Whirlwind Northern Chile: San Pedro, Calama, Iquique, Santiago, Viña, Valpo (10/31-11/8)

It was already time for our third border crossing, and we felt relaxed and prepared. Well, kind of prepared; we only had about $10 worth of Bolivianos, and no Chilean pesos, but we felt confident we could withdraw money upon arrival to San Pedro de Atacama, the tiny tourist town where border passengers arrive. The bus driver made a humorous announcement about needing to consume any illicit substances from Bolivia before reaching the Chilean checkpoint, and suggested any contraband be shared with the driver. Scott and I laughed until the driver mentioned that coca leaves constituted just such contraband... With a jolt I realized I still had some leftover coca leaves that I had never given to the miners in Potosi!
I was suddenly terrified I´d be sent back to the Bolivian border, several hours from the nearest town, when the Chilean officials (inevitably) discovered my contraband when they searched my luggage. As we disembarked, I asked the bus driver frantically what I should do, but he simply looked at me with knowing concern and gave me no advice. Should I hide the coca leaves deep in my bag and hope the drug dogs and x-ray scanners didn´t find it? Should I declare it immediately and suffer the consequences? I was practically shaking when I decided to mark ¨yes¨ to the question, ¨Do you have anything to declare?¨
The border official asked me sternly what I was declaring, and I quickly revealed the leaves, offering them to him pleadingly and trying to explain I hadn´t meant to bring them across. To my utter surprise, he cut me off with a wave of his hand, and indicated I should keep moving. And that is how I accidentally and with full knowledge of the officials smuggled coca leaves into Chile. (As it turns out, you can buy coca leaves in Chile as well, though in smaller quantities and in more localized shops.)


San Pedro de Atacama
We changed my bolivianos to Chilean pesos upon arrival to this shockingly touristy town, grabbed some lunch (at 3,000 pesos each, we realized it would take us some time to adjust to the new exchange rate). Then we set off in search of an ATM. We soon found that there were three ATMs in town, and they were all out of money. In the midst of our mounting panic, we were informed that there would be no new influx of pesos into the town until Wednesday (it was Monday, and Halloween, incidentally), and there was only one hotel in town that would accept credit cards - rooms there cost $200 USD per night. We concluded that our only option was to get out of San Pedro, which - due to its tourist entry location - was constantly being depleted of its cash sources anyway. The nearest town (and the only one within our extremely limited budget) was Calama, about two hours away, so we spent our final pesos on two one-way tickets.


Calama
We arrived in Calama around 10pm, with no money, no lodging, and no information about the city. Fortunately, we knew salvation was in sight when we spotted an ATM (a Scotiabank, no less!). Card in, PIN entered, money requested, and - Invalid Transaction. The ATM appeared to be broken. Undeterred, we moved on to the next ATM, only a hundred feet futher down the main street. Again, no money. As we repeated this dance over and over again, it started to become apparent that something more sinister was at play (and I´m not talking about the few children dressed as ghouls and touring the streets). Finally, a woman took pity on us and informed us that, because of the Todos Santos holiday, which had started the preceding Friday, the money in all the ATMs was depleted, and would not be replenished until the holiday ended on Wednesday. Looking around, we were appalled to realize she was right - other people were roaming the streets, zombie-like, clutching ATM cards in their fists and migrating hopelessly towards the mesmerizing lights of the myriad empty banks.

Calama, the star of the Atacama desert

We were stuck, again. With no money available until Wednesday, we needed to try and find a hotel that would either accept credit cards, or which would let us stay on good faith until then. The woman helping us warned against pitching our tent anywhere in or near town, assuring us we´d be killed and relieved of all our belongings before the night was through. A consensus appeared to be building - Calama was not a safe town. The woman offered to let us sleep in our tent on her porch, but Scott was leery of such unprovoked charity. Finally, after wandering with us to several hotels, none of which would accept two peniless travelers, the woman was able to convince a hotel owner to let us pay on Wednesday. Exhausted from walking and from the strain of feeling as though we were about to be robbed, we collapsed into our beds and slept soundly.

Thrilled with his newfound purchasing power

The next day, there was little hope of rescue from our predicament. It was November 2nd, and we needed to meet our parents in Santiago on November 5th, so time was precious, but we had no ability to escape that day. We wandered aimlessly that morning, using our final peso cents to buy each a small piece of bread - what was sure to be all we ate that day. As we wandered, however, we noticed a line of people outside an ATM that had given us an ¨Invalid Transaction¨ notice the day before. What´s more, it was a Scotiabank. Nearly shaking in anticipation, we approached, entered, and tried our cards - SUCCESS! Receiving money that moment was like being given a chance to live, and we quickly bought more breads, then bought tickets out of Calama for the following day.
Scott wanted to try and surf on the Chilean coast before we descended to the nation´s capital, and had identified a town called Iquique for its renouned surf. In a true display of idiotic planning, about five minutes before boarding the bus to Iquique, we finally checked a map - and found that Iquique was not, as we´d assumed, in the direction of Santiago, but rather it was several hours north on the Chilean coast. We were backtracking, inconveniencing ourselves, and increasing our required bus time, but at this point we had no choice. Minutes later, we were on our way.


Iquique

Harrassing the geese in Iquique

It turned out to be a good move. We arrived early in Iquique after an overnight ride, and the bus driver let us sleep in the bus until daylight, when it was safer and easier to explore. We first bought our tickets to Santiago for the next day (we were facing a 24-hour bus ride, eek!), dropped our bags at the station, then headed for the beach. Scott spent the day surfing, I spent the day recovering from the exhaustingly inadequate night´s sleep, lying on the beach and getting my ankles (the only thing exposed) sunburned.
We made dinner at the hostel, watched a bit of Seinfeld, and fell asleep.
The next day Scott was up early surfing, I did something else, we reconvened, caught our bus, and began our 24-hour journey to Santiago, and our parents´ loving arms.

Nothing says ¨reunited¨ like giant sandwiches

There was a marked difference between the movies shown in the Andean countries (mostly fight movies) and those shown in Chile: we watched Haichi (Richard Gere´s dog loves him), The Chronicles of Narnia II (Jesus saves some children), Mr. Popper´s Penguins (Jim Carey realizes the value of family with some flippered friends), and Fast Five (they played this at 11pm, after the kids - us? - were reasonably asleep).


Santiago, Viña, y Valpo
We had no trouble rendezvous-ing with our parents; as we walked down the street towards their Bed & Breakfast, we spotted two familiar silhouettes coming towards us...Naturally, our reunion meant eating fish, drinking beer, slurping ice cream, and enjoying an impromptu concert in the park.

Valparaiso

It was relaxing to finally have the planning process taken out of our hands, and I was eager to get to Patagonia, partly because I was sick of moving so quickly through Bolivia and northern Chile, partly because going to Patagonia meant fulfilling one of my life dreams. But first, we spent two nights in Viña del Mar, a wealthy coastal city about an hour from Santiago, and neighbor to Valparaiso, infamous for its funky personality and stunning street art. In Viña and Valpo (as the locals call them), we relaxed on the beach, wandered the streets, ate delicious seafood, and took in the wild graffiti (and dancing clown show?). Despite the weird, attention-starved proprietor of our B&B (where we were the only guests), we had a relaxing, lovely time on the coast, punctuated by much wine and catching up. Before we knew it, the downtime was over, and we were catching a plane, Patagonia-bound. If you ever fly LAN, know that beer is one of the complimentary drink options.