INTERLUDE

Just a quick, short message to those here who are following my RETROSPECTIVE:  I am working on installment five but do not have it ready as of tonight.  In the morning I am taking my dog Frida and will be going on a spring camping trip now that my income taxes have been filed.  Getting my paperwork all put together and then taking them into Salt Lake City to present to my accountant was one thing. 

But waiting on him to put it all together into something coherent and correct ended up being a nail biter this year, so now I am going to take a few days to go into escape mode, and will be running off to spend a few days unwinding in lost solitude somewhere in the Mojave Desert below Las Vegas, likely across the California state line in the general vicinity of Cima Dome.  I can't be more specific than that, nor do I want to.

Now, just so this post shows some connection to the purpose of this blog, here I am posting a copy of the original post card I sent out to friends in the autumn of 2002, announcing my plans to run away for three months to Patagonia...

My next post here will likely be sometime next week after my return, Wednesday or Thursday.  Please stay tuned.

Saludos,
The Atacama Viajero

THE ATACAMA VIAJERO - IN RETROSPECT

FIRST JOURNEY PART FOUR:

ON THE ROAD AT LAST

DESTINATION PICHILEMU AND THE SOUTH PACIFIC

December 4, 2002: 8:00 pm - Hotel Asthur, Pichilemu, Chilean coast - So finally my departure day had arrived.  I got my day started fairly early as I needed to re-pack all of the things of mine that I'd spread out in the apartment during my initial stay in Santiago as well as the laundry I had taken into the cleaners on the previous day. 

Once I had that all pretty much taken care of, I went over to Andres' office to check on the rental truck.  For the record, I would be touring Chile and Argentina in a white 2001 Nissan D21 four-door 4x4 pickup truck with a camper shell and two spare gas cans and two spare tires.  Andres had my notarized 90 day permit that would allow me to take the rental vehicle across the border into Argentina, and his handyman Luis had the full rental contract set for my signature once we had made a final inspection of the truck including notations of all anomalies such as minor bumps and scratches so that I wouldn't be held responsible for these pre-existing conditions.

Once all that was completed, I was technically all set to get out and onto the road.  Luis took me back to the apartment in another vehicle so that we could load my bags and then bring them over to the roof of the parking terrace and loaded everything into the Nissan.  Then I went back downstairs to the office once more to say my farewells to Andres and Consuela.  Luis then drove the Nissan down to the main exit of the parking terrace, and handed the keys over to me.

"So okay," I thought.  "Here I go off for the first time out on my own, driving in a South American country."   I'll admit now that I was a bundle of nerves.  My first urgent task was to somehow navigate myself over to Ruta 5, aka the Panamericana, or Pan-American Highway, which would lead me out of Santiago and on to points south.  Thankfully, Patricio had loaned me a superb set of road maps, a set of the anually updated and fabled Turistel maps and guidebooks of Chile (in Español), so I could find my way around.

I waved my last good-bye to everybody and lurched out onto Avenida Miraflores, the busy street in front of the parking terrace, and suddenly, I was off.  Andres had given me specific instructions as to where to turn to get to the highway entrance point, so I figured if I could just do everything a step at a time, I'd be fine.  But traffic on the feeder route leading to the Panamericana was thick and congested, and there were a lot of agressive urban drivers out there.  I recall forming sort of a vague mental image of it being like some sort of a destruction derby stock car race, but in reality it was just a prelude to what was to follow momentarily, when I found myself suddenly following a choked feeder lane, entering a totally crowded highway going southbound, in the midst of choking exhaust fumes, clanking metal, and all sorts of grinding engines from all sorts of vehicles, going from beat-up old sedans to smelly garbage trucks and freight carriers.  I mean, I was totally caught up with the uncertain flow of the human menagerie, which measured itself as literally bumper to bumper.

I began to get my bearings as the hoard of vehicles lurched forward.  The Panamericana was under construction on this stretch that was slicing through the heart of the city, so the clanging of rebar and steel beams accompanied by the occasional machine-gun like staccato of jackhammers added to the mad chacophany of the moment.  I looked down at the odometer, and then to the gas gauge.  To my sudden shock I grasped the fact that this truck's gas gauge arrow was just a hair's breadth above EMPTY!  "Damnit!" I cursed.  "Luis sent me out into this odious highway nightmare with an empty gas tank!"  So it was freakout time, but I could not do anything more for that moment than navigate the Nissan step by step over into the right-hand lane and then hope that whatever exit I might find would lead me to a petroleum station...

Patricio had told me to watch for Copec stations.  He had saidthat they were the best for the money because of their amenities.  Well, once I got off of the highway I must have driven for two or three kilometers before a gas station came into view, appearing in a lot that fronted on the road across the opposite lane from me.  There was a divider which would not allow me to make a left turn, so I was forced to go another half-kilometer before I could turn around and double back.  At the moment my circumstance seemed more harrowing than it was...in fact, I should have been celebrating my discovery of a gas station and the fact that now I would be able to finally fill up my tank, which I did in short order.  I don't know what the kid who was the attendant who pumped my gas must have thought of me - a nervous and anxiety-filled gringo, but he was pleasant and I suppose, mostly reassuring.  I paid him and tipped him as well, thanking him for the gas, while in reality, I think I really wanted to thank him for being there.

It was a calming moment.  And with that business taken care of, I took a moment to go over the Turistel maps to get my bearings.  I got back onto the Panamericana and proceeded on my way south, and things seemed to settle down considerably after that.  The farther away I got from the center of Santiago, the more ordered things seemed to get, on this southward trajectory I was following.  Road signs were for Rancagua, then Rengo, and then Pelequén.  Once I passed the north exit for San Fernando I told myself to watch for my own exit, which would come up on the south end of that town.  Even this far south of Santiago (I'd come some 140 kilometers already) the highway frontage was fairly urban, with an emphasis on tire repair shops and mechanic's garages, interspersed with fruit and vegetable stands all crowding for exposure to all the traffic moving down the highway.

It didn't take any time at all once I got off of the Panamericana and onto the two-lane highway going west-bound past the outskirts of San Fernando for everything to start turning rural, or as I would like to say, pastoral.  I was entering the famous Colchagua Valley, one of Chile's prime wine producing regions.  As I drove on I passed many lush, green vineyards.  The locals call that road the "Ruta del Vino," and indeed, the Turistel mapbook showed something like eight different wineries between San Fernando and the town of Peralillo, which marked just the halfway point on this beautiful drive to Pichilemu from San Fernando.

Eventually out of the wine country, the road I followed coursed through mixed forests and ranching country, and finally, as I rounded the ultimate gradual turn, the horizon opened up and the contour of the land dropped away in front of me, revealing a most appealing panoramic clear view all the way to Pichilemu, with the shimmering waters of the South Pacific beyond, brilliant in the afternoon sun.  That's the view in the picture I inserted at the beginning of today's post.

As I approached the town center I spied a tourist office to my immediate right, and figured that it would be a good bet for me to inquire about lodging so that I could get myself settled in and start to relax.  I figured I had at least a couple of days that I could devote to this place, and after the drive I was more than ready to find a place to settle in.  There was a very pleasant young woman who was on duty in this tourist office, and she was most cordial and welcoming when I came in.  I asked her about a recommendation for a nice place to stay for a couple of nights, and she said "oh, by all means you should check out the Hotel Asthur!  They have clean and comfortable rooms with private baths and hot water, a nice patio and restaurant, secure private parking with breakfast included, all for 9,600 Pesos Chilenos (which at 2002 rates came to about $13.25 USD per night - quite a bargain)."  She pointed to the hill to the south and said, "There it is - Hotel Asthur, run by Don Enrique Romero, one of the most trusted businessmen in Pichilemu."

Okay, so that was easy.  She gave me a town map and highlighted Don Enrique's Hotel Asthur for me.  Located on the top of the hill on Avenida Ortuzar it was easy to get to.  I drove up and parked in front and went to the door, which was locked, so I rang the bell.  A maid came and opened it and I asked her about a room for at least a couple of nights.  She let me in and led me to a small office that faced the lobby.  It was an interesting office, all enclosed with glass, so practically the entire hotel interior was visible from there. 

This was Don Enrique Romero's office.  The maid told me to wait there while she went to get Don Enrique.  In a minute an elderly man came through one of the doors to the restaurant who walked slowly and deliberately.  He introduced himself as Don Enrique and as we shook hands he motioned for me to take a seat.  He was calm and spoke quietly in a Spanish that was quite clear and understandable, and he seemed to be comfortable with my halting and quite imperfect effort to converse with him as I made my request for lodging.  He was clearly in his sixties at least, if not past seventy, but clearly in good health no matter what his age.  His appearance was fairly nondescript, save for the fine clothes he wore, which suggested a man of some substance.  I was most struck by the fact that he seemed to be a man quite at peace with himself and his surroundings, and he honored me by addressing me with a few sentences in basic English.  He called the maid back and had her show me the room he would give me, which was located on the far right of the lobby with a nice window to the outside, a comfortable double bed and private bath.  Very clean.  I came back to Don Enrique in his office and told him that the room was superb and would gladly take it.  Then we went through the formalities of getting the Nissan parked behind the high wooden fence which concealed any and all from outside onlookers, and I was given the keys to my room.

Okay, so I figured that now I was really here.  I got my things stowed away in the room and then went out onto the patio with it's nice view towards the "playa principal," or the main beach.  I was pleased that the room and the lobby are so charming and I was very pleased with the view into the north end of town from that patio.  I kind of figured that the peacefulness of Don Enrique was reflected in the peacefulness of his hotel.  With the sun sinking low and the gentle cool evening breezes surrounding me, I was happy to be where I was.  The next two pictures show a couple of views from the patio:

But a couple of hours later as dark descended I came to realize that in my rather anxious and nervous departure from Santiago, I had completely forgotten my nice warm flannel shirt and my winter coat in the closet of the apartment.  I worried that they might be possibly lost forever, but hoped that Andres would recover them since it is his apartment, and keep them for my return.  That meant that somewhere down the road I would have to buy some warm clothes for my trip south to Patagonia.

I got a bit frustrated that first night with the Hotel Asthur because the "restaurant" never opened up that night, and furthermore, there was no sign at all on the outside that there was a restaurant, and the security door remained locked.  There was nobody in the service area even to do any cooking so I resigned myself to eat some of the snacks I had - I had plenty, including some of the fruit that had been given to me upon my arrival in Santiago days before, so I hunkered down with my books and maps for the night, hoping that in the morning there would be somebody there to serve the promised breakfast.   Then, before I turned in it dawned on me:  The reason why the hotel was practically empty, and why the kitchen wasn't even occupied was because the tourist season wouldn't even begin for another four weeks.  That's just the way it is.

December 5, 2002: 7:45 p.m. Hotel Asthur, Pichilemu - The morning greeted me with sunshine, and the hotel people greeted me with smiles.  Indeed there was a typically modest Chilean breakfast coming for me, served promptly at a single table by the window in the restaurant at 9 a.m. by a very nice and friendly maid.  As I sat there eating my "pan con queso" (toast and cheese) with instant coffee I realized I needed to be a bit less judgemental, and moreover, I needed to be more open-minded and receptive to my host's ways.  After all, this was their country and their culture, and I'm the visitor.

After that modest breakfast I set out on my first stroll, and I headed straight for the long, smooth volcanic black sand beach.  I found a nice sandbar right at surf's edge where I sat down in the warm morning sun to gaze at the ocean.  What a pleasure.  I ended up watching the endless succession of waves crash down on the sandy beach in front of me for well over an hour.  I took my boots off and sunk my toes into that black sand.  I was in no hurry and I liked where I was. 

Eventually I put my boots back on and pulled myself up, figuring it was time to walk the length of the beach over to the rocky point known to the locals as La Puntilla where the waves were coming by at a clear angle - enough to create a perfect left rolling swell which was attracting the surfers.  I must have spent another hour over there watching them catching waves.

One of the kitchen assistants back at the hotel had told me that tomorrow morning the Chilean surfing championships would begin here and run through the weekend, so I contemplated hitting the road then to avoid any surfer madness, but in the end I figured I might find it sort of fascinating to watch.

On my walk back from the rocky point I came to the park grounds known as Parque Ross, which is adjacent to the old mansion which was once the home of the 19th century land baron, railroad king and entrepreneur Agustín Ross Edwards, who had built up Pichilemu in the late 1800's and had promoted it as both port and vacation mecca for the well-heeled of Santiago.  The old mansion, called the "Palacio Ross" in its heyday, was notable for housing Chile's first casino, and once must have been really something to see.  What I saw however, was an obviously historic structure in a state of mild disrepair that was functioning as sort of a municipal museum, open to the public but with no attendant on duty and little to display to the curious visitor.  The casino was long gone, but I was impressed with the place even though it appeared to be the victim of decades of benign neglect. 

But the same could not be said for the adjacent Parque Ross, which was obviously being impeccably maintained and groomed by the municipal groundskeepers who also kept the other town parks in superb shape.

On my way back to the hotel I stopped into the local supermercado where I bought some bread, cheese, bottled water and a variety of other things so that I could make myself a sandwich for my dinner.  I communicated pretty good with the locals too, with my gringo Español.  Back at the hotel, I spent the rest of the day relaxing out on the patio and reading.

December 6, 2002 8:05 p.m. Hotel Ashtur, Pichilemu - I ended up deciding to stay another day and do nothing in particular because of Pichilemu's tranquility.  I walked back down to the beach and more or less reprised my meditation by the waves from yesterday and then later strolled back to the supermercado to buy some things for the road.  I ran into a Californian gringo surfer who was camped a bit south of town at a place called Punta de Lobos, a rather stark and treeless promontory which attracts surfers because of its waves, which make for one of the longest and most consistent left points on the continent.  His Spanish was very bad, so I helped him order some cheese from the market's butcher.

Other than that, there's little more to be said for my last day in Pichilemu, except for the fact that it was, for me at least, a very pleasant, laid back beginning to my epic journey.  After perusing over my maps and guidebooks, I decided that I'd continue working my way southward, and that my goal for the day would be to try to find a place to camp at or near the towns of Curanipe or Cobquecura, both coastal villages, roughly 150 kilometers from the hosteria of El Rincón, just north of Los Angeles, where I had reservations for a room and a Spanish class on the 8th...   

THE ATACAMA VIAJERO - IN RETROSPECT

FIRST JOURNEY PART THREE:

THE LAST DAYS IN SANTIAGO

BEFORE HITTING THE ROAD FOR REAL

The above map shows that part of Santiago Centro where I spent most of my time when I was not off touring with Patricio or on some other  order of business.  The black arrow I inserted to show the exact location of the apartment Andres had given me for my first few days of acclimatization to Chile.  The address was Mosqueto 562 Apt. 102, Santiago Centro.  102 meant it was the second unit on the tenth floor.

Above the arrow is the Museo de Arte Contemporaneo, which is in the midst of the Parque Forestal.  Both of which I described in Part One.  Then directly above that is an orange band which represents the toll highway Costanera Norte, which in reality now is a subterranean thoroughfare that runs under the Río Mapocho, but which was, back then in 2002, under construction.

 

To the south of the arrow, the larger green area, is the park that surrounds the historic Cerro Santa Lucia, which is notable for being the place where Conquistador of Chile, Don Pedro de Valdivia, came on December 13, 1540, the date of his arrival into the valley of the Río Mapocho.  He camped at the base of the hill, which was called Huelén by the Indians, and he re-named it Santa Lucia, in honor of the date of his arrival, which in the Catholic calendar is the día de Santa Lucia.

So, with all that said, now I will resume with a recounting of my last two days in Santiago, from my travel journals...

December 2, 2002 - 10:40 p.m. entry:  Nothing spectacular to report for today.  I took a taxi from Andres' office on Miraflores to the U.S. Embassy to register my presence - the only time I would bother with that formality - and after meeting and chatting for a few minutes with Robert Jennings, an embassy official who was a friend of Robert Runyard (the American Chile travel veteran who had given me many travel tips before my departure), I decided to set out on my own on foot to return to El Centro.  The embassy was on the banks of the Río Mapocho, east of downtown, and it seemed that it would be an appealing walk through the parkways of the extended Parque Forestal.  I walked in the full warmth of the day - it was sunny and peaceful with birds chirping and everything in bloom in the parkway.

The walk would have been more pleasant except for the fact that I'd made a mistake of not trying to find a men's room back at the embassy, and I realized I really had to pee!  All along the parkway there were beautiful public areas with kid's swings, fountains, park benches and commemorative statues, but no public bathrooms that I could discern.  It became something of an uncomfortable situation.  I would have loved to have been able to settle in on some park bench to take in all of the activity and the beauty of the parkway but I was pushed on by an ever growing urge...

I made it back to Andre's office without incident.  It was located on the ground floor of a downtown parking terrace, but all of his vehicles, including the one I was set to rent were parked up on the roof, which was his space, where Andres' man Luis was busily putting the finishing touches on making my 4x4 rental pickup truck ready for my departure.  I paid Andres the full amount of his rental fee for the three months I'd be using it and then also accepted a cell phone from him for a flat $50 USD charge for the duration.  I considered it to be an emergency-only item except for a call I was going to make to Patricio and then later on a contact call to Sonia, the lady Robert Runyard had connected me with down in Osorno, who would help me to make arrangements for my ferry trip into Chilean Patagonia.

In the late afternoon I toured Cerro Santa Lucia, which was only a few blocks away from my apartment.  I've already mentioned that it is an historical site, but it is also a botanical garden, so it was really quite charming.  And the views of the city from its summit were very nice.  Luckily there had been a gentle but steady breeze so the air was cleaner, and the views were mich clearer.  That meant that today's pictures would be clearer than they had been yesterday when Patricio had taken me up to the top of Cerro San Cristobal.

Above I've posted a good picture of the view towards the Andes from Santa Lucia, and below there's more...

The picture to the left is of a statue of Pedro de Valdivia which is on Cerro Santa Lucia, and below is another shot of the statue, taken from the top of the hill...

Now something a bit more mundane.  I found a laundry around the corner from the apartment and Decided that it would be in my best interests to drop off what I had that was dirty in the morning so that I could get everything washed before my departure on the 4th. 

December 3, 2002 - 10:45 p.m. entry:  I walked into Andres' office in the afternoon to check on the truck, but everybody was either busy or gone, except for Consuela, the office secretary who brightens things up in that otherwise drab car rental office with her youthful charm and beauty.  She seems to be the one who manages the day-to-day workings of all of Andres' business ventures.

I was somewhat surprised to find out that she actually can speak some English - but this only came out when she perceived how stressed my brain was becoming from the virtual assault it was taking from the sudden Spanish immersion I'd been dealing with since my arrival and found myself at a loss for words and unable to communicate.  

At that moment Consuela asked me in English, "John, why did you come to Chile?"  And even with sensing the sudden opportunity to mix the languages with her in reply, I found it difficult to give her an answer.  I think that was because my brain was still in a state of language overload.  But that's okay.  I've found her to be a pretty cool head.  I think she's figured it out, because following that, we got into a good discussion about deserts - she was saying that I ought to go north instead of south when I left in the morning because she thought that the Atacama Desert  was blooming right at that time, which is truly a rare thing to behold.

Now here's my soliloquy from that night's post:

 "I will be glad to get on the road at last and leave Santiago behind.  It is time to escape from the big metropolis.  No, I'm not going to Valparaiso or Viña del Mar now, nor am I going to Zapallar or Papudo - oh, I want to get out to the latter two later on, but right now I want to start heading south.  First to the ocean yes, but also south...bearing in mind that I need to get to El Rincón [a hosteria outside of Los Angeles in the Río Bío Bío valley] where I have reservations and am scheduled to begin a weeklong Spanish class on Sunday, December 8."

"I've opted to drive to Pichilemu, a place that's noted in the tour guides for its' faded grandeur and which is usually quiet on weekdays, but with some decent beaches.  And that most who do come there do so to surf, but it is no mecca.  And you know, Andres wouldn't really understand my reasons for going there [likely he does now, after five visits to Chile] but I think Consuela would."

"And that kind of gets me back to her question of, why Chile?"

"In a way, I'm a bit disappointed in myself for not at least giving my hosts a better idea of who I really am.  I've been trying too hard to accomodate my being [unsuccessfully] into their culture - by wearing all my new, nice clothes and all..."

"Oh, all that will continue, I am sure, because I do not want to come across as an ungracious or unkept guest.  So I suppose that I really shouldn't be making an issue about that and should rather just accept that as being a part of something bigger, and thus, rather trivial."

"It all gets down to my basic desire to get out there - to see and hear and feel all the power of this natural world alive and in action - like it will be on that beach when I get there, and like it will be when I am alone in the empty interior of the Argentine Patagonia, and also when I am baking by day and freezing by night alone out in the Atacama Desert."

"That's why I came here - it's all spiritual in a not-religious existential sense...surrounded by it all in this place of my choosing - a place which has always fascinated me and drawn me closer from the first days when I could start to read maps...."

For the record, I had a nice lunch with Patricio in the afternoon at another restaurant in Bellavista called Ahi Grande.  I had Cazuela de Ave, or Chilean chicken soup, notable because it has the chicken meat still on the bone and all of the vegetables are whole, not cut up - like a whole potato, a whole carrot, a section of corn - still on the cob, and a big slice of squash.  Patricio is a great fellow, and I am very grateful to him for taking me under his wing.  He taught me much about his country in our two meetings, and I am very grateful for it.

[Note: I'd planned to re-connect with Patrick again later on during my journey, but the reality was that when I came back to Santiago, he was out of town.  I later on tried to re-connect with him on my 2nd South America trip, but my contact info was out of date and it never came to pass.  I simply couldn't find him.  That's sad.]

Now in closing for today, here are a couple more views from Cerro Santa Lucia:

  

THE ATACAMA VIAJERO - IN RETROSPECT

FIRST JOURNEY PART TWO:

MEETING PATRICIO SCHMIDT CORREA

MY FIRST GUIDE TO THE SIGHTS OF CHILE

December 2, 2002, Santiago - Yesterday (Sunday, December 1) I met up with Patricio Schmidt Correa for the first time.  My cowboy friends Ron Kane and Meghan Merker had suggested to me that I look him up once I got to Santiago.  Patricio is a very well-known and successful architect in Chile who also happens to be in love with the life of the cowboy in the old American West.

If you can imagine a man whose life is defined by twin passions, in his case the genius of architect Frank Lloyd Wright on one hand and the legendary cowboy writers Will James and Bruce Kiskaddon on the other, you might be able to appreciate Patricio Schmidt.

That's him, in the above picture, on the patio of the riding stables he brought me to see on that sunny and warm Sunday morning - a stable which happens to be located on the skirt of the Andes Mountains overlooking the valley of Santiago. 

Anyway, I was lucky enough to get ahold of Patricio immediately following my arrival in Santiago and he had already made plans to show me as much as he could in a day.  He picked me up early on that morning at my apartment in Santiago Centro and took me out to see some of the city.  First he took me to the Parque Metropolitano, which is located just northeast of the Barrio Bellavista, where Andres had taken me to lunch after my arrival.  This park's dominant feature is the Cerro San Cristobal, essentally a foothill spur of the Andes Cordillera which rises up directly to the east.  On the summit of the ridge is an outdoor church, and it happend that at the time of our visit, many of the faithful were there celebrating Sunday Mass, and right alongside of the open air ampitheater there is an impressive large statue of the Virgin Mary, pictured above.

But Patricio had not taken me up Cerro San Cristobal to attend Mass, but rather, to give me a chance to take in the marvelous view of Santiago, and especially of the city's barrios of El Centro, Bellavista and Providencia, which extended out from the base of the hill.  The view was great except for the certain amount of haze which often occupies the valley.  The picture on the left shows part of that view - looking directly at Santiago Centro with Barrio Bellavista in the foreground.

From there Patricio took me to see the compact campus of the Escuela de Archetectura (School of Architecture), which was closed up for the weekend.  Since Patricio was one of the principal faculty members, he had a key to open up the locked gate so that I could see the courtyard and some of the buildings there.  It was a calm and peaceful compound, and Patricio had said that before urban expansion had surrounded the school, it's principal buildings had been the living quarters and working offices of an "estancia'" or large ranch.  Here is a glimpse inside the compound, on a quiet sunday... Patricio says that on weekdays, the courtyard is usually filled with students.

We left the schoolgrounds after our short visit and Patricio then took me to visit his own home, which is located over in the next valley, I think into the neighborhood on the bench known as La Dehesa, nestled against the foothills.  His home was secluded and gated in front, but in back it had a charming yard which overlooked a small creek that flowed out of the canyon to the left.  There I met his wife and daughter and two of their sons, all very charming, and quite good English speakers, as of course Patricio was as well.

They had a marvelous almuerzo (lunch) prepared for me, with fresh fruit and a seafood salad and plenty of vegetables, which was really appreciated by yours truly.  Unfortunately, before we sat down to eat, I had a run-in with their dog, who had just given birth to a litter of puppies five days before.  Patricio had brought me over to see the little pups, and we were all caught by surprise when the mom lunged at me and bit me!  Of course Patricio and his wife and daughter were all horrified that their special guest had been bitten (on the back of my right leg), but thankfully it was not a serious bite, and I could understand why the mom dog had done it - since I was a total stranger, she just wanted to protect her brood.

Inside his house, Patricio showed me his basement, where he had many items he had collected from his numerous trips to the U.S., where he often went during the Chilean winter to be a working cowboy on various American ranches.  It was on one of those working trips when he had gotten to know my friends Ron Kane and Meghan Merker.  He had racks of books by the aforementioned Will James and Bruce Kiskaddon, as well as by numerous other western writers.  The walls of his basement were righly adorned with artwork by the likes of western artists like Maynard Dixon and Frederic Remington plus all sorts of relics from the old west and vintage trappings of cowboy ranch life.  In a way, it was kind of hard to imagine I was in Chile, and not in Tuscarora, Nevada...

Afterwards, Patricio took me to visit his riding stables, which are located above the 1,000 meter elevation on the skirt of the Andes, and which are thus outside of the area designated for urban development.  It was quite a picturesque spot, but surprisingly, there were no people around when we arrived - siesta time, Patricio told me.   The picture above shows the setting, and Patricio told me that he has taken one of his horses from the stables and ridden way up above and across the ridgeline and peaks in the distance.  The picture to the right shows Patricio comforting one of his horses in its stall.

"Okay Smokey, let me take you up into the mountains," he said, adding "I think you'll like what you see.  We just keep driving on the road that brought us to these stables, right up into the Andes.  It's the road that leads to some of the famous Chilean ski resorts."

Well, I wasn't going to refuse that offer.  Patricio drove me up on the spectacular drive that leads up through the canyon of the Río Mapocho and cuts across the Santuario de la Naturaleza Yerba Loca and eventually, after something like 32 numbered switchbacks, arrives at the ski resort country, of which one can access several via this route.  Patricio opted to take me to the one known as La Parva, although once up in the mountans there are a number of options.   The view in the picture to the left presents the view back towards Santiago (as defined by the haze), and also illustrates some of the narrow switchbacks on this road into the mountains. 

Eventually we got to La Parva which was basically all closed up since the ski season was long over and the slopes only displayed patches of snow.  There were plenty of ski lodges at the base of the lifts, but again, no people.  The picture to the right shows La Parva as seen from a short distance away.  

 From La Parva we turned to drive back down the mountain, following the same route back.  Up there the air was cool, almost chilly, because the clouds were blocking the intense rays of the sun.  When we got to a certain ridgeline before starting the switchbacks again, Patricio stopped the car.  "Smokey, this ridge is known as La Loma del Viento.  It is quite a notable place where you can see off into both canyons on either side.  Take a minute to appreciate it."  

The picture to the right shows the view to the south from the ridge of La Loma del Viento into the next canyon, I think of the Río Molina and Valle Nevado, another ski resort off in the distance.

From that vista point we turned and headed back down the mountain.  I remember being so in awe of the depth of the canyons, but maybe it was more the displacement vertically from the bottom of those deep canyons and on up the steep slopes to the summits lost in the clouds.  I said to myself, "THESE are mountains! Such incredible dimensions!  They test the ability of any and all to take it all in, and cameras can do them no justice!

In the evening after Patricio had dropped me off back at my apartment, I went off and had a sandwich at a nearby cyber cafe.  I tried accessing my emails online.  I could do so, but I couldn't get their computer to send anything.  I wanted so much to tell friends about my big day but was only able to spend a frustrating hour laboring away with nothing to show for it.

Anyway, here's one more image taken from my first drive into the Andes, east of Santiago...

Incidentally, in case you didn't know...you can click on any one of the images I've posted to see a larger version.

I'll be posting more here really soon, so stay tuned!

  

  

THE ATACAMA VIAJERO - IN RETROSPECT

PHOTO GALLERY: HERE IS REALLY WHY I LOVE SOUTH AMERICA

Okay, so I call him my agent, but he is really my dear friend - perhaps ,one of my best friends in this life, my amigo Chileño, Andres Gabor. He sent me this series of pictures a couple of weeks ago because he thought my definitive descriptive blog on my South American adventure needed to have pictures of me, not just pictures of the places I'd visited or people I'd met...

So, here is a small gallery of photos, compliments of my friend Andres, showing (mostly) me hanging out and enjoying life with Andres and his wonderful family...

That's a picture of me with Andres, taken in 2007, with his young son Cristobal sitting on the rock behind us.

Above is Andres with his beautiful kids: (L-R) Matias, Andres, Cristobal and Constanza

Here I am with Matias and Cristobal in the cabaña Andres and his girlfriend Cecilia (aka Chica) had rented in the coastal resort community of Maitencillo, just north of Valparaiso.

Here I am, outside of the same cabaña in Maintencillo. The red pickup truck to my right was to be my touring vehicle that year.

From Maintencillo, we all went together to visit an interesting coastal site known as the Cementario de Zapallar. Here is a picture either Andres or Chica took of me photographing one of the landmarks of the cemetery.

Next image above was shot by Andres. It shows me on the left, with his kids and girlfriend in front, heading for the walkway that leads to the rocky coastline below the cemetery.

Another image of me - this time photographing a particularly interesting gravesite.

Andres, Chica and Cristobal - on the rocks above the shores of the Pacific Ocean at Zapallar.

Andres' daughter Constanza (L) and Chica watching the waves roll in at Zapallar.

Here I am, with Constanza (L) and Matias (R) walking back through the cemetery from the rocky Pacific shoreline, with Andres in the background. Taken by Chica.

Here I am at the placid harbor of Papudo, a rather posh coastal resort just north of Zapallar, at dusk.

I think this shows me with Andres' lovely daughter Constanza on a rock above the harbor at Papudo, just celebrating being there.

Again with Constanza, likely back at the cabaña in Maitencillo.

An earlier time, and an earlier trip to South America, found me as Andres' guest at the resort known as "Las Dunas," just south of La Serena, in northern Chile. Constanza and Matias are alongside on the railing overlooking the sea with me.

Here's a last picture sent by Andres. I'm taking in the place and the ambience at Zapallar.

Now a note. Maybe this will not come as such a surprise to many of you, but I am once again beginning to contemplate actually moving to Chile. Yeah... Earlier tonight I discussed this idea with my daughter Sara over the phone, and she really believes I would be a lot happier living there...it is a complex idea and I will want to consider it further, and will keep all who visit here informed.

In the meantime, I apol;ogize for not continuing so rapidly with my actual retrospective. I've been a bit distracted of late, especially with the process of preparing my 2009 income taxes. I will hope to re-convene with my dialogue on my late 2002 adventures in the next few days. In the meantime, I do hope that all who visit here will enjoy these fine and warm photos sent by my friend Andres Gabor...

THE ATACAMA VIAJERO - IN RETROSPECT

FIRST JOURNEY PART ONE: FROM NEVADA TO SEATTLE

AND FINALLY, SANTIAGO CHILE

NOVEMBER 20-30, 2002

On the surface it would not surprise me if the image I've created of my actual departure itinerary as laid out in this first chapter's heading seems illogical to you. In truth, it ended up being even crazier because of flight complications between Seattle and Santiago.

Actually, I've got a logical explanation as to why I first went to Seattle. My daughter Sara happened to be living at the time in Bothell, outside of Seattle, where she was enrolled in a school of floral design while at the same time she was working as ship's attendant on the Victoria Clipper, a popular tourist ferry that ran through Puget Sound between Seattle and Victoria, B.C. I'd arranged for Sara and her then-boyfriend (now husband) Kurt Dunning to take care of both my car and my dog for the duration of my first South American trip, so driving up to Seattle made perfect sense.

And the timing for my trip worked out perfectly in another way. I'd scheduled my flight out of Seattle for the day after Thanksgiving, so it gave us a good chance to spend a couple of days together as family before I flew out.

Before the drive up to Seattle from my digs in rural Nevada, I'd been busying myself with a veritable mountain of preparatory details before I headed out - but it would really exhaust me to try to recount that whole process for you here. Just figure that I had to make arrangements to secure everything at home, including arranging for a caretaker to collect mail and watch over my house and to prepay bills for a full three month's absence. And I'd made meticulous arrangements over a period of time for my arrival in Chile.

After doing a rather extensive online search I settled on making a three month rental of a sturdy 4x4 pickup truck from a fellow named Andres Gabor, who operated a tourist outfit which he called AbsolutChile, and who would also make arrangements for my first few nights' accomodations in Santiago to get settled in before I headed out on the road for real.

So that's a rather succinct summary of everything pre-departure. Sara did a superb job of cooking up a fine Thanksgiving dinner, complete with all of the trimmings. At the end of that evening I logged in my journal that there was so much going through my head that I was not so sure I'd get much sleep, which turned out to be an accurate assumption. My narrative will now switch over into journal mode, beginning with my recollection of my trip from Seattle (departing on the morning of November 29) to my first day in Chile (as entered before retiring in my temporary apartment in Santiago on the night of November 30).

November 30, 2002 - 11:15 p.m. Santiago, Chile

Here I am, in Santiago. I have finally reached South America.

Starting out from Sara's, the journey to Seattle's airport in post-rush hour traffic was uneventful. Kurt drove us there, and Sara accompanied me into the terminal, helping me with my bags. Kurt then drove the circle around toe parking terrace and back up to curbside where he assumed he'd be picking Sara up. There was a little problem which happened following my check-in however. Since my bags were ticketed for an international flight, he baggage people had indicated that I should stand by while my bags cleared their inspection, so Sara and I found ourselves waiting there for some sort of signal, which was not forthcoming, while Kurt found himself driving around in circles - multiple times. Finally Sara flagged down one of the baggage people to see if there was a problem with my bags, and the woman said, "My goodness, his bags cleared our inspection ten minuites ago - he can proceed to his departure gate. I'm sorry." Even with that little snafu, Sara became flushed and she teared up, giving me a tearful goodbye hug and sent me on my way. It's a good thing - Kurt was late for class.

Anyway, I had the good fortune to find myself sitting next to a cheerful woman from Colombia on the flight from Seattle to Dallas/Ft. Worth. She was thrilled to learn I was flying to Chile and she took it upon herself to work a little with my Spanish as we took off. It was a good impromptu language lesson, which continued off and on for the entire journey, even continuing on past our touchdown in Dallas as we found ourselves with an additional two other Colombian women riding on the same shuttle van that would take us to the faraway departure gates for our next connecting flight to Miami.

If you are familiar with the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport, you are aware that it is something of a sprawling monster, so it might not surprise you that the shuttle barely got us to the Miami flight departure gate on time. And it turned out that this flight was also loaded with South Americans, since it was a connecting flight with a final destination of Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Why was I flying to Miami when Delta Air Lines ran regular, non-stop flights to Santiago from Dallas? It turned out that the airline made those flights six nights a week, and unfortunately, I'd booked myself onto the seventh night. Okay, so maybe if I'd done a little more checking I could have avoided that lateral flight across the Gulf of Mexico, but it turned out okay regardless because it was one of those crystal- clear cloudless nights, and the in-flight screen was showing the itinerary map of where we were flying. Once out of the Dallas/Ft. Worth airspace, the flight tacked to the southeast past Lake Ponchartrain and out over the waters of the Gulf. Remember, this was a night flight so I couldn't see the water below, but I could see all the lights of the communities stretching out like a diamond necklace along the coastline. And with the flight itinerary map on the screen, I could tell exactly which Gulf community was which. Mobile Bay and Pensacola glided past, and when the flight reached the Gulf's Florida shore I could clearly make out Tampa Bay and even the inland swamps and wetlands. Viewing Miami as we approached in the darkness was simply a spectacular sight. I guess I should add that I'd lucked out to have secured the window seat, so the whole flight to Miami was an amateur geographer's night-time delight.

The Miami layover was something like two hours. It gave me time to ponder what was ahead: a true "red-eye" flight that was departing at 11:40 p.m. Eastern time and would represent the first time I'd cross the equator in this life. I remember wondering if they still made a big deal about passing into the Southern Hemisphere like old seafarers used to do (they don't), and also wondering how I'd do with such a long flight - some nine hours non-stop to Santiago.

Unfortunately there would be no window seat for this one: I was assigned to the left-center aisle seat, and there was the advantage of not having to climb over a fellow traveler to get out to stretch in the aisle or to go to the bathroom - and by the time we'd been flying until dawn I was grateful for that.

Anyway, the flight seemed to go on forever, and naturally I found it impossible to "sleep" in the cramped, semi-jacknife position of a passenger flying coach, so by the time we were starting our approach in full morning daylight my sleep-deprived head felt like hell with a day's growth of stubble on my face and a grubby body yearning for the shower I would not be able to take for several hourws more. Regardless of that, The person who did have the window seat had pulled up the blind to take in the view of the Andes Cordillera as it rolled past. It was a veiw I had dearly wanted to take in, and by straining my neck I could at least take in the basic view, which was superb.

There they were, the Andes - which out the portal presented stacked layers of snowy ridgelines, ruggedly serrated with sharply jutting peaks rising up into the vivid light of a crystal clear austral springtime morning. If that sight didn't cause me to forget my travel fatigue, it at least made it a bit more tolerable as the plane neared Santiago.

I should mention that I was grateful for the flight attendant's service, which, considering that this was a long international flight, seemed to be quite a bit better than what I'd come to expect on domestic flights. We were served snacks and drinks and then were given warm towels at one point to cleanse our hands and faces. Then at 1 a.m., a full dinner was served, accompanied by more drinks. The activity didn't die down until about 2:30 or 3 a.m. when everyone had become too bleary-eyed and the cabin lights were dimmed down to the minimum so that all could try to catch some shut-eye for a time. Then as the dawn was approaching, coffee was offered up, with more warm towels, and finally, breakfast in the last hour before touchdown.

We landed at about 9:30 a.m. Santiago time, and the disembarkation was completely uneventful. At least it was until we reached the customs point in the terminal where all U.S. citizens are assessed a one-time "reciprocity fee" by the Chilean officials, payable in cash only. This is done because for some reason, U.S. customs charge Chilean visitors an entry fee so the Chilean government feels it only right to reciprocate. Thankfully I was well aware of this charge and the important fact that first-time American visitors must pay it in cash, but I was a but disappointed that recently the fee had gone up from $61 USD to $100 USD. Such is life.

Getting my baggage through customs was not difficult but once I'd cleared everything, I had a heck of a time finding Luis, who was Andres Gabor's employee who he'd sent to pick me up and bring me into Santiago Centro to meet Andres and to get to the apartment he had waiting for me. The receiving gallery of Santiago's airport is crammed with cabbies and agents who are looking for their charges whenever the international flights come in. There's lots of shoving and shouting, and many cabbies trying to get the just-arrived visitor to ride in their cabs. It's quite competitive, and makes it hard for one such as me who has already made pick-up arrangements to find their drivers.

After a few minutes of confusion, I finally spotted Luis, who was holding up a chalk board with my name on it. He was a short fellow, with bushy short hair and a stocky countenance. I was reassured by his cheerfulness, but as he only spoke Spanish, I needed to respond in kind. It wasn't perfect, but we understood each other and he led me out of the terminal to the pickup truck that would soon be my rental vehicle and got my bags loaded up so that we could proceed to make the drive into the heart of Santiago. Along the way, Luis pointed out landmarks here and there as we came into the city, eventually bringing me into El Centro along the route known as Alameda Bernardo O'Higgins, or more usually, simply the Alameda.

We reached the offices of AbsolutChile, which was located in a street-side entrance to a metropolitan parking terrace on Miraflores, not far from the Cerro Santa Lucia, the museum known as the Palacio de Bellas Artes and the beautiful tree-lined Parque Forestal, which fronts along the Río Mapocho.. The office was officially labeled as Lys Rent A Car, which was part of Andres' operations, and would be the firm I would be renting the pickup truck from in a few short days after getting somewhat oriented to being in a new country.

Meeting Andres Gabor for the first time was a memorable moment. It's funny how you find yourself creating an imagined impression of somebody you have been in contact with but never have seen or met, and I never realized how inaccurate such predetermined impressions could be. I'd really expected Andres to be a short and squat middle-aged Chilean businessman, maybe with a pot belly - but the man I met was nothing at all like I had expected. He was fairly tall and built solidly, almost like an athlete, but clearly not at all like I had imagined. Most of all, I was struck by his relative youth, and was captivated by how fluent his English was, which was the result of considerable time spent years earlier living in the United States.

Andres really took me under his wing and bent over backwards to make me feel welcome. I think that he might have been a little bit surprised to find out that I had come to Chile with no traveling companion, but he paid that no mind and proceeded to show me that famous Chilean hospitality. The first thing he wanted to do was take me to lunch in a fine restaurant named Eladio, across the Mapocho in the Barrio Bellavista. He suggested I try "Bif a lo Pobre," which turned out to be a huge succulent steak (boneless) over one inch thick, which sat upon a mountain of french fried potatoes and onions and topped with an egg cooked sunny side up. It was preceeded by an elegant cooked Argentine cheese appetizer and followed by a rather decadent pastry dessert. It was almost overwhelming although I will add that it was nice and very welcome despite the fact that I had been trying to get away from eating meat up until them. The message was clearly: don't try to be a vegetarian if you are going to spend time in Chile!

When we got back to his office, Andres had Luis and another employee, a fello named Juan Carlos, take me over to the apartment he would be putting me up in during my stay in Santiago. They had laid out the apartment with all sorts of welcoming fixings, from fresh cut flowers to a bowl of fresh fruit on the dining table. All very nice. When Luis and Juan Carlos left, I finally was able to unwind and take my much-needed shower and then rest for a spell before finally venturing out on my own to take in a bit of my surroundings.

I took a short walk over to the Parque Forestal and was pleased to take in the warm air of late speing in this nice downtown park in Santiago. I took a few pictures, which I'll attach here. First is a photo of a rather eccentric statue entitled "Caballo," which was crafted by a Colombian artist named Fernando Botero in 1992 as a gift to Santiago. It sits in the park behind the Museo de Arte Contemporaneo, which is the next photo. Then finally, is a picture of the Río Mapocho, which at the time was being channeled while the city worked on a rather adventurous project of building a highway underneath the river. That highway, incidentally was finished a few years ago and became known as the Costanera Norte. I'd be curious to know how it fared in the earthquake.