Atacama Charm

Buenos días, todos,

Hello to all of you, wherever you may be this evening. (Shout out to Mom, Bonny, Pam, and Julie in Texas!! Mom, I hope BluBaby’s first Summer 2009 adventure goes well; and I miss you lots, Coach O!). Recently, I’ve gotten to communicate with some of you (e.g. Robbie, Zachary, Alex, Molly Henry, Catí, Katharine, Mom & Dad, Aunt Vicki, Britti) via email/Facebook/Skype, and I continue to feel blessed for the gift of your time and effort. I have FORTY DAYS left in Chile—which is a mind-boggling thought that inspires a barrage of emotions—and I’m trying to enjoy each one, but I’m missing you all fiercely. Please continue to let me know what’s going on in your lives so far this summer.

On a different note, I have a second favor to ask of you. Lately, some people close to me seem to be in need of some extra prayers, and as I strongly believe in the power of praying for each other, I thought I’d extend an invitation to include them in your intentions. My host family is having a kind of difficult time financially right now due to a number of factors that are all surfacing at once. Maria José is moving out, which is a good thing for her as she’s a 28-year-old lawyer and is probably ready to do that. We’re all happy for her, although it’s important to rent out her space in the apartment ASAP in light of other events; Kena, too, is moving out, due to reasons no one really understands, and this has created a lot of familial drama as of late. She, too, rents her space, so that leaves Gladys scrambling a bit, which wouldn’t be so bad except that her job at the airport officially ends this month (it was a short-term contract) and she does not yet know if it will be renewed.

On top of that, housing international students is another source of income that isn’t looking too stable because right now there’s no one signed up for the Chile program for next semester, which could be attributed to bad economic times or swine flu nervousness or, well, I don’t know, but it is another thing worrying Gladys who has, as of late, been pretty exhausted and anxious. We both have faith that things will work out, but there are some hard times happening here at the moment, and some extra prayers wouldn’t hurt. Gladys worries so much about the well-being of all of her “niñas”! When I got home from my last trip (to the north of Chile), I had an hour-long discussion with her about all of this and she was noticeably weighed down by it all. It seems I’d missed a pretty dramatic week in the house. I’m sad to see Kena go, and I’m nervous about the family as a whole, but as Gladys told me, I signed up to be with them through the good times and the not-so-great ones too. And it will be fine, as it always is.

Also, please keep in mind our Zachary, who may not be getting the military leave from Iraq this autumn that he had hoped to get. He, too, has been away for a long time, although he’s not enjoying himself QUITE as much as I am. I miss him a lot and am thankful that, as of late, we’ve been able to keep in better contact because he has more Internet access/time now. Still, I worry about him and, while I have the utmost confidence that he’ll be OK and that he can handle all of the challenges he’s facing, I know it’s not easy. Please pray for his safety and spirits.

And, finally, I would like to invite you also to pray for Esteban’s grandma, whose extended illness has been a source of worry and exhaustion for everyone in his family. I know how this goes, as I’m sure most of you do. For him, the hardest part of it all is seeing how worn-out and sad his mom is, as she has been watching her own mother deteriorate for quite awhile now. Having lost my own wonderful grandmothers, both to cancer, I know the painfulness of this process, and I too feel my heart get heavier when I talk to Mrs. Salinas, quite possibly the world’s sweetest woman, and can just hear the emotion in her voice. And finally, my last major prayer intention is for my good friend and mentor Sarah Gavin, who has just moved from Oshkosh and from St. Raphael’s, where she was leading the LIFETEEN program that meant so much to me during high school; she has taken up a new position in a parish in Sturgeon Bay, which means a new house, job, city, and a new routine. I am 100% confident that she will bring her spunk to her new context and shine as she always does, but adjusting will be a challenge, I’m sure. Thank you ALL for keeping all of these special intentions in your prayers, and know that I am praying for all of you, too!

Now, onto other business. Life has been good here, though school is starting to annoy me. Who knew I actually had to worry about final presentations and quizzes and such while I’m “studying” abroad?! Really, it’s nothing too strenuous, but the semester is beginning to wind down (only three more weeks of classes!), so I have more to do. Apart from this, volleyball practices continue to consume my Monday and Wednesday nights (though I have no complaints about this commitment), but we played our last game a week ago. We lost, which was a bummer especially considering we COULD have won, but we played the best we’ve played all season and I was proud of us. The squad will continue playing games, starting again in August, and I know they’ll keep improving. But I’ll miss playing with them, and I’m so lucky to have had the chance to do so. They’re a great group of girls, and it has been a lot of fun. It’s a bittersweet thing to have finished my Chilean volleyball career, but at least we still have practices… and a team BBQ soon!!

This week, I actually only had practice on Monday because yesterday’s practice was canceled so that we could all cheer on Chile in the soccer game against Bolivia. For those of you who know me, you know that I am not the biggest soccer fan and am really not at all knowledgeable when it comes to this sport. I’d been spending most of my time following the NBA finals (Go Magic!) and the NHL (Go Wings!!), so when Esteban invited me over last night to watch the game with his family, I wondered what I was getting myself into. Watching soccer here is an experience, my friends. I wanted to go to the game, actually, at the Estadio Naciónal (a bunch of kids in my program went), but tickets were expensive and when we finally decided to buy them anyway, the “cheapest” ones ($40ish) were sold out, so there was no way we were paying any more than that.

Anyway, I had a ton of fun watching the game at the Salinas’ house. First, we had some steak, salad, and potatoes, prepared by Esteban’s dad, who made a similarly delicious meal when I came over for dinner a few days ago (to watch the Lakers-Magic game). That day, we had all sorts of conversation about his job, for which he has traveled a lot of the world, and it was really entertaining. Last night, I didn’t have to say much because Esteban, his dad, and his cousin were already silly from a few beers when I arrived (I came directly from Cerro Navia). They cracked me up, and their energy continued throughout the game, which I actually really liked watching! I don’t understand all of the rules and strategy, but I found myself getting really into it, nonetheless. And, unlike fútbol americano, the game was over in under two hours—a good amount of time to spend watching a sporting event, I think. Perhaps the entire world, save the USA, is on to something with this soccer business? I am excited to keep cheering for Chile, who is currently in 2^nd place behind Brazil. Everyone is pumped about this prospect of qualifying for the 2010 World Cup in South Africa, so the entire country is uniting even more strongly than usual because the team really has a chance. Still, my favorite thing about soccer here is that it’s something that brings the entire nation together; this is really awesome, even if it does mean that some anti-Bolivian and anti-Peruvian commentary presents itself even more prevalently than usual.

Like I said, I came right from Cerro Navia yesterday. I must say that, although this service site has been a source of a lot of frustration, yesterday was the best day Lizzie and I have had at our adolescent mothers’ workshop. We meet normally, for three hours, in a run-down, almost empty, freezing cold room in a community chapel. We arrive at 3pm and wait, with the monitor of the program (a social work student, usually, but lately we’ve had a different, middle-aged woman join us) until the four or five girls who usually come to the workshops arrive. This happens anywhere from 20 to 40 minutes after our arrival. What we initially thought we’d be doing is helping with some workshops about self-esteem, their rights as women and mothers, general health, the care of their babies, etc. But, what we’ve been doing is eating a lot of cookies and candy and completos and Coca-Cola (nothing good!!), having conversation about their boyfriends, trying not to breathe in their cigarette smoke, and starting (but rarely finishing) various craft projects. We leave each week feeling powerless, excluded, underutilized, made fun of, sad, upset, and lethargic.

But yesterday was better because we did the craft outside (crocheting, which, for the record, I CANNOT DO); then, Lizzie and I actually had some conversational progress with one of the girls, Nicole. I played with Cati’s daughter, Javiera, for longer than a minute, which was also progress. The babies are soooo attached to their mothers and often scream if we try to get them away from their moms. Javiera is so precious, but she never says anything, and she should definitely be talking at this point. She’s still breast-feeding (whenever she feels like it, basically) and is, like the other kids, really timid, but she’s been opening up a bit more to us. We also got to talk to the girls about their community because we told them we had to do a presentation about our time with them and wanted to accurately represent their thoughts about the comuna of Cerro Navia. It was interesting, and shocking, to hear what sorts of things they associate with their community—drugs, gangs, violence, violation, etc.—but also enlightening to hear them talk about how they feel here.

One girl, Tamara, told us that she gets embarrassed because the news only shows the bad parts of Cerro Navia and neglects to show the good things that happen—like these workshops, she said. Clearly, these girls come to this group every week for SOME reason. The small community of low-income, adolescent mothers means something to them, and their fairly consistent attendance makes me think that this program is definitely doing something positive in their lives. Still, it’s been very frustrating because I know we could be doing so much more. Yesterday was good because we actually told Lucia, the woman in charge, how we’ve been feeling. We have four more visits to Cerro Navia, and I think we’ll try to do little things to integrate ourselves more, try to point out dangerous behaviors, and just get to know them. It’s not easy for them, I know, to open up to these transitory gringas that come to their program, and it’s not always easy to say, “here I am, a pregnant teenager” or “yup, this is my kid and I’m fifteen,” but this opportunity to share is really important. I hope that the next few weeks leave us feeling as good as we did yesterday, and I hope that the foundation can work on this program, because it’s clearly important.

Anyway, I’m excited that this somewhat-busy week has finally brought me to my favorite days—Thursday through Sunday! Last weekend, Liz and I went out with some friends we met in the north, Omar and Jeff, but we ended up at a techno club, which is NOT our style. I’ll never go again, but it was still cool to actually meet up with our new friends (more about them later). I also went to another cueca thing with Lizzie and her host sister, Rosa, who has just arrived back in Santiago after being in France for the last several months. Rosa is really awesome—very kind, intelligent, worldly, and energetic. I loved the cueca band (it was all women!) and loved the dancing, as always. As it turned out, Carolina was at the same event for a friend’s birthday party… small world! Anyway, I’m not sure what this weekend will bring, but I think I’m going to take it easy at Pub 36.5 with Lizzie and Jill tonight (it’s Thursday, although this may not be posted until Friday), probably watch the Wings game at the resident gringo bar (Basic) tomorrow and hopefully go dance somewhere afterwards, and then hang out at my house on Saturday, because I think Alexia is going to come over and we’re going to all hang out together. It should be fun! My time is flying by, and weekends go especially fast, but I always enjoy them.

At last, I’ve arrived at the primary purpose of this post: the part where I tell you all about my favorite trip yet, to San Pedro de Atacama in the desert north of Chile. So, here goes…

On Thursday, May 28^th, Lizzie and I skipped Izzie’s Pobreza class and headed to the airport. We had our backpacks stuffed full as usual and were in the giddy mood we’re always in when it’s time for another Escape from Santiago excursion. The city is for sure becoming more special to me, and I now feel the need to defend it against the critics with whom I was once aligned, but that doesn’t mean that the smog and the noise and the crowds don’t wear on me after awhile. Although I had just had a lovely week with my mom and Brittany, I was eager once again for a little break. Lizzie and I had been anticipating this particular adventure for quite some time. Something about the north had become very romanticized for us, and we were looking forward to relaxing and reading and sipping wine and seeing sunsets and being suuuuper-tranquilas. Once we escaped the massive gray cloud that hovers over Santiago, we found ourselves flying through a bright orange sunset that stole my eyes away from my book for more than a few minutes. Sometimes, things are simple. The world is beautiful.

We landed, made our way quickly through the tiny airport, took a transfer into Calama, the nearest city, grabbed some groceries from a store near the bus stop (we’d heard food was expensive in San Pedro), and jumped on a bus for another hour and a half. The bus was cold and rickety, but the big black sky outside, splatter-painted with twinkling stars I hardly ever see in the bright city, made for an OK view along the way. It looked like they were tumbling at us—much like when we went on our observatory tour in La Serena.We got dropped off on what seemed to be a random corner in San Pedro and then, after a five to ten-minute detour because we couldn’t locate our hostel (silly tourists), we managed to find and knock on the door of Hostal Vilacoyo, where a friendly, sleepy-looking woman showed us to our room. It wasn’t all that late—10 or 11, I think—but the little town, its sandy roads and adobe buildings, had clearly shut down for the evening. We were tired and FREEZING, so we bundled up and made ourselves a quick pasta dinner before heading to bed. We had a roommate, a girl from Argentina named Pamela, and for some reason or another, she made lots of noise all night and then woke up at 3am to go on the geyser tour, so we really didn’t sleep that well.

Nevertheless, we woke up the next day to a sunny morning. Our hostel was really quite charming, with its gravel patio, orange hammock, airy dining area, and warm staff; it fit perfectly into the San Pedro setting, which is, although touristy, a really relaxing, homey environment. We explored a bit that morning (it doesn’t take long as the pueblo is pretty tiny!). We bought sunglasses, which are essential both because of obvious reasons (it’s a desert, after all) but also because there’s sand everywhere, and it’s annoying to constantly have to pick specks of it out of your eyes. We also picked up a few other grocery items, though we were glad we’d done some shopping beforehand because there are only tiny stores there—no big grocery stores—and options are quite limited. We found ourselves an Internet café and then, after a little shopping around, we sat down at a tour company (the streets of San Pedro are LINED with them). There, as Lizzie says, “we made moves”—quite quickly, actually—and booked ourselves four tours, all of which seemed absolutely awesome. Then Lizzie and I returned to Vilacoyo for lunch and got ready for our first tour, which was that evening.

Whenever anyone talks about the north, they speak of the Valle de la Luna (Moon Valley), a valley in the middle of the desert, where it looks as though you’ve landed on the moon. The landscapes are eerie—spindly, ancient rock formations; gigantic, fragile sand dunes; and a flat, crinkly vastness of sand and salt that seems to extend to the ends of the earth. The Atacama is the driest desert in the world, and one of its most unique and most beautiful features is the Salar de Atacama, that is, the salt flat. Our tour took us to a different valley first, where we nearly blew off the cliff and lost our vision because of the swirling wind and flying bits of sand. We then made our way through the desert to the Valle de la Luna, stopping along the way to look at an old salt mine and an antique, natural rock monument, Las Tres Marias (the three Marys), which I thought was really beautiful.

Our destination was La Duna Grande (the Big Dune), where the view from above the expansive flatness is perfectly suited for sunset gazers. So, digging our tennis shoes into the constantly shifting sand, we trekked up the side of the Duna and found ourselves overlooking the desert. The sun was still high in the sky, and we were pretty cold and pretty frustrated because we were getting pelted with sand. Still, we endured the particularly windy hour or so as we waited for the sun to drop lower and lower behind the layers of mauve rocks that surrounded us. Gradually, the landscape—the symmetrical volcano in the distance, the layers of volcanic rock in front of us, and the big desert sky—were painted shades of pink and purple as the sun sunk behind the dune. It was worth the pain, but when the colorful sunset ended, we were ready to get in the van and get home, so we sprinted back down the side of the dune and jumped in our tour bus, which had nearly abandoned us in the middle of the desert! We returned to our hostel, where we had dinner, socialized with some other people staying at Vilacoyo, and drank some much-deserved (as always) red wine. It was a nice time, but it gets so chilly at night that it’s hard to stay outside too long. Since there was no indoor common space at our hostel, this meant that we had to comply with the San Pedro standard and shut down prematurely—at about 11pm. So, we took our numb toes to bed.

The next morning, even after a shower and hours of tossing and turning in bed (we slept poorly for the second night in a row), we were still digging sand out of our ears and our shoes and our pockets. We woke up early—about 7am—and had breakfast before being picked up by our Atacama Connection tour bus, which was packed with all sorts of characters. Because our tour agency had offered a 3-pack tour deal, we ended up going on more than one tour with several of the people on this first one. Our tour guide, Felipe, was even the same for two of our tours! But, we had some really interesting personalities along for the ride on our “Lagunas Altiplánticas y Salar de Atacama” tour—most notably, and most obnoxiously, a couple who thought they owned the place and displayed far too much affection and a couple of women who constantly asked—no, demanded—people to take their pictures and then proceeded to pose very scandalously with seemingly insignificant objects (fences, doors, what have you). We began by stopping at a desert oasis, a fruitful ravine called the Quebrada de Jeréz, where there’s an enchanting little creek and a lush mini-forest of trees with bright white trunks and various fruits (figs, grapes, membrillos, etc). We got to see some of the nearby pueblo of Toconao (population 500), which is constructed mostly of ancient buildings made of liparita, a white, volcanic stone. It was an idyllic little setting, only about 38km away from San Pedro, but it was by no means the coolest part of our tour that day.

We continued on into the desert, where the volcanoes in the distance rise up and surround you, making for a truly surreal backdrop. One of the volcanoes has a permanent glacier in the shape of a ring, another is perfectly symmetrical, and a few others are considered sacred and can’t be climbed. It is as if each volcano has a story to tell, and after a week or so of getting to know them, I began to feel like the entire desert region is cradled by these gentle giants.

Our next stop was the highlight of my day: the Laguna Chaxa, which is a bright blue lake in the middle of the salt flat. It is special not only because of its other-worldly setting amidst this plain of sparkling, crunchy salt, but also because it is home to a population of flamingos!! The graceful birds, which had me in an absolute trance the entire time we were visiting the Reserva Naciónal de los Flamencos, group together here to breed, and they live off of tiny organisms in the lagoons, called brine shrimp. Lizzie said it best when she described the whole place as being something out of a magical realism tale. The majestic, pink birds soared over our heads like kites and tip-toed around the lagoon, never creating so much as a ripple in the water as they skimmed for shrimp. Lizzie and I took a hundred pictures, I swear, and were totally enchanted, but even the best photos don’t capture the incredible, almost hallucinogenic, moments we spent marveling at the flamingos, salt, volcanoes, and clear waters of Laguna Chaxa. It was at this moment that we decided the north was unlike anything we’d ever seen—and we loved it.

The mountains that were once far-off in the background of our scenery drew closer and closer as our bus wound up around them and then dove down between two towering volcanoes. We found ourselves between the two sacred peaks we’d seen an hour or so beforehand from a distance—only now, we were standing next to an icy, sky blue lake (Laguna Miscanti), which is nestled between the two mountains, high above the desert and the salt flat. It was the first time I’d seen snow in awhile, and truth be told, it was absolutely freezing, but it was a pure, refreshing beauty that seemed out of place in the world’s driest desert… and yet, there we were.

We could only stand the cold for long enough to listen to our guide’s blurb about the frozen lake and then snap a quick photo or two. The altitude also got to us a bit, and we were sleepy and hungry when we rolled into the tiny town of Socaire about an hour later. There, we were able to strip off a layer or two and put some food in our bellies (we’d been snacking on cookies all morning). Our lunch was included in our tour, and I enjoyed some vegetable soup, a yummy plate of rice and quinoa and chicken, an orange, and some delicious bread (so good in Chile!). We stopped once more on the way back to San Pedro—in Toconao, the pueblo we’d passed through that morning—and I purchased a beautiful table runner, something I’ve been looking for all over Santiago.

For reasons we just could not understand, we slept poorly for the third night in a row. Fortunately, we got to stay in bed a bit later. We woke up for breakfast, a stop at a little Internet café, and the totally packed Pentecost Mass at the adorable San Pedro church. The priest was engaging, the music was adorable (a bunch of kids singing really off-key), and an elderly couple celebrating their 58^th wedding anniversary (!) renewed their vows—in frail, precious Spanish— at the end of Mass, bringing tears to my eyes. I’d had a terrible dream about Grandma Mardel the night before, which had really freaked me out after the fact when I realized that it was May 31^st, the day she died. So, I had been in a strange mood before Mass, but seeing that couple’s love and dedication reminded me so much of Grandpa Wolff and Grandma Pat, and suddenly I was thinking of all of my grandparents, both alive and deceased. The few tears that trickled down my cheeks were cathartic, and I left Mass feeling much better—and very blessed. It was another sunny day, I was in perhaps the most beautiful place on earth, and my good friend Lizzie and I had another tour lined up!

We were joined on our next day tour by some familiar faces, including our guide, Felipe, a family from India, and a Chilean couple in their 30s, all of whom we’d spent the previous day with. In addition, we spent the afternoon with two guys, also Chileans. So, unlike the day before, no one was particularly annoying, so that was a nice change. In fact, we had a phenomenal afternoon together. Felipe drove us straight into the desert, which was a pretty bumpy, dusty ride in our little van. We arrived at a sparkling blue lagoon called Laguna Cejas, which is a high-salinity lake that you can float in effortlessly—if you’re brave enough to venture into the chilly water.

At first, Lizzie and I thought we’d just take in the marvelous view; we dipped our toes in the water and were shocked by the frigid temperature, so we had little interest in changing into our bathing suits and diving in. However, other people from our group were doing it, and we couldn’t resist the opportunity to float too, so we sucked it up. After changing in the car, we submitted to the lake’s toe-numbing charm and made our way to the deeper part of the water, where we jumped off the underwater ledge and floated weightlessly, a sensation that, despite the paralyzing cold, was definitely worth it. However, we didn’t stick around long. We rinsed off the salt, which really affected Lizzie’s skin and made mine pretty dry too, and then we dried off, changed, and jumped back in the van—time for the next stop!

Felipe drove us to another remote spot in the desert, where we discovered two massive crater-like lakes with perfect, glasslike surfaces that reflected the mountains—and all of us—seamlessly. The adjacent lakes are called the Ojos del Salar, or, the Eyes of the Salt Flat, which is exactly what I suppose they look like from an aerial view. We were obsessed with the perfection of the reflective lagoons and spent a fair amount of time taking pictures in this spot. The sun was striking one of the Ojos beautifully as it began to set, and Felipe told us it was time to go because we had a sunset date at a different location.

As it turns out, although the guide books say little to nothing about Lago Tebinquinche, this lake is absolutely marvelous, and it is here that I saw the best sunset I’ve ever seen in my life. The shallow, clear lake is plopped in the middle of the sprawling, crinkly salt flat, whose snow-white chunks run right into the water, some of them floating like mini-icebergs in the glassy lake. The sparkling body of water is surrounded by a ring of volcanoes, which turn a bright pinkish purple when the sun begins to set. The flawless reflection on the lake of the glowing mountains all around us was absolutely spectacular. It was like a two-for-one special—the real view and then the reflection, which was almost better than the original. I could barely take in all of the beauty God had placed before me in that particular moment, so I snapped photos like crazy and breathed deeply as I splashed around in the water, my toes unaffected by the prickly salt chunks beneath them. The photos are phenomenal because, by walking on the salt chunks, one rises up to the level of the water’s surface such that it appears he or she is walking on the water. The entire experience at the lake was glorious to the extent that I really cannot call upon any poem, song, or photo to paint the picture of the natural wonders I saw. The evening at the lake ended in a pisco sour and some potato chips with our group. Perfection.

After an inspiring, spiritual afternoon, Lizzie and I returned to our hostel, salty and hungry. We ran into our pseudo-friends, three guys we’d met there who are also students in Santiago (from, respectively, Chicago, Virginia, and Washington, D.C.). We asked Omar, Jeff, and Toby if they’d like to join us for dinner, as we intended to actually go out that night (our only meal out all week!). They said yes, so the five of us went to a nearby restaurant with a wood stove inside—obviously the deal-sealing element! We enjoyed the special salad/main plate/dessert/wine deal that was being offered and the opportunity to have some new company. Against our better judgment, we continued the evening with some Piscolas and Phase 10 upon our return to the hostel. This wouldn’t have been such a problem if we hadn’t stayed up playing cards and laughing until about 1:30 in the morning…all the while planning to wake up at 3am to go on the geyser tour the next day!

So, after an hour’s rest (the only time we’d successfully slept, really!), Liz and I dragged our sleepy selves out of bed and, miraculously, willed our freezing bodies to step out of the pajamas we were wearing and into about eight layers of geyser gear. We basically put on every item of clothing we’d packed so that, when our bus arrived at 4:30am, we trudged like robots out the door of our hostel. We were the last members of our tour to be picked up that day, so we had to sit in the wayyyyy back of the bus, which was not at all comfortable. Our guide that day, Patricio (Pato), told us we were in for a two-hour ride up into the mountains and that we’d probably experience some altitude sickness in our heads and stomachs. Indeed, the ride was treacherous. The previous evening’s pisco and lack of rest didn’t bode well from the start, but the bumpy route and the altitude change didn’t help at all. When we FINALLY arrived at our destination, the world’s highest-altitude geyser field, El Tatio, we were feeling pretty crappy. Still, we were determined to make the most of our tour. When we saw the columns of swirling smoke rising up from the ground as far as the eye could see, backlit by the morning sun breaking through the clouds and over the volcanoes, we could hardly believe we were still on Planet Earth.

Pato told us that we were about 4300km above sea level and that this is, essentially, where life begins. We got out of the bus, shivering, and followed Pato as he neared a bubbling, gurgling hole in the ground, out of which was rising just a few fumes of smoke. He told us to listen to the sounds, and based on these sounds, he predicted when the geyser’s subterranean action was going to manifest itself above ground. So, when the time was right, we backed up a bit and waited for the geyser to charge its way to the surface and burst out of the ground, sending streams of liquid into the air along with a huge cloud of smoke. It was amazing, especially against the sunrise, which is precisely why these tours begin at the foreboding hour of 3 in the morning. The geyser field is huge, and the entire space is dotted with holes called fumaroles, out of which bubble, gurgle, splatter, and squirt these geothermic substances. The result, the hissing, swirling columns of geyser fumes, are Dante-esque and truly amazing.

I loved that Pato was so in tune with the Earth that he could literally tell us, with a remarkably small margin of error, precisely when the world below was going to spit out something awesome. The sun broke through the clouds and the smoke after awhile and announced the new day over this other-worldly landscape, and I thought of my Earth and Environmental Physics teacher from Marquette… haha! I loved, also, all of the insights Pato provided regarding volcanic activity and geothermic action and glacial erosion and such. The whole area, down to the very rocks we were standing on, was the result of all sorts of powerful movements of the earth over various time periods. It’s a primordial space—truly a time-warp.

We left El Tatio, after Lizzie’s toes nearly fell off and a lady in our group passed out due to the altitude, and although it felt like the tour could end right there, we’d just begun! We spent the next couple of hours descending from our perch, and as we passed back into the land of the living, we crossed through a diverse range of ecosystems. First, we saw the regal, elusive llama-like animals that Lizzie had been fantasizing about forever: the vicuñas. Their yellowish coats blended in perfectly with the altiplano brush and dusty earth, and they literally seem to float across the landscape as they skip and sprint like white-tail deer. Lower, alongside a dreamy stream in a marshland area, we saw multiple chinchilla—one of my new favorite animals. These animals, which look sort of like big rabbits with squirrel-like tails, are incredibly difficult to spot and even more difficult to follow, especially with a camera lens. They look like little mounds of sand at first glance, but when they take off, brushy tails high in the air behind them, they bounce through the bushes like crickets.

After that, we saw llamas of all different colorings, grazing in an Ireland-esque, emerald ravine. They were fuzzy and adorable, and that makes the following fact even harder to believe, but the truth is that, just a few minutes later in the tiny pueblo of Machuca, I ate an absolutely phenomenal anticucho (like a kabob) with onions and llama meat. Before that, though, we made one last stop alongside a bright blue, partially frozen river, where we spotted various types of ducks and geese. My favorite birds were the fat black ones with long, orange legs. Pato told us that, in order to avoid getting eaten by the foxes in the area, the birds will actually stay on the ice until they freeze with it. They’ll wait there for their eggs to hatch, knowing that the foxes will not venture out onto the fragile river.

Winding through the canyons and valleys and mountains—and the appropriately named Cactus Valley, where huge cacti towered above us outside the bus windows—was a special treat we hadn’t expected when we signed up for the geyser tour. By the time we arrived at Machuca for a quick break, we’d seen otherworldly geysers spouting forth from the depths of the planet and various flora and fauna; we were feeling pretty awesome, though tired, and Machuca put us in an even better mood. A lot of the pueblos, including this one, are abandoned this time of year and are simply waiting vacantly for the return of their inhabitants and the warmer weather. However, there were some people in Machuca barbecuing (hence, the llama kabob) and welcoming the buses of tourists arriving, eager to stretch tired legs and sip cups of tea.

We strolled around for a half hour or so, which gave us time to check out the incredibly precious, bright white church in Machuca. Its stark blue door and thatched roof added story-tale elements to the closed-up little place, and we couldn’t help but be charmed by it. We enjoyed the sunshine, the adorable town, and the company—especially the company of a family from England who has been traveling the world for almost ¾ of a year. Their two little girls were absolutely adorable (and incredibly cultured) and, when we got off the bus in San Pedro, one of them gave us a drawing she’d made of Lizzie and me. Pretty cute.

We passed through more canyons where layers of glaciations are visible based on changes in the coloring and lay of the surrounding rock structures. We saw rounded rocks where rivers once were and sides of hills black from volcanic junk, and all the while, the magnificent salt flat and the pastels of the Valle de la Luna beckoned us back toward San Pedro. We arrived home exhausted after our incredible morning—but it was only noon! After a refreshing shower, I read for awhile in the hammock outside until I fell asleep, like a cat in the sun, curled up there in the middle of the patio. When we awoke from our much-needed siestas, Lizzie and I had lunch (massive empanadas from a place with 300+ varieties!), did some shopping and postcard composing, and then prepared for dinner, which consisted of a makeshift taco night with whatever ingredients we’d been able to find during our various scavenging excursions. We chatted and rested and had a wonderful evening, not looking forward to having to depart soon.

We slept in, did some shopping, had lunch, read for awhile, visited the museum, and took in the charm of the town for a little while longer the next day before having to head back to Calama. We stayed the night there, despite the fact that Calama is pretty dismal and our hostel was a bit frightening, because it was easier to get to the airport for our early flight the next day. We were not eager to return to Santiago, as we knew what awaited us: smog, noise, school, etc. But there are always things to look forward to as well, and when we arrive back home, it’s never as bad as we think it will be. We remember the charms of our dear city, too, and we are warmly received by our host families, who are always eager to hear about our adventures.

And so concluded our excursion to the north, the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. The things I saw were simply unlike anything else I’ve ever seen in my life, and, on top of that, the general mood of our trip was exactly what we needed; we had time to read, journal, think, chat, laugh, sleep, and stroll slowly. Most people in our program who have gone to the north have done what we did in far fewer days, but we enjoyed our six-day escape and loved (almost) every minute of the trip. I thought of you all and wished many times that I could put the sunsets and sand dunes and salt flats in my pockets to take home. That being said, I did steal a hunk of salt… I guess that will have to do!

I love you all and miss you more and more as my time here is dwindling. I’m not ready to come home yet, but I’m ready to see you. Hope you are happy, healthy, and enjoying summertime!

Sunsets, flamingos, and Stanley Cup spirit,

Amanda