconut since I couldn`t find coconut milk. I ladled this over some rice seasoned with garlic and clove and had myself a dinner envied by all.
After my breakfast of whole wheat toast and blueberries tossed with nectarines and cereal I began dealing with some current stress in my life. To get to my next farm I have to take a ferry that only runs every once in a while from the town of Quellon (located on an island that also requires taking a ferry to reach) to Raul Marin Balmaceda which is a 12-18 hour ride depending on weather. My contact at the farm contacted me and let me know that there was a ferry running on February 3rd or February 5th and that it would not be possible to arrive any earlier because they were completely full with a group of whale researchers. She said I must get a ticket on that ferry soon because they frequently sell out and provided me with the phone numbers.
I went to an internet cafe and used Skype to make a call to the ferry company to try to buy my ticket. My Spanish is pretty good as far as completing daily tasks but communicating in Spanish by phone is a completely different story. I asked for my ticket and the quick speaking man on the other end of the line told me something I did not understand. Eventually I gathered that he wanted me to purchase my ticket online since I was in a town where they did not have an office. Great, I thought. I can read Spanish better than I can speak it, this will be easy. Too bad the website said that they didn`t have any tickets available for the 3rd and the next ferry wasn`t until the 10th!
Frustrated I returned to the hostel. As I mentioned earlier there was a beer festival going on. I decided to drown my troubles away instead. I had met several friendly travelers the night before and starting talking to a few of them again today, making plans to go to the beer fest, but also relaying my frustrating experience with the ferry company. One of the people I was talking to, Jocelyn had been living in Peru for 3 years as a Peace Corps volunteer, the other was a guy from Quebec who spent his winters leading dog sled wilderness expeditions. I recruited Jocelyn to help me contact these ferry people as she was fluent in Spanish. On our way to the beer fest we stopped to make the call but there was no answer, we figured they were on lunch break and continued on.
The beer fest was taking place across the bridge in another part of town and took a decent 30 minute walk to reach. Upon arrival we were told that the festival didn`t actually start until 8pm. It was only 3pm. We decided to walk to the brewery instead. We had beer on our brains and nothing was going to stop us. We crossed another bridge (Valdivia is located at the crossing of three rivers) and walked another 45 minutes or so, picking fresh blackberries from the side of the road until we reached the brewery. We walked through a small beer museum where they had old beer bottles from different brewing regions around the world. The examples from the US were embarrasing, Bud, Coors, Miller.... After the museum we ordered a Columna of Torobayo Ale, which amounted to 2.5 liters of beer served out of a large tube with it`s own tap attached. The taste of real beer, compared to the carbonated piss they have in the rest of South America was long overdue.
We took a bus back from the brewery and stopped once again at a call center to try to reach the ferry company. This time they actually answered but were diconnected twice before we got any information. Finally, we were told that we should buy our ticket online! We explained that online showed no availability and asked if there were many seats left. He said that there were, which was good enough for me, so, we returned to the hostel to wait until 8pm for the beer to begin.
Tomorrow I will take a bus and head straight to the town with the ferry office and get my ticket. Hopefully. Tonight I will drink beer and hope to quelch this headache that has now been chasing me for days.
I set off to find my hostel in Valdivia, a town largely influenced by its history of German settlement. So influenced I would learn after finding my hostel, that I had arrived on the first night of the Chilean interpretation of Germany`s Octoberfest. Kunstmann Bierfest. Philly Beer Week, take that!
The hostel I am staying at is really homey feeling and the people who are running it are really friendly, helpful, and welcoming, qualities that are surprisingly hard to come by at many hostels I have stayed at.
I wandered around yesterday though the laid back town, got lost (purposefully and happily) and then found my way eventually to the main square and to the local market along the river side. There I found men and women selling all kinds of fresh, local goods. I stopped for quite a while next to a man cutting fish that was probably scooped out of the river that morning. A shopper picked out their chosen fish and then this man cleaned it, chopped it, and did whatever else it is that you do to a fish before wrapping it in newspaper and passing it to a woman who completed the transaction. At the end of all this, the man lifted a handful of fish `waste` and tossed it over his shoulder to the birds and sealions patiently waiting.
I wandered down through the market which sold all kinds of seafood on one side and fresh fruits and veggies on the other. I bought some nectarines, chard, onions, and a lot of carrots since the woman would only sell me one kilo and no less. Then I spotted the cheese. Real cheese, made by real hands. I was so happy. I asked the man selling it to taste a piece and he happily obliged. Though the cheese was nothing spectacular I still bought it because it was better than the shit I had been eating from the grocery stores. I was pretty happy with my purchases and then I saw the blueberry lady. Perfect plump blueberries. They were expensive but looked too good to resist. After passing over my 500 pesos for no more than a handful I began walking back toward my hostel, sampling a blueberry along the way. My goodness, it was the juiciest, sweetest, most delicious blueberry I think I have ever had it my life. Kim Wing, you would have pissed your pants in pleasure. It tasted like the muffin was in the blueberry. Wow.
I returned to the hostel and made some carrot/chard curry with the veggies I bought and added in some crushed peanuts (peanut butter is outragously priced), cilantro, and dried coconut since I couldn`t find coconut milk. I ladled this over some rice seasoned with garlic and clove and had myself a dinner envied by all.
After my breakfast of whole wheat toast and blueberries tossed with nectarines and cereal I began dealing with some current stress in my life. To get to my next farm I have to take a ferry that only runs every once in a while from the town of Quellon (located on an island that also requires taking a ferry to reach) to Raul Marin Balmaceda which is a 12-18 hour ride depending on weather. My contact at the farm contacted me and let me know that there was a ferry running on February 3rd or February 5th and that it would not be possible to arrive any earlier because they were completely full with a group of whale researchers. She said I must get a ticket on that ferry soon because they frequently sell out and provided me with the phone numbers.
I went to an internet cafe and used Skype to make a call to the ferry company to try to buy my ticket. My Spanish is pretty good as far as completing daily tasks but communicating in Spanish by phone is a completely different story. I asked for my ticket and the quick speaking man on the other end of the line told me something I did not understand. Eventually I gathered that he wanted me to purchase my ticket online since I was in a town where they did not have an office. Great, I thought. I can read Spanish better than I can speak it, this will be easy. Too bad the website said that they didn`t have any tickets available for the 3rd and the next ferry wasn`t until the 10th!
Frustrated I returned to the hostel. As I mentioned earlier there was a beer festival going on. I decided to drown my troubles away instead. I had met several friendly travelers the night before and starting talking to a few of them again today, making plans to go to the beer fest, but also relaying my frustrating experience with the ferry company. One of the people I was talking to, Jocelyn had been living in Peru for 3 years as a Peace Corps volunteer, the other was a guy from Quebec who spent his winters leading dog sled wilderness expeditions. I recruited Jocelyn to help me contact these ferry people as she was fluent in Spanish. On our way to the beer fest we stopped to make the call but there was no answer, we figured they were on lunch break and continued on.
The beer fest was taking place across the bridge in another part of town and took a decent 30 minute walk to reach. Upon arrival we were told that the festival didn`t actually start until 8pm. It was only 3pm. We decided to walk to the brewery instead. We had beer on our brains and nothing was going to stop us. We crossed another bridge (Valdivia is located at the crossing of three rivers) and walked another 45 minutes or so, picking fresh blackberries from the side of the road until we reached the brewery. We walked through a small beer museum where they had old beer bottles from different brewing regions around the world. The examples from the US were embarrasing, Bud, Coors, Miller.... After the museum we ordered a Columna of Torobayo Ale, which amounted to 2.5 liters of beer served out of a large tube with it`s own tap attached. The taste of real beer, compared to the carbonated piss they have in the rest of South America was long overdue.
We took a bus back from the brewery and stopped once again at a call center to try to reach the ferry company. This time they actually answered but were diconnected twice before we got any information. Finally, we were told that we should buy our ticket online! We explained that online showed no availability and asked if there were many seats left. He said that there were, which was good enough for me, so, we returned to the hostel to wait until 8pm for the beer to begin.
Tomorrow I will take a bus and head straight to the town with the ferry office and get my ticket. Hopefully. Tonight I will drink beer and hope to quelch this headache that has now been chasing me for days.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Headaches and Wine.
It`s back again. I think it`s definitely from the hostel. It is too clean, too chemically. It`s the kind of headache that doesn`t so much make your head ache but messes with your senses and equilibrium. I could feel it in my sinuses and forehead and ears and it made me want to puke a little at times. I had a boyfriend in high school whose father claimed that he couldn`t work because he was too sensitive to smells from candles and deodorant and fabric softener. He stayed at home and collected disability. My family and I thought he was full of shit or just crazy, but now I am starting to think he`s on to something. Maybe I can get the government on board and that is how I will financially supplement myself as I pursue my dreams of farming.and opting out of the system.
This afternoon I was picked up at the hostel by Sergio Reyes, Managing Director of Geo Wines. (http://www.geowines.cl/ ) He had a friendly face and looked very presentable though he was only dressed in jeans, polo shirt, and sneakers. We got into his white pickup and drove about 40 minutes out of Santiago to Isla de Maipo where they source some of the grapes. As we drove Sergio explained that I in fact visited Santiago at just the right time. I came during a window of about 2 weeks when most of the residents here go on holiday, leaving behind a quiet, low-traffic, low pollution city. I also got a geography lesson.
The Central Valley of Chile is bordered by two mountain ranges, thus creating said Valley. To the west is the Nahuelbuta Range and to the East are the Andes. These two ranges provide two distinct and very different climates and soils. The Nahuelbuta Range range has rich granitic soil which is very fertile and a cool ocean breeze as a result of the Humbolt Current. Anything can be grown here without limitation (anything except tropical fruits because it will frost here, though no snow). The soil at the foot of the Andes is clay and sand and rocks and is horrible for growing almost everything, except wine. Poor soil is a benefit to wine growers who want a low yield because if the soil is too rich, the grapes would grow too big and have too much juice. With the poor soil the grapes remain fairly small (because they are basically malnurished), thus concentrating the sugars and the essence of the grape which will then get fermented out and into alcohol.
The grapes used for Geo wines are all grown organically, which is interesting as Sergio spent over 10 years working for chemical companies who manufacture fertilizers. Now he believes that good wine comes from a good relationship from to the land, mutual respect, and symbiosis.. There is very little rainfall, especially in the summer, and so wells are drilled and the vines are watered with a drip irrigation system once every 15 days. They are fertilized with compost as well as the by-products from the wine making process (the spent grapes are returned to the soil after crushing), and the vines are planted between fruit trees and things like lavender to support a poly-culture system while encouraging bio-diversity. It also acts as a natural deterrent against bugs and other pests who eat the fruits and other things planted for them but leave the vines alone.
Geo Wines is comprised of several different lines and we tasted wines from three of them, the Rayun (their single varietal classic entry level line, all screw cap, no oak), Chono (the Reserva wines produced in small quantities of between 1,000 and 5,000 cases annually), and Ventolera. As Sergio opened the bottles and prepared for our tasting I realized I hadn`t drunk wine in quite some time, let alone wine that should be savored and lingered over. I was out of practice. I found myself in a slight panic searching the depths of my mind to recall the words used to describe the color, body, and taste. Zippy, soft, acidic, rose, berry, clean, fine tannin, smooth, earth, bold, leather, finish, mouth feel, delicate, spicy, creamy, complex, elegant, structure. I didn`t want Sergio to think I was an amateur. I concentrated on making just the right slurpy sound as I sucked in the air and mingled it with the wine. I made sure to use the spittoons (at least a little) as to not appear a lush. But in the end I just focused on the experience of having the Managing Director of some of the best Chilean wines give me a one on one personal tour through his portfolio and vineyard. The wines we tried really were all those adjectives that I had stored in the back of my mind somewhere, and upon putting the glass to my nose and the wine to my lips the words to describe them came back to me with ease.
This afternoon I was picked up at the hostel by Sergio Reyes, Managing Director of Geo Wines. (http://www.geowines.cl/ ) He had a friendly face and looked very presentable though he was only dressed in jeans, polo shirt, and sneakers. We got into his white pickup and drove about 40 minutes out of Santiago to Isla de Maipo where they source some of the grapes. As we drove Sergio explained that I in fact visited Santiago at just the right time. I came during a window of about 2 weeks when most of the residents here go on holiday, leaving behind a quiet, low-traffic, low pollution city. I also got a geography lesson.
The Central Valley of Chile is bordered by two mountain ranges, thus creating said Valley. To the west is the Nahuelbuta Range and to the East are the Andes. These two ranges provide two distinct and very different climates and soils. The Nahuelbuta Range range has rich granitic soil which is very fertile and a cool ocean breeze as a result of the Humbolt Current. Anything can be grown here without limitation (anything except tropical fruits because it will frost here, though no snow). The soil at the foot of the Andes is clay and sand and rocks and is horrible for growing almost everything, except wine. Poor soil is a benefit to wine growers who want a low yield because if the soil is too rich, the grapes would grow too big and have too much juice. With the poor soil the grapes remain fairly small (because they are basically malnurished), thus concentrating the sugars and the essence of the grape which will then get fermented out and into alcohol.
The grapes used for Geo wines are all grown organically, which is interesting as Sergio spent over 10 years working for chemical companies who manufacture fertilizers. Now he believes that good wine comes from a good relationship from to the land, mutual respect, and symbiosis.. There is very little rainfall, especially in the summer, and so wells are drilled and the vines are watered with a drip irrigation system once every 15 days. They are fertilized with compost as well as the by-products from the wine making process (the spent grapes are returned to the soil after crushing), and the vines are planted between fruit trees and things like lavender to support a poly-culture system while encouraging bio-diversity. It also acts as a natural deterrent against bugs and other pests who eat the fruits and other things planted for them but leave the vines alone.
Geo Wines is comprised of several different lines and we tasted wines from three of them, the Rayun (their single varietal classic entry level line, all screw cap, no oak), Chono (the Reserva wines produced in small quantities of between 1,000 and 5,000 cases annually), and Ventolera. As Sergio opened the bottles and prepared for our tasting I realized I hadn`t drunk wine in quite some time, let alone wine that should be savored and lingered over. I was out of practice. I found myself in a slight panic searching the depths of my mind to recall the words used to describe the color, body, and taste. Zippy, soft, acidic, rose, berry, clean, fine tannin, smooth, earth, bold, leather, finish, mouth feel, delicate, spicy, creamy, complex, elegant, structure. I didn`t want Sergio to think I was an amateur. I concentrated on making just the right slurpy sound as I sucked in the air and mingled it with the wine. I made sure to use the spittoons (at least a little) as to not appear a lush. But in the end I just focused on the experience of having the Managing Director of some of the best Chilean wines give me a one on one personal tour through his portfolio and vineyard. The wines we tried really were all those adjectives that I had stored in the back of my mind somewhere, and upon putting the glass to my nose and the wine to my lips the words to describe them came back to me with ease.
Santiago and Headaches
I arrived to Santiago yesterday from Valparaiso. It was a quick little jaunt of just about 2 hours. Public transportation is not as fun and doesn´t feel as friendly when there is only you and one other person on the bus. I might as well have been in a personal car which would likely spit out less toxic exhaust fumes and consume less fuel. I was advised to not visit Santiago this time of year because the climate in the summer made the city oppresively hot and humid and created a cloud cover of smog so thick that the city would all but disappear when viewed from above. I was not looking forward to this and my body was not thrilled about sucking in enough pollution to thicken my lungs. However, due to my revised travel plans, I figured I should go to Santiago now in order to meet with Sergio Reyes from Geo Wines.
When I got off the bus at Pajaritos station I was within city limits but did not immediately feel the shock of being in the country`s capital. It was relatively quiet, lacking the symphony of horns of Lima. I could see greenery and parks. I must be in some sort of suburb I thought. I continued on toward my hostel by boarding the Metro - Line 1, running East to West through the city. It was the cleanest subway system I have been on anywhere in my life. The platform was spotless, no trash or newpapers flew through the air as the train approached. Inside the train I continued to be amazed. The floors nearly glistened. There were maps and recorded voices clearly announcing my whereabouts as I progressed toward my destination.
Salvador was my stop and upon arriving I checked a map (because there was one) and headed up the steps for my first glimpse of the heart of Santiago where nearly half the population of the entire country lives. I saw more green. And fountains. Traffic was light, there were people riding bikes. I was confused. This was supposed to be a horrible place like the rest of the capital cities in Latin America (with the exception of D.F, Mex), but it wasn´t. It was a perfect example of the European influence in Chile, which at that moment, felt more like Spain.
My hostel was only around the corner. After checking in and relaxing for a bit with my book, I took off on a walk down the pedestrian parkway that ran down the middle of one of the main streets. I poked around in another park along the way where I saw couples relaxing as they laid comfortably in some shady grass, a rarity in this part of the world where no one lays on grass. Then I explored Santa Lucia, a large uninteresting handicraft market. I stopped for a bit to use the internet to try to Skype Esteban on his birthday but ended up video chatting with my parents instead. At some point during our conversation I realized what a bad headache I had. The pollution and exhaust fumes didn´t seem to be very bad, so I couldn´t place the blame on them. Instead, I decided it was due to lack of food since I hadn´t eaten since breakfast in Valparaiso that morning. I said goodbye to my parents and found a super mercado on my walk home.
As I mentioned, Chile is one of the least environmentally sustainable places in South America. An easy place to see that is in the produce aisle of the grocery store. Everything comes in packages. The broccoli florets sit in a styrofoam tray, suffocated under plastic wrap. The garlic can only be purchased in packages, as can the avocados, the carrots, the mushrooms. Finding vegetables that were sold individually was a difficult task (a task made very easy at the small neighborhood markets), but since I was just one person I had no need for 12 avocados bundled together. I found a grapefruit, a couple of tomatoes, a zuchhini, and an onion. Everything must then be placed in its own plastic bag and weighed. I have tried on several different occasions various methods to try to avoid this step of individually bagging every vegetable. I have tried asking them to weigh my single banana and place the sticker on the banana peel. They shake their head no and look at me like I have just spontaneously combusted before their eyes. They tell me that it is not possible.
Upon entering the hostel I became aware of what a smelly place it was. Maybe it was because I already had a headache. I was very conscious of the artificial smell of citrus from the woman cleaning, the Axe body spray wafting out of the dorm rooms of European kids on gap year trips, and the smell of the linens on the beds. It all served to intensify my headache. I prepared my dinner (pasta and sauce made out of my veggies and some garlic I stole from the cupboards at the hostel with some garlic bread on the side) and scarfed it down hoping to alleviate my head. Sadly, food did not help so I called upon a chemical remedy, this too failed. Eventually I decided to just sleep it off. I climbed up onto the rickety top bunk that creaked and groaned every time I tossed and turned under the smelly sheets in the heat of the Santiago night.
When I got off the bus at Pajaritos station I was within city limits but did not immediately feel the shock of being in the country`s capital. It was relatively quiet, lacking the symphony of horns of Lima. I could see greenery and parks. I must be in some sort of suburb I thought. I continued on toward my hostel by boarding the Metro - Line 1, running East to West through the city. It was the cleanest subway system I have been on anywhere in my life. The platform was spotless, no trash or newpapers flew through the air as the train approached. Inside the train I continued to be amazed. The floors nearly glistened. There were maps and recorded voices clearly announcing my whereabouts as I progressed toward my destination.
Salvador was my stop and upon arriving I checked a map (because there was one) and headed up the steps for my first glimpse of the heart of Santiago where nearly half the population of the entire country lives. I saw more green. And fountains. Traffic was light, there were people riding bikes. I was confused. This was supposed to be a horrible place like the rest of the capital cities in Latin America (with the exception of D.F, Mex), but it wasn´t. It was a perfect example of the European influence in Chile, which at that moment, felt more like Spain.
My hostel was only around the corner. After checking in and relaxing for a bit with my book, I took off on a walk down the pedestrian parkway that ran down the middle of one of the main streets. I poked around in another park along the way where I saw couples relaxing as they laid comfortably in some shady grass, a rarity in this part of the world where no one lays on grass. Then I explored Santa Lucia, a large uninteresting handicraft market. I stopped for a bit to use the internet to try to Skype Esteban on his birthday but ended up video chatting with my parents instead. At some point during our conversation I realized what a bad headache I had. The pollution and exhaust fumes didn´t seem to be very bad, so I couldn´t place the blame on them. Instead, I decided it was due to lack of food since I hadn´t eaten since breakfast in Valparaiso that morning. I said goodbye to my parents and found a super mercado on my walk home.
As I mentioned, Chile is one of the least environmentally sustainable places in South America. An easy place to see that is in the produce aisle of the grocery store. Everything comes in packages. The broccoli florets sit in a styrofoam tray, suffocated under plastic wrap. The garlic can only be purchased in packages, as can the avocados, the carrots, the mushrooms. Finding vegetables that were sold individually was a difficult task (a task made very easy at the small neighborhood markets), but since I was just one person I had no need for 12 avocados bundled together. I found a grapefruit, a couple of tomatoes, a zuchhini, and an onion. Everything must then be placed in its own plastic bag and weighed. I have tried on several different occasions various methods to try to avoid this step of individually bagging every vegetable. I have tried asking them to weigh my single banana and place the sticker on the banana peel. They shake their head no and look at me like I have just spontaneously combusted before their eyes. They tell me that it is not possible.
Upon entering the hostel I became aware of what a smelly place it was. Maybe it was because I already had a headache. I was very conscious of the artificial smell of citrus from the woman cleaning, the Axe body spray wafting out of the dorm rooms of European kids on gap year trips, and the smell of the linens on the beds. It all served to intensify my headache. I prepared my dinner (pasta and sauce made out of my veggies and some garlic I stole from the cupboards at the hostel with some garlic bread on the side) and scarfed it down hoping to alleviate my head. Sadly, food did not help so I called upon a chemical remedy, this too failed. Eventually I decided to just sleep it off. I climbed up onto the rickety top bunk that creaked and groaned every time I tossed and turned under the smelly sheets in the heat of the Santiago night.
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Germans, cont.
I have seen some wonderful skies at night, far away from the city lights, but I have never experienced a sky like this before. The stars were so brilliantly shining against the inky black of the night, galaxies and constellations jumped out of the background. Most impresively though, was the way that they sparkled. It was like each star was a piece of glass spinning and twisting in the sun. Since we missed the sunset we decided that sunrise would be just as good. We sat mesmorized by the stars for quite some time before getting snuggled into the car for our first night, Tinka and Philip reclining in the front seats and me scrunched up in the back.
In the morning we tumbled out of the car and for the first time had a look at where we actually were. We still weren`t sure what we were supposed to be looking for, but we found outselves in a valley surrounded by a landscape that appeared to be similar to the surface of the moon. We scampered across the uneven ground - a hard mixture of sand and salt that gave the desert the appearance of a fresh dusting of snow. It crunched and broke slightly beneath our feet and gave off a hollow sound when a piece of it was thrown against itself. We weren`t sure if we should be worried about the possibility of falling through, if there was even anywhere to fall to. We climbed the tallest hill we could find just in time to watch the sun as it crested over the top of the larger hills in the distance. Out lighting may not have been as impressive as it is at sunset, but it was worth the sacrifice to be able to experience the strange lunar landscape without tour groups crowding our space.
We were back in our car heading out of the park when we spotted a perfect sand dune, with smooth tan sand blown up into a perfect peak. We stopped the car and struggled up the sandy slope. From the top we had a fabulous view which we stopped to admire for a bit before haveing som fun jumping and sliding our way back down. After a small stop in the town of San Pedro for a walk around the plaza, we continued on down the road past wild alpacas, goats, and donkeys until we reached Salar de Atacama. At 300,000 hectares, this is the third largest expanse of salt flats in the world. The area of the lake that we visited was part of the Reserva Nacional de los Flamencos. Several flamingos and other birds call this place home and could be seen dancing and digging for brine shrimp among the salty water.
Quebrada de Jere is a small gorge sprouting green vegetation in the middle of this barren land. We decided it would be a good place to stop and have a picnic of cheese and avocado sandwiches followed by a little nap atop park benches. After our rest in the desert oasis we hit the road once more down the same stretch of repetitive yellow and tan neverending dustiness. We stopped in Calama to replenish our cheese, avocado, and bread supply before settling a few hours later at quiet beach where we stopped the car for the night. We ate more sandwiches at sunset sitting on the sand with waves lapping at our feet. The second night in the car was a little less comforable for Tinka and I though Philip, tallest of us all, still rested well.
In the morning we bought more bread for more snadwiches and started up the coast again back toward Iquique to return the car. After returning the car and using the internet, we had dinner at an overpriced Chifa. Chinese food is one of the only semi-reliable options for a vegetarian in Chile. Then, we boarded a 9pm bus to Copiapò and arrived 12 hours later. Spending three consequtive nights without a bed
definitely took its toll on me and I can no longer deny the inextricable link beyween my diet and my state of mind. Chile is not very easy for a vegetarian and so far I have had a diet consisting mostly of bread, cheese (sadly, not good cheese) french fries, and when I am lucky, some avocado. My skin is bad, I am grumpy, my outlook is gloomy, and my energy is low. How anyone exists here with the colorless plates of starches and meats, I will never understand.
We stayed one night in Copiapò amd were thankful for a bed, even if it was in one of the more strange accomodations I have stayed at. At 7:30am the next morning we boarded our bus toward La Serena, then a second bus to Pisco Elqui, a small town in a pretty setting where orchards and vineyards collided with arid mountains. The area is known as a center of mystical energy and is one of the main astronomical centers in the world. Pisco Elqui is also a large producer of its namesake, pisco. In the spirit of being settled for a few days we whipped up some pisco sours before I climbed into my bed illuminated by the white quartz light glowing above my head.
On the way to our next destination we stopped at a small organic winery, Cavas de Valle, where I was reminded how wonderful good wine can be, then we went to Coquimbo where we spent the night in a mansion built in 1890.
We headed to Valparaiso the next day which is where Tinka lived during her stay in Chile. Valpo for short, has a more bohemian feel to it than the other places I have been to so far in Chile. Set on a bay with resident sea lions, steep hillsides with narrow twisting roads, neighborhoods with unique personalities, and cable operated asensors (funicular elevators) it reminded me of San Francisco. Add to that its radical past, liberal population, and a reputation as a place where anything goes and I was certain this was the South American SF. The way the streets climb the hills, the way the wind hits your face while sitting in a park, the way the sun shines, and the way the fog rolled all reminded me of SF. Like SF, Valpo was also nearly destroyed by an earthquake in 1906...all these similarities made me long to return to the city by the bay.
But I was also longing to get out of the city. I was starting to go a little crazy from the noise constantly invading my head everywhere I went. I couldn`t breath without smelling car exhaust. I needed to be alone in a place where there was always someone there. My time with the German`s was reaching the end. Ultimately, I don`t play well with others. I found myself enjoying their company less and less and no longer feeling excited by having someone to share some adventures with, but stifled instead. I needed to get out. I was burnt out on the desert and the cities and wanted to get back to my routine where I worry about no one else but me, where I can happily wander around for hours reading every menu until I find a suitable place to eat, where I can stroll through the aisles of foreign supermarkets unrushed, where I can get back to nature and again feel the simple enjoyment of dirt beneath my fingernails instead of city grime.
So this morning I bid my farewells to the Germans and am again off on my own and feel the energy I was lacking returning to my bones. Tomorrow evening I am meeting Sergio from Geo Wines and will go to Isla de Maipo and visit the vineyards and taste some wonderful examples of Chilean vino and then Wednesday I will continue still farther South where the desert will start to give way to water.
In the morning we tumbled out of the car and for the first time had a look at where we actually were. We still weren`t sure what we were supposed to be looking for, but we found outselves in a valley surrounded by a landscape that appeared to be similar to the surface of the moon. We scampered across the uneven ground - a hard mixture of sand and salt that gave the desert the appearance of a fresh dusting of snow. It crunched and broke slightly beneath our feet and gave off a hollow sound when a piece of it was thrown against itself. We weren`t sure if we should be worried about the possibility of falling through, if there was even anywhere to fall to. We climbed the tallest hill we could find just in time to watch the sun as it crested over the top of the larger hills in the distance. Out lighting may not have been as impressive as it is at sunset, but it was worth the sacrifice to be able to experience the strange lunar landscape without tour groups crowding our space.
We were back in our car heading out of the park when we spotted a perfect sand dune, with smooth tan sand blown up into a perfect peak. We stopped the car and struggled up the sandy slope. From the top we had a fabulous view which we stopped to admire for a bit before haveing som fun jumping and sliding our way back down. After a small stop in the town of San Pedro for a walk around the plaza, we continued on down the road past wild alpacas, goats, and donkeys until we reached Salar de Atacama. At 300,000 hectares, this is the third largest expanse of salt flats in the world. The area of the lake that we visited was part of the Reserva Nacional de los Flamencos. Several flamingos and other birds call this place home and could be seen dancing and digging for brine shrimp among the salty water.
Quebrada de Jere is a small gorge sprouting green vegetation in the middle of this barren land. We decided it would be a good place to stop and have a picnic of cheese and avocado sandwiches followed by a little nap atop park benches. After our rest in the desert oasis we hit the road once more down the same stretch of repetitive yellow and tan neverending dustiness. We stopped in Calama to replenish our cheese, avocado, and bread supply before settling a few hours later at quiet beach where we stopped the car for the night. We ate more sandwiches at sunset sitting on the sand with waves lapping at our feet. The second night in the car was a little less comforable for Tinka and I though Philip, tallest of us all, still rested well.
In the morning we bought more bread for more snadwiches and started up the coast again back toward Iquique to return the car. After returning the car and using the internet, we had dinner at an overpriced Chifa. Chinese food is one of the only semi-reliable options for a vegetarian in Chile. Then, we boarded a 9pm bus to Copiapò and arrived 12 hours later. Spending three consequtive nights without a bed
definitely took its toll on me and I can no longer deny the inextricable link beyween my diet and my state of mind. Chile is not very easy for a vegetarian and so far I have had a diet consisting mostly of bread, cheese (sadly, not good cheese) french fries, and when I am lucky, some avocado. My skin is bad, I am grumpy, my outlook is gloomy, and my energy is low. How anyone exists here with the colorless plates of starches and meats, I will never understand.
We stayed one night in Copiapò amd were thankful for a bed, even if it was in one of the more strange accomodations I have stayed at. At 7:30am the next morning we boarded our bus toward La Serena, then a second bus to Pisco Elqui, a small town in a pretty setting where orchards and vineyards collided with arid mountains. The area is known as a center of mystical energy and is one of the main astronomical centers in the world. Pisco Elqui is also a large producer of its namesake, pisco. In the spirit of being settled for a few days we whipped up some pisco sours before I climbed into my bed illuminated by the white quartz light glowing above my head.
On the way to our next destination we stopped at a small organic winery, Cavas de Valle, where I was reminded how wonderful good wine can be, then we went to Coquimbo where we spent the night in a mansion built in 1890.
We headed to Valparaiso the next day which is where Tinka lived during her stay in Chile. Valpo for short, has a more bohemian feel to it than the other places I have been to so far in Chile. Set on a bay with resident sea lions, steep hillsides with narrow twisting roads, neighborhoods with unique personalities, and cable operated asensors (funicular elevators) it reminded me of San Francisco. Add to that its radical past, liberal population, and a reputation as a place where anything goes and I was certain this was the South American SF. The way the streets climb the hills, the way the wind hits your face while sitting in a park, the way the sun shines, and the way the fog rolled all reminded me of SF. Like SF, Valpo was also nearly destroyed by an earthquake in 1906...all these similarities made me long to return to the city by the bay.
But I was also longing to get out of the city. I was starting to go a little crazy from the noise constantly invading my head everywhere I went. I couldn`t breath without smelling car exhaust. I needed to be alone in a place where there was always someone there. My time with the German`s was reaching the end. Ultimately, I don`t play well with others. I found myself enjoying their company less and less and no longer feeling excited by having someone to share some adventures with, but stifled instead. I needed to get out. I was burnt out on the desert and the cities and wanted to get back to my routine where I worry about no one else but me, where I can happily wander around for hours reading every menu until I find a suitable place to eat, where I can stroll through the aisles of foreign supermarkets unrushed, where I can get back to nature and again feel the simple enjoyment of dirt beneath my fingernails instead of city grime.
So this morning I bid my farewells to the Germans and am again off on my own and feel the energy I was lacking returning to my bones. Tomorrow evening I am meeting Sergio from Geo Wines and will go to Isla de Maipo and visit the vineyards and taste some wonderful examples of Chilean vino and then Wednesday I will continue still farther South where the desert will start to give way to water.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
The Germans and the rental car.
My bus from Puno, Peru to the Chilean border was scheduled to depart at 8:45pm, but it was after 9pm and the bus hadn`t even arrived at the station. I eyed a couple of fellow backpackers, also waiting for the same bus and eventually we began talking. These people were Philip and Tinka, a German couple who I would end up spending the next week or so traveling with. We crossed the border at Arica with a crazy Chilean taxi driver named Christian, and then took another bus to Iquique, a port town with big houses made out of wood and a style of architecture that was half New Orleans and half the Wild West.
After living a simple rustic life in Ecuador, then experiencing a two week long tourist binge through Peru which felt a little bit like South American Disney World, I found myself in Chile, the 37th most developed country in the world and one of the least environmentally sustainable... a land where fruit flies somehow do not exist and cars stop for pedestrians in the crosswalk. We went for a dip in the ocean straight off. There, I saw lots of jelly fish which worried me a little bit, and lots of stray dogs bathing in the cool waters. Tinka lived in Chile for 6 months and said that the stray dogs in Chile enjoy a certain level of respect that they are not given in other parts of South America, and thus are left to roam the streets in packs. I had some delicious honey dew juice at the local market and realized that the desert is really really hot.
San Pedro de Atacama was where we were all headed next so we decided to make the trip together. In order to visit the natural parks and things we wanted to see there we would have to take a bus and then book organized tours, as there was no public transportation from San Pedro to the sights. That night, Tinka, Philip and I began talking about the possibility of renting a car as we were all headed to the same town and all had similar thoughts on organized tours and being herded around to sights with a big group and being told when to stop and where take pictures and when to breath. We figured that it would be approximately the same price, or maybe less expensive, to rent a car and sleep in it, thus avoiding the tour fees and expensive accomodation in San Pedro.
So after pricing out many different rental car agencies we finally got a car and began our drive through the desert. Lots of desert. Through the desert that claims the title of the `driest place on Earth` I have seen almost nothing else but desert since leaving Ecuador, but it was a different experience driving through it in a car than it is seeing it pass by through the bus window. I felt smaller, and the desert felt so much bigger. It was really nice to be in the car too because we could travel on our own terms, make stops, take pictures, use the bathroom, etc. at our own pace.
Our first destination was Santa Laura, a nitrate mine very active in the 20`s and 30`s. It had been deserted many years ago and was now just shells of old buildings, machinery, and artifacts that had been preserved well in the dry desert air. A few km down the road was Humberstone, a ghost town that had boomed during the time of the nitrate mines but had been abandoned since the 60`s. It was once quite the bustling place with a theater that hosted world acclaimed acts, now it hosts the few tourists who brave the heat and dust.
Following Humberstone we piled back into the car for more desert. It was hot and the car had neither speakers or more importantly air conditioning vents in the back seat where I was sitting and opening the window provided no relief. The road continued monotonously on for miles straight ahead and the sand continued on all sides. Off in the distance small tornadoes would lift the sand from the surface and pull it up into a spiral. Gusts of wind would grab the car periodically and shake us a bit as we moved across its path, but mostly it was just straight driving. So straight that I was even able to read a little bit without getting sick.
We were headed to Valle de la Luna (Vally of the Moon), a place we didn`t know very much about except that it was best viewed at sunset, also the busiest time. In the end we didn´t make it in time and arrived after dark. We didn`t see any signs as we passed what we guessed to be the enterance to the park but found a spot just off the road to park for the night. The air was crisp and windy and when we stepped out of the car and when we looked up we found ourselves under an impossibly starry sky.
After living a simple rustic life in Ecuador, then experiencing a two week long tourist binge through Peru which felt a little bit like South American Disney World, I found myself in Chile, the 37th most developed country in the world and one of the least environmentally sustainable... a land where fruit flies somehow do not exist and cars stop for pedestrians in the crosswalk. We went for a dip in the ocean straight off. There, I saw lots of jelly fish which worried me a little bit, and lots of stray dogs bathing in the cool waters. Tinka lived in Chile for 6 months and said that the stray dogs in Chile enjoy a certain level of respect that they are not given in other parts of South America, and thus are left to roam the streets in packs. I had some delicious honey dew juice at the local market and realized that the desert is really really hot.
San Pedro de Atacama was where we were all headed next so we decided to make the trip together. In order to visit the natural parks and things we wanted to see there we would have to take a bus and then book organized tours, as there was no public transportation from San Pedro to the sights. That night, Tinka, Philip and I began talking about the possibility of renting a car as we were all headed to the same town and all had similar thoughts on organized tours and being herded around to sights with a big group and being told when to stop and where take pictures and when to breath. We figured that it would be approximately the same price, or maybe less expensive, to rent a car and sleep in it, thus avoiding the tour fees and expensive accomodation in San Pedro.
So after pricing out many different rental car agencies we finally got a car and began our drive through the desert. Lots of desert. Through the desert that claims the title of the `driest place on Earth` I have seen almost nothing else but desert since leaving Ecuador, but it was a different experience driving through it in a car than it is seeing it pass by through the bus window. I felt smaller, and the desert felt so much bigger. It was really nice to be in the car too because we could travel on our own terms, make stops, take pictures, use the bathroom, etc. at our own pace.
Our first destination was Santa Laura, a nitrate mine very active in the 20`s and 30`s. It had been deserted many years ago and was now just shells of old buildings, machinery, and artifacts that had been preserved well in the dry desert air. A few km down the road was Humberstone, a ghost town that had boomed during the time of the nitrate mines but had been abandoned since the 60`s. It was once quite the bustling place with a theater that hosted world acclaimed acts, now it hosts the few tourists who brave the heat and dust.
Following Humberstone we piled back into the car for more desert. It was hot and the car had neither speakers or more importantly air conditioning vents in the back seat where I was sitting and opening the window provided no relief. The road continued monotonously on for miles straight ahead and the sand continued on all sides. Off in the distance small tornadoes would lift the sand from the surface and pull it up into a spiral. Gusts of wind would grab the car periodically and shake us a bit as we moved across its path, but mostly it was just straight driving. So straight that I was even able to read a little bit without getting sick.
We were headed to Valle de la Luna (Vally of the Moon), a place we didn`t know very much about except that it was best viewed at sunset, also the busiest time. In the end we didn´t make it in time and arrived after dark. We didn`t see any signs as we passed what we guessed to be the enterance to the park but found a spot just off the road to park for the night. The air was crisp and windy and when we stepped out of the car and when we looked up we found ourselves under an impossibly starry sky.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)