After the adventure out on the water we climbed back into the fiat and headed east.
We had a much more relaxed trip back through the desert with plenty of fuel in the tank and stopped to say hi to the burros and llamas along the way.
We stopped to check out the cacti and the scenery.
The happy driver and passenger stayed in the car while the Frenchies and I took photos in the desert landscape. (I guess growing up in Arizona leaves you rather unexcited by cacti)
The Eucalyptus trees are all over Chile. They even seem to love it in the desert.
After passing back through La Serena we headed due East on route 44 which ran through Valle Del Elqui.
Elqui is known for its grapes which are both used to make the famous pisco liquor and are also exported to the U.S. and sold in your nearest grocery store for eating.
The deeper into the valley we went the more grapes we saw. And then we came across these goats….
We guessed it was the end of the season and this farmer wanted to let his goats have a treat. They so badly just want to be bipedal!
That night we stayed in the small sweet hippie town of Vicuña.
We were scheduled to go to an observatory that night to see the stars but unfortunately our tour was canceled due to cloud cover. Talk about bad luck because it’s only cloudy about 3 days out of the year in that region of Chile! I guess we’ll just have to go back!
The sweet salty air blew across our faces as we hopped out of the car. We hurried to the shore where the pacific lapped at our feet and I instantly began stuffing my pockets with beautiful stones and shells.
We had to wait about an hour or so to catch the next boat tour because our unexpected fuel stop put us a little behind schedule but we gladly explored to coastline while waiting to board the ‘Condorito.’
Once we launched we were surrounded by blue both above and below – it felt great to be out on the water. (Made us miss Ocracoke!) And within ten minutes we were approaching the rocky coastline of the island.
The first creatures to greet us were the pelicans. (A little disguised on their dropping covered rock.)
Then the adorable Humboldt Penguins.
The Humboldt Penguins lay their nests on the high ground on the island and create little dirtpaths to traverse down to the water to catch fish and to return back to the top for their nests. Humans are no longer allowed on the island because they are a danger to the penguins. If the penguins encounter a human on the island they become panicked and go to the cliffs where they jump off, sadly ending their little waddling lives. And so to minimize the number of penguin suicides, humans no longer set foot on the island.
They are tiny in this photo but you can see them traversing one of their paths to get to the shore. It took them so long to get to the bottom, I can't imagine going uphill!
We also saw some dolphins.
And many many birds. (See them all atop the rock outcropping?)
Henry's favorite were the sea lions, which in Spanish are named ‘Lobos del Mar’ which translates to wolves of the sea. They are named this because they often seem to have their heads leaned back as if they are howling at the moon like wolves.
After seeing the animals our guides took us to another small island off the coast were we wandered and explored.
Despite the longer trip than expected it was well worth the adventure to the coast to see the creatures of the Pacific.
I don’t know if many of you know or care, but Superman recently renounced his US citizenship. Action Comics’ issue #900 has Superman claiming the world is too small and too connected to go on representing a single country. Truth be told I think he is afraid that he no longer is the only game in town. Today my dad finished a marathon in Maine with a time of four hours and eleven minutes. Finishing or even training for a marathon is impressive in itself, but my dad isn’t some young buck college kid with few responsibilities that can spend his time training. Currently he runs a computer engineering company by day and takes history courses by night in the hopes of obtaining a masters degree. What’s more, he is an avid golfer who plays a painful to watch 18 holes about every weekend. If you can figure out where he fits in time to train for a marathon I would like to hear. Whether he finished today or not, I could not have been more proud. It is almost sad that he finished so quickly. Four hours and eleven minutes is an inconsequently small amount of time that many of us have frittered away at a bar, but today, for my dad it represented months of patient and steady training.
Friday evening, Henry, two French guys, a gringa from Philly and myself piled into a tiny Fiat ’Siena Fire’ on a road trip north to La Serena on the coast. After being serenaded with French songs through many tolls, a tunnel and 400+ kilometers we eventually arrived in La Serena around 1:30 am. We crashed at a hostel in the quiet city center for a short 5 hours before waking up to hop back on the road. We had to leave good and early to catch a boat from Los Choros to go see the Sea lions, Dolphins and Humboldt Penguins before the seas got choppy in the afternoon.
We stopped here to ask for the dirt road to Los Choros.
We found the road but soon realized that apparently leaving at 7:00 a.m. wasn’t early enough when it takes 3 times as long to get there as everyone says and when you almost run out of gas…..but now we know to never believe a Chilean’s judgement of distance..especially on a dirt road in the desert.
The E for empty light came on when we still had about 30 kilometers to go. My armpits were beyond sweaty and Ivana my co-pilot generously reminded me that we didn’t have any cell phone service. Any slight downward topography we came across I gladly let the little Fiat coast.
After cresting yet another desert ridge after being on empty for what seemed like the longest 25 kilometers of my life, we looked up to see a small town in the distance. An oasis to our angst-ridden eyes. “There’s got to be a gas station here.” “Oh thank goodness – we made it!”
We pulled into the town but there were no COPEC or Shell signs looming over head. The pains of concern returned in my stomach. I pulled the car over to stop at a small convenience store while Ivana ran in to ask if there was any hope for our barren fuel tank. She ran back to the car whith a smile and a look of confusion on her face, “We can get gas right up there!” (There was no gas station to be seen in the distance.) “We just have to knock on the door of the third or fourth house.”“Seriously?! People are selling gas from their house?!”
I didn’t hesitate and pulled up for the fill up.Two of the roommates ran in to ask for 95, and a lot of it. A guy came out carrying old wine jugs filled with the potent fuel. We couldn’t have been happier and couldn’t have been more gringo taking pictures of the whole event.
In Henry’s words “I thought it was really stupid not to get gas a few hours back when we were on the main road.. but looking back I’m glad we didn’t, ‘cause filling up your car with wine jugs of gas in a no name town in Chile is an experience I never imagined I’d encounter."
After asking for a group photo, we climbed back into the Fiat, each grinning ear to ear to complete the remainder of the desert journey to the Pacific to catch our boat to see the Pinguinos.
Pacific – I could not have been happier to see you.
We're renting a car this weekend and heading north on the PanAmerican Highway to visit La Serena on the coast and Valle de Elqui a little further inland. We're hoping to see some Humboldt Penguins near the sea and to take a night time observatory tour in valley to do some star gazing. Check back early next week for photos!
Each workday at about 2:30 I am asked by 50 Cent if I would like to have a baby by him and be a millionaire. I find it remarkable that this lyrical proposition didn’t reach my ears until I moved 5,000 miles away from his sultry voice. What’s more, he is not the only one who is trying to spark a long distance relationship with me; nearly everyday I’m being introduced to either a new English-speaking song or band, from 50’s Baby by Me and Friday by the equally talented Rebecca Black to Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros and Soko. Now, I’m not exactly a music aficionado, but I would like to think I know more about the US and English-speaking music scene than your average Chilean. That turns out not to be the case. Likewise, I found this to be true when I lived Denmark; everyone seems to know more about the US and English-speaking culture than I do. The best explanation I can find for this phenomenon is called “Public School Envy.” Such a ridiculous statement needs a little clarification. See if you can follow me on this one.
According to this theory put forth by Joseph Lapolla—who holds a Bachelor’s in Political Science and more importantly a Minor in Karate from Radford University—those who have the greatest access to the latest fashion/music care the least and are on average the least knowledgeable. In evidence Lapolla, also known as JoeyLa or Reege, offers up his childhood experience. JoeyLa’s mother was determined to make a good catholic out of him. Henceforth he was banished to the private catholic school world of navy blue slacks and button down shirts. With the scientific rigor of your average 10 year-old, JoeyLa claims that every last child at St. Leos was absolutely convinced that the “public school kids” sported the most fashionable clothes and listened to the coolest music. This caused many of them, including JoeyLa, to develop a psychological complex of being uncool and nerdy. To remedy this JoeyLa and his choirboy friends, Similar to my friends in Chile and Denmark, embarked on a trendsetting arms race to keep pace with the public school kids.
Unlike the Cold War, this arms race was destined to go hot. Realizing that her son was about as Catholic as Voltaire, Mrs. Lapolla relented and sent JoeyLa headlong into the Fairfax County Public School System. So, after several years of stockpiling Jnco jeans, Stussy and No Fear shirts, Adidas sambas, Air Walks, AirJordans, anything Mossimo, and everything from Pacific Sun Wear, JoeyLa got his chance to face the public school kids on their own turf. For the first day of 6th grade at Greenbriar West Elementary JoeyLa methodically laid out a battle plan that involved a pair of “bad ass” skull emblazed “Death Valley” lacrosse shorts and a Stussy shirt that had an image of a Rastafarian guy giving the peace sign. It was perfect.
(Soko is french but sings primarily in english, reminds me of kate nash)
To his surprise, JoeyLa not only held his own against his public school idols/rivals, he demolished them. The nicest and first kid he met on the playground that day didn’t stand a chance. He couldn’t understand how this kid, Korby, who seemed nice enough, would voluntarily wear khaki shorts and a checkered button down shirt. “That dude might as well have been wearing a St. Leo’s uniform except that St. Leo’s would have been an improvement to what he was wearing,” says JoeyLa. He was shocked; no girls were pregnant, there weren’t any gangs, fighting was nonexistent, and worst of all they all dressed normal—jeans and polo shirts. He looked around and realized he was suddenly the coolest guy in public school. He, Joseph Lapolla, was going to have to teach the public school kids about mall fashion. By the end of the 6th grade JoeyLa had the whole class in Jnco Jeans and Air Walk shoes.
Here in Chile I feel like the shoe is on the other foot; I am the public school kid walking into the private school. I’m the dork. In a way English is the public school system of the World, and the United States is Bayside High.
(Giuliano y Nico: the whole office played March Madness and loved it. these are the winning brackets)
This of course comes with two caveats. First, many feel US dominance is coming to an end, and it is almost chic to denounce US culture as crass and overconfident. That however doesn’t stop any of my friends from Denmark, Guatemala, Chile, France and Germany from listening to music and wearing clothes promoted in the US. How long this obsession will last is perhaps less certain than the US’s dominance. Every store you walk into, every party you go to the music is, for the most part, in English, and mostly from the US. Granted not all is exactly on the cutting edge—every grocery store jams out to late 80s early 90s; I love it. During the Christmas season, when it is summer here, they blast “White Christmas” and “Frosty the Snowman.” Everyone wants to do, wear, and listen to what the “public school nation” is doing, wearing and listening to, regardless of any inherent value.
That brings me to my second caveat. Exporting everything isn’t exactly ideal. I am not exactly proud of exporting “Jersey Shore,” 50 Cent, or Rebecca Black. But, there is a difference to those people who listen to 50 Cent here and those in the US; a playlist here pumps out 50 Cent, Pantera, Red Hot Chile Peppers, Dave Matthews, Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros, Jimmy Buffett, Ok Go, Death Cab for Cutie, and Old Crow Medicine Show. They listen to anything and everything without feeling trapped into one genre by peer pressure. If it’s in English and from the US it gets air time. Hopefully, in time, I, too, will be able to educate my public school nation about today’s Jnco Jeans--or maybe not.
(Of course i know acdc but you have to check out this chilean rendition)
