Arica to Calama, CHILE - 11 march 2003
I cannot stand the last days in a country when you want to have enough money to last until you are REALLY out of the country but do not want to have TOO MUCH left. And if you have a little extra and you decide to stay one day longer or visit yet another sight during the last day, you just might run out and then, you have to withdraw MORE.
So, I was struggling with counting my Chilean Pesos all morning today. Do I do some more shopping to get rid of these pesos? Or do I change them back to dollars? Do I have enough money for an ice-cream now? I wonder what’s for dinner?
I decided to restrict myself to an X-amount and change 12,000 pesos back. To my surprise, the Chilean Pesos had slid down against the US Dollar by quite a bit since my withdrawal and I was left with a pathetic amount of dollars.
Coming into Chile, from Peru, the first question the Customs Officer had asked me was if I had fruits with me. Now, leaving Arica, at the bus terminal, inexplicably, I also had to go through Customs. Again, the Officer asked if I had any fruits with me. They checked my big backpack thoroughly but left my hand-luggage alone.
I was comfortably asleep on the bus when at around midnight or so, in the middle of nowhere, we were hauled out of the bus… this time, to have our hand-luggage X-rayed. Now, why couldn’t the Customs Officers have checked them back at Arica’s bus terminal?
Calama, CHILE to San Salvador de Jujuy, ARGENTINA - 12 march 2003
Again, I was comfortably asleep on the bus (which was rather rare) when at around 5am or so, in the middle of another nowhere, we were hauled out of the bus… this time, to have our hand-luggage manually checked. What the…???? Three times?? Just for leaving Arica?
It reminded me of the time when I was returning from a business trip in Manila, Philippines. Only ticket-holders could enter the Manila airport. Then, our hand-luggage had to go through FIVE X-ray machines and finally, manually checked before boarding the plane.
OK, that was Manila. When my Filipino colleagues took me to the shopping centre, as a form of a ‘tour’, they had dutifully informed me, “Over here, there was a bomb attack in May last year. And there… the cinema, there was another bomb explosion just in December… And…”
But what were the Chilean Customs after? F-R-U-I-T-S???? Did the last Customs Officer hope to find the one grape missed out by the X-ray machine? Here, you can have my banana… go ahead, take it.
At Calama, we stopped to change buses. I managed to finish up all my Chilean pesos on breakfast and toilet and boarded another bus to Argentina later.
This was the same altiplano route coming into Chile about three weeks ago. Well, Bolivia was right smack in the middle of South America and since I could not cut across it, I had to double-back the same way, skirting around Bolivia.
Strangely, this time, I found it terribly difficult to cope with the altitude. I suffered from a bad headache from the Argentinian border onwards. I could not sleep. I could not get comfortable in any position. I felt marginally better after they stopped at that same restuarant-in-the-middle-of-nowhere and fed us some bread and tea. Then, I started to smell the horrible odour of exposed shoes. Oh yucks. I thought it was just me and my super-sensitive nose and tried to tolerate it as best as I could. I was ready to puke any moment.
Then, the bus driver stopped and he stood up and announced something about ‘zapatos’ [shoes]. Oh no, he had smelled it too and actually refused to drive on until the person who took off his shoes put them on again. Well, this is the altiplano. Fresh air is precious.
The driver assistant then walked down the aisle to check who was the culprit. Several snapped open their Rexona and sprayed the disgusting air around them. He stopped in front of the Japanese tourist and spoke to him sternly.
Shoeless Ninja, however, could not understand a word beyond ‘zapatos’. He looked a little puzzled, reached down, picked up his shoe and held it in front of the driver assistant. “¿Zapatos?” he queried. The driver assistant was not amused. We were.
Finally, another tourist half-yelled, half-giggled in English, “Put them on!!” Shoeless Ninja never struck again. And so, we breathed.
I was tremendously relieved to arrive in Jujuy after the tortuous 24-hour bus-journey. During my near-midnight dinner of a ‘SuperPancho’ (fancy name for long hot-dog), the lady rejected my 1 Argentinian Peso as ‘falso’. Here in Argentina too? I was here three months and did not notice anything.
Now, I studied all my pesos and indeed, trained from Peru, I spotted two types of ‘falsos’. One had the wrong font for ‘UN PESO’ (I told you…) and the smiley sun had an outline around its face. The other, the fraudster did a better job, was the same in every sense, except the colour of the ‘gold’ centre was a bit more ‘yellow’ and the coin felt lighter.
San Salvador de Jujuy to Humahuaca, ARGENTINA - 13 march 2003
I was awakened by a morning-call knock on a neighbouring door. “Son las 8.” the receptionist had announced. I groggily glanced at my clock, it read ‘7:00am’.
Hmmm… I opened my door, shocking the receptionist with my hair in the meantime, to confirm if it was indeed 8am.
Oh, I guess, life was fair. The 2 hours I had gained in Peru, I had given 1 back in Chile a few days ago and apparently, I had to give back the remaining 1 to Argentina now. Chile changed their time but Argentina did not.
Good thing to find out about it now, for I had a morning bus to catch to Humahuaca.
Humahuaca is an Andean town, full of Bolivian flavour, further north of Jujuy. The route to get here was along another amazing Quebrada de la Humahuaca. Argentina can only outdo itself in amazing quebradas [canyons].
I spent the day, relaxing around the charming little town and buying souvenirs. I was feeling a tinge of sadness now. I had been in South America for nearly six months and it was coming to an end soon.
South America is truly at the other end of the world from my country. It is extremely expensive to fly here. And perhaps, it might be a long time before I can afford another visit here. To my friends and family, South America is like MAGIC, impossible to imagine. And so, I was now buying up souvenirs as if I was not returning for a long time.
Way back in June, when Pablo and I had gone shopping for souvenirs in China, I had only bought three snuff bottles for my friends but he had gone crazy snapping up the Oriental souvenirs, the more Oriental-looking, the better. Several looked really kitsch to me, although I had helped him pick the least kitsch-looking of them all. I had cringed, snickered at some of them and had gone ‘eewww’ secretly.
Now, when I show Pablo my latino souvenirs when I reach Buenos Aires, I suspect he would also cringe, snicker at them and go ‘eewww’ secretly.
Ah, cultural differences. How wonderful they exist!
Humahuaca, Iruya to Tilcara ARGENTINA - 14 march 2003
I took the only daily bus to another tiny town, called Iruya, 3 hours away from Humahuaca. I had not known what to expect in Iruya. I heard it was really pretty but I was not sure what I could do there. I decided to check out of my hostel, leave my backpack there, catch the bus to Iruya, stay a few hours and catch the same bus back to Humahuaca later.
The road to Iruya was paved for about 1 hour before turning into dirt tracks that rounded mountains after mountains and crossed river beds occasionally. While the road was not that great, it was WONDERFUL compared to Peru and I suspect, Bolivia, and so one knew that one was still in Argentina.
We stopped at a huge Pachamama shrine of rocks, with abandoned bottles of alcohol and tetra-packs of wine, a scattering of coca-leaves. I learnt later this spot was at 4000+m.
Later, we headed downhill for 1220m in about 20km. There were many hair-pin turns and the view was terrific! The gorges, the river-bed, the sheer drops, the hidden valleys, the slopes spotted with rocks… Sometimes, one could spot a few horses or even a few children walking on the huge river-bed, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Naturally, there would be peasants who would get on or off the bus, leaving you to wonder… Where did they come from? Where in the world are they going?
From this point onwards, my eyes were glued to the window to absorb the fantastic scenery and so I could not understand why Elena, from Belguim, sitting next to me, fell asleep on the bus.
Finally, Iruya came into view and the best view of Iruya was actually quite a distance from it. It looked like a magical tiny town set amongst brilliantly-coloured towering triangular mountains, perched at a cliff, above the river-bed. My jaws remained open for a good minute.
Elena and I walked around the hilly little town and stopped for a bit of food to fill our stomach. I really liked it here. It was so tranquil, so hidden. It really felt like a town at the end of the road. For the road ended in front of the church and beyond that, around the town, one could only walk. So, I suspect, there were really no roads BEHIND or AROUND Iruya. I regretted my decision to take the same bus out today but it was already made.
Elena had travelled from Tilcara, about 1 hour south of Humahuaca. I intended to go there later today.
When we arrived back at Humahuaca, we tried to find out the next bus to Tilcara and just then, a bus with ‘TILCARA’ written in front pulled up. It looked like a hop-on-and-pay-later bus but my backpack was still back at the hostel. I left my small bag with Elena and hurried back to grab my backpack.
Running at 3000+m altitude, on wet cobbled-stoned streets (it had rained in Humahuaca) is never a good idea but thankfully, I returned without a broken bone or tooth and not that out-of-breath to a bus that was very kind to wait for me.
Elena took me to Malka Hostel which was quite a hike away from the centre of Tilcara. I made friends with the rest of my house-mates, Gilles from France, Olga, Sebastian and Javier from Buenos Aires and we had a sumptuous dinner together.
Gilles is a very interesting Zen-like person. For the past four years, he had come to Tilcara and stayed here for one month each time. He would spend his days, walking around the mountains, visiting schools in the tiniest village bringing along chalks, pens and talking to the locals in other obscure valleys… To him, Tilcara is the most perfect place in the world.
Tilcara, ARGENTINA - 15 march 2003
Elena was sitting near the window of the dining room, having breakfast, when I walked over to chat with her. I had barely completed my first line when I stopped short suddenly and stared out of the window. I staggered a little too.
“Oh my god… Oh my god…” I gasped, stupefied, totally blown away. The view was INCREDIBLE! Malka Hostel, being such a hike away, was sitting at the top of a hill and from here, one could see right across Tilcara to the range of colourful mountains with its swirls of paints and now, they were gloriously basking in the morning sun.
“Now, I understand why Gilles stay here for one month every year. Oh, I want to get married here in Tilcara.” I said.
Later, at the centre, Olga, Sebastian and I went looking for a guide to take us hiking and we passed by café after café, playing cumbia, and I changed my mind right away. “Nope, I do not want to get married here in Tilcara.”
We were unable to find the guide. He was probably drunk from last night’s party of Carnaval. Apparently, Carnaval had not really ended in Tilcara.
We decided to head out hiking by ourselves. There appeared to be yet another 'La Garganta del Diablo' (The Devil's Throat) to check out. If we find it, we find it. If not, we would still have a nice day hiking in the mountains.
We asked several locals along the way and soon, had to start climbing up the side of a mountain. The view behind us was truly fantastic. We could see the meandering river in the wide river valley, with the red, ochre, purplish mountains by the side.
A few German tourists passed by and two explained in English how exactly to get to the 'Garganta', which I translated for Olga and Sebastian. It was a waterfall, as it turned out. We had not been sure. Could be a cave, could be whatever. And then, it dawned on me, hmmm… if my Spanish would get better, with English, Mandarin and Spanish, I could potentially talk to quite a lot of people around the world. Cool…
We walked along the canyon for a while, hopping across the tiny river here and there and finally, arrived at the waterfall. No one else was here. It was great.
Tilcara to Salta, ARGENTINA - 16 march 2003
Today, the weather was cloudy and rainy which left me really appreciating the excellent weather we had yesterday for hiking.
I walked out to Pukara, a pre-Incas fortress on top of a hill not far from Tilcara. Although it was a fortress, being on an inaccessible hill, it actually had no high walls around it. Several stone-houses had been reconstructed, with the mud-and-straw roofs too.
However, stupidly, the authorities had gone and constructed a ‘monument’ to pay tribute to the archaeologists at the top of the hill. Gosh, this ‘monument’ had absolutely no relation to the ruins around it. It was not even done in the style of the ruins. It was just an ugly pyramid. But some tourists asked me to take a picture of them in front of this stupid ‘monument’. Err…
I made my way to Salta that afternoon. Well, I had to go to a bigger town to catch a good bus to Buenos Aires. I did not know San Salvador de Jujuy well but I had stayed in Salta for a few days and had really liked my hostel. So, I decided to go there.
Great to be in a city where you know exactly where to walk to your hostel.
Salta, ARGENTINA - 17 march 2003
Nothing earth-shattering happened. Just another day to do nothing. Poked my nose into furniture stores, browsed through trashy discount shops, checked out the geese swimming at the lake, observed some plants in the plaza, listened to CDs without buying, you know, the usual suspects.
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