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Three small steps on the road to Santiago (3 / 3)


Los Andes is a pretty village perched at 700 meters above sea level on the foothills of the Cordillera, and crossed by a torrent - Aconcagua-.
In the surrounding countryside, much land is devoted to the cultivation of grapes and peaches. Here and there, one can also notice some plots dedicated to the almond and olives. To some extent, although this is not noticeable and no-guide does not mention it exceptionally healthy climate of the region also allows marijuana to develop an entirely correct.

But despite some buildings with colonial architecture, beautiful tree-lined streets of plane and a lively Place d'Armes, nothing really remarkable incentive for the traveler to extend his stay here too much. Especially since this region is described as unstable in terms LBS. The reputation of Los Andes in Chile even be one of the cities of more vulnerable to earthquakes. This also requires local architects for their buildings to provide a dedicated network of steel beams designed to increase cohesion.

And this is the home of Villegas, our guest tonight. A family of Calama an engineer, met earlier, we had recommended.
The letter delivered by the engineer of Calama for Mrs. Villegas was also very helpful and although we never saw the content, we won this letter to be received in real friends. For

the first time since the beginning of this trip, we were greeted by a relatively wealthy family. The only father's salary had been purchased this small but comfortable house and a small car. Lada a gray-green.

The three boys in the house, they followed their studies successfully. One of them, even the seniors begin university next year in Santiago. Ms. Villegas

addition, playing, as the saying goes the role of housewife , a sixth person shared the life of this family, "The Grandpa" as everyone called him here. He was the father of Mr. Villegas, a former lieutenant commander in retirement. His main occupation was to listen at full volume it maintained its transistor moreover glued to the ear. It was a little dull because the frequent gunnery exercises he had damaged eardrums. Today, it was imperative not to disturb him because it was the retransmission of an important game. Colo-Colo-the team "fetish" national-was apparently once again demonstrated its superiority to judge by the hysterical comments presenter whose "Gooooooooooal!" reverberated throughout the house.

The head of the family would soon return, and in the meantime, Ms. Villegas evoked the work of her husband to "Minería Andina. A copper mine owned by Codelco's powerful, proprietary consortium, in particular, of the Chuquicamata mine in Calama.

For over ten years Jaime Villegas occupied a position of responsibility in service "maintenance of cartage. Like liked to emphasize his wife, this job was not only well paid, but in addition, as all employees and workers in this sector benefited Jaime significant benefits including the granting of mortgage loans at very advantageous rates was not the slightest.

The door had just opened and already the youngest son would run to his father to drive it bluntly in the living room where we were staying.

Jaime was the epitome of good living: Just the usual introductions completed, it urged us not wait any longer to toast new friendships Belgo-
Chilean! The bottles of Pisco and Coca-open soon and mixed- would soon seal the friendly encounter. Meanwhile, Ms. Villegas had seized the box where she kept her family photos and postcards that she regularly received from parents and friends of expatriates in Europe.
"Look" she said, I've even some of your country! "

It was, for most, views of Brussels. Pictures taken a little outdated in the late sixties, judging by the line of cars or cut clothing from people in these pictures.

At the request of our guests we will try best to comment images, especially those where one could see, in the words of Jaime's younger son, "an incredible place to architecture fairytale."

Suddenly, the hostess arose and, looking somewhat embarrassed, said it was time to think about serious things. Our impromptu visit was somewhat upset the plans of Mrs. Villegas and culinary latter confessed that she had much left to make a meal worthy of the occasion. Despite our protests, it was decided, with authority, that we would travel together to the supermarket.

soon once said ... crammed into the small of Lada Villegas. God thank you, neither the youngest nor the grandfather, the ear still glued to her transistor, had wanted to accompany us. The supermarket

Los Andes, with rare exceptions, like any other large surface: Even prescription products, even soporific music, even commercials, even garish lighting, ... To pass the time, I tried to unsuccessfully to flush out some food a little bit exotic. Only an unfortunate pan filled with lemons Pica distinguished labels and bottles of wine at a pinch could prove that we were Chile. And yet.

is leaving the shop he had to seek local peculiarities. Just after the boxes, there were a dozen children aged eight or nine years, bringing the dust with the logo of the store, which was busy. Some packed up customer purchases and others were proposing to carry packages to cars in exchange for some coins. Outside, other kids still running in all directions, helping motorists to park in their designating slots.

In the crush, a farmer on the blue Work and straw hat was busy pasting posters on the window outside the store in general indifference. It was a small notice, awkwardly calligraphy and photocopied on poor quality paper where you could read a "Grand Rodeo followed by a fiesta huaso be held tomorrow night in the hamlet of Campo de Ahumada" . It was stated that "The atmosphere is warm and free admission.

When I asked Jaime where was this village, he replied, with a rather disdainful pout, that this place was not very away from Los Andes, only 30 or 40 kilometers, but the road was in such a state that no more buses only went there. Even the taxis were refusing the race so far.
- In any case, "said Jaime, the finest rodeos are held in Rancagua, south of Santiago, at the end of January. If you're still in the area at that time, I'd be happy to take you there. But Campo de Ahumada, there is the bush, I really do not want to go.

(A Campo de Ahumada)

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Three small steps on the road to Santiago (2 / 3)


The episode of the destruction of our tent by mysterious and invisible assailants forced us to spend a day in the seaside town of La Serena. A day devoted to repair our equipment and especially to sew up the tent. The very next day we took the road and leaving La Serena, always stop. This is not easy. We're loaded like mules and drivers do not really want today to clean up their vehicle to accommodate two backpackers lost and disheveled.

A first vehicle, however we charge for a tiny path to the exit of the city, a second to the port of Coquimbo (just 15 miles away), then a third to a place called "Termas de SOCOSE . With the fourth car of the day we travel the longest stretch, about a hundred kilometers to the village of Huentelauquen. It is a messenger of the army with carrying two military-looking affable. They quickly engage the conversation with banal subjects. When we ask what is our country and we tell them the Belgium, one of them exclaims. "It's amazing, my maternal grandmother is Brussels, and to clarify ... it just Schaerbeek! . His companion nods and adds that there in the region "a lot" of people from Belgium. Somewhat naively perhaps, we will respond there is also a lot of Chileans in Belgium and particularly in our region, near Liege. That's when, suddenly the tone of the conversation turns sour. One of two soldiers began to get angry, and almost-screaming-tells us that these Chileans installed in Europe and especially in Belgium are the shame of the country. "Those who are with you, the rabble. They are all communists! This category of Chileans who misinform you and peddles falsehoods that damage the reputation of our beautiful country "

Sensing that the tide is turning, the other soldier, more diplomatic, decides to move to another topic and, to lighten the mood, put a tape in the drive of a local singer.
And Chilean music, you know a bit from you, we request the troufion? . Marie-Helene replied, yes, we listen well enough to Chilean songs at home '
-Oh, "replied the other, and what do you listen to in particular?
"Well, we like singers such as Victor Jara, for example.
The soldier remained impassive and without turning loose "Ah, I do not know .... "

I feel at this moment, soldiers are getting fed up and we regret that we have loaded.

Moreover, as we approach the next village-Huentelauqeun-a tiny hamlet on the edge of ocean, the driver tells us bluntly that we will have to leave here.
matter. There is nothing to see or do here, but near the beach and wild enthusiasm deserted us. We drive through the dunes to the ocean and drawn up there, in a hollow our camp until tomorrow. There are twigs and shrubs in dry sufficiency, fire in the evening will be provided and we have a little food and water. The evening will be good!

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Chile, photos, legends ... (12)

Three small steps on the road to Santiago (third)

From Calama and "Northern oasis" mentioned above to the coastal city of La Serena where we arrived yesterday, there are a thousand miles. Given the length of the country, this distance is not great but we have more than ten days to travel by hitchhiking. Not that "travel to the finger" does not work well here, but an unexpected problem has forced us to stay a week stranded in Taltal. A port where there is shabby, I think there nothing else to do than watch the pelicans idlers on the pier in the best-case or worst-in-, to get drunk with nautical Unemployment in greasy spoon along the bay. For my part, I have done neither the one nor the other, since I stayed in bed for a week in the first pension came due to a terrible dental abscess. A period necessary to bring down the fever resulting from this problem and wait until my jaw can again function normally and that the gum a little deflated (Marie-Hélène compared me to Elephant Man ") I could not open his mouth and the only food they can still swallow me were yogurt and packet soups that I absorbed in straw. God thank you, Chilean pharmacists are competent people who examined me and advised me to Taltal antibiotic radical. It must be said that here, for obvious economic reasons, most people usually resort to the pharmacist rather than a doctor. Pharmacists can also deliver virtually all drugs conceivable without any prescription. Chile is why a true kingdom of self-medication.
That said, and after some minor adventures along the way (an encounter with a suicidal young motorist who told us, just returned to his vehicle, that if his wife does not soon regained the marital home, he jeterait him and his car, the top of the cliff came first!), here we are at the Serena. From here you can venture easily by bus in the hinterland, to small villages perched on the foothills of the Cordillera. Among those villages, those of Vicuña and Pisco Elqui are interesting. Vicuña is even a small town. It is nestled in the Elqui Valley and the climate is almost Mediterranean. It cultivates a very sweet grape variety whose flavor is reminiscent of Muscat. It is also with this grape that is manufactured alcohol national: Pisco. Purists and Peruvians claim that this is wrong because according to them, Pisco is an alcohol what is most Peruvians. But here we tell you otherwise. Moreover, the peasants believed the state that if the neighboring village called Pisco Elqui, not a chance. What we will not tell you is that this village was renamed after the alcohol it does not too long ago for obvious reasons of "marketing". Anyway, visit a Pisco distillery is always worth his weight in peanuts. The explanations of business guide Capel is certainly very technical and tedious, but the part reserved for the tasting of various products leaves a pleasant memory because there are many things to test: Pisco young, half old, very old-aged in barrels oak, the special wines, not counting the "mixtures" ready to use as the wonderful Pisco-Sour (with lemon juice, sugar cane, etc ...). In short, this afternoon, we were more extreme freshness to plunge us into the life and work of one of the greatest writers of the country (Price Nobel Prize for Literature in 1945), namely the poet Gabriela Mistral was born here and which can still visit the house in the heart of the town.


(The birthplace of the poet Gabriela Mistral Vicuña)


Following the upstream course of the Elqui a distance of about 40 km is therefore village of Pisco. Significantly smaller than Vicuña, this entity has maintained a beautiful seal rustic. The agricultural activity is of course especially fruit. Besides the vineyards that still occupy the foreground, there are also crops of plums, apricots and guavas. These are usually dried in the sun on rooftops to get the "huesillos (dried apricots).
In the streets and alleys between the orchards, the scents are divine and smells of various fruits mingling produce a single heady fragrance.

Today we planted the tent near a stream in a place planted willows. The weather suddenly became uncertain. We suffer a few showers and the sky remains covered much of the day. This is the first rain since the beginning Our journey into the lands of the north. One can hardly distinguish the snowy peaks encircling the village. We found refuge in a cafe run by Don Barboza. An old buccaneer that Don Barboza. Originally from Argentina, he has a lot of land in the corner and has always tried to monetize every square meter. Moreover, to get to the point where we make camp, you must pass by a road owned. To borrow we were obliged to pay us a right of way 800 pesos! This represents about renting space in a campsite ordinary "in the region. But Don Barboza also cultivates a form of nostalgia . To enliven his old cafe, when customers sit down, he likes to spend old 78 rpm Carlos Gardel on an authentic gramophone with horn struck with the effigy of "The Voice of his master!

is beautiful than watching the rain fall on the countryside while listening to tango!


This morning it's still raining and everyone in the village is concerned about these late rains. Once again, we put it down to the "Bolivian winter" eternal "cream pie" weather, because of all the disturbances of the sky.
matter. We take our courage and our shoes walking boots for the day from the surrounding countryside.

Back in the early afternoon, a nasty surprise awaits us: we find our tent in a terrible state, but was defeated and downtrodden. The canvas is largely torn in several places .. It's a real mystery because nothing was stolen and the food was untouched. There are two horses in the vicinity of our camp, but it seems unlikely that they were those responsible for this carnage. Little encouraged by the prospect of a possible attack at night, we broke camp and decide to join the coast and continue our journey south.

(based Travel Diary December 91)

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Oases Nordic (2 / 2)

To achieve Chiu-Chiu, village Oasis nearest Lasana, you have to take a rocky path along the Rio Loa, a distance of about ten kilometers. While accidents, the course is nice, especially in the morning when the sun is not too deadly.

After 3 hours walking around the trail straightens out of the valley and leads to the village. First we see a beautiful white adobe church preceded by two bell towers and then, instead. Dusty and surrounded by dead trees or dry. That day, everything was almost deserted. There were just two children, who were running in all directions and seemed to play "gliders".
They imitated the sound of the wind, eyes closed, pretended to drift with currents imaginary. They eventually collide and fall. Ocher cloud in which they snorted, cascades of laughter rang out metal. The unkempt hair, sweat and snot soaked sand, they had raised, eyes wide open and we had begun to fathom, like puppies shameless "A'ondé van gringos? (Z 'go where the foreigners?) Cried the boy. "ACA, no más! (Here, no more) I replied. Without asking more, the two kids had taken over our bags and waved us to follow. "Come at Doña Virginia, she'll look after you! "Threw the girl, as if we were rescued from the desert and it was absolutely necessary to take us to the field hospital nearest you.

In fact, Chiu-Chiu, the Doña Virginia played a bit role in "Give up 'for lost travelers. It was both the sole owner of the village café, restaurant and incidentally, was the holder of the keys to the church. In sum, the earthly and spiritual food were concentrated in the hands of a single person. As for "cures" that she had the secret, they consisted of rustic sandwiches, which according to arrivals were sometimes topped with eggs and peppers, and sometimes lawyers and onions and sometimes block of tripe she sewed herself. This last specialty was the "map" this afternoon.

After we have served, Doña Virginia sat in front of us and watched us eat. She asked about our trip and our projects in the region. She obviously loved advise travelers and elsewhere, passengers also seemed to show him much recognition, judging by the numerous letters she received from around the world. In a large exercise book, Doña Virginia treasured memories and impressions that he left his guests passing through. On some pages, she stuck pell-mell, small texts in Hebrew, a postcard with the Eiffel Tower or the Colosseum or a thank you note from a journalist from the capital to try once more , to unravel the riddles surrounding the village. Toward the final pages of this sort of book, featured a picture black and white. It was a portrait. That of the German actor Hardy Krüger -one of the protagonists of the legendary " Taxi For Tobruk "- which at the bottom that read:" For Doña Virginia, affectionately signed Hardy Krüger.

"Oh yes, I remember. Someone very well what Mr. Kruger! And not difficult for a sub. Look, there he stayed when he came. I had pushed the tables and chairs and he had laid his sleeping bag there on the floor, "she said, pointing to the concrete slab forming the rough ground coffee.

Doña Virginia would now show us the church without delay. A church in the image of the village cursed. For chandeliers no longer pastor there had wanted to give mass.
Moreover, since the day of drunken peasants were insulted and beaten on the last priest in office, there was no cure at all had to Chiu Chiu. The story goes that after his beating, the priest made his bundle without asking his rest, but before disappearing behind the hill, cast a spell on the village and its inhabitants. Today, the curse seems to be perpetuated, at least in the memory and the heart of the natives, if crops fail this year, if the houses are infested of vinchuca *, if young are deserting the land or sell them cheaply, the reason will be known and will be invoked once more the revenge of the priest-martyr. If Doña Virginia opens yet another time to the church, it is to let go of the few tourists passing the final or devotees of the parish who officiate themselves during rites of Christianity that inspired both the ancestral animist traditions . Moreover, a "special Mass" will be held tonight, says Virginia "But here, foreigners are not allowed," she says. " Although it is the church of Chiu-Chiu (The second oldest of Chile) has a few sights, its ceiling and its imposing gates are made entirely of wood of cacti. A real lace! Inside the building, near the altar, there is also a strange painting of a Christ. Strange, because if one takes the trouble to look at the back of the painting, as we noted Virginia, there is another painting where you can still see the Christ .... but back. A Christ-sided!


As proposed Doña Virginia, we can sleep tonight exactly where Hardy Krüger has stayed there few years. Ie the floor between chairs and small coffee counter. An honor!
Despite the fatigue of the day and although the night was cold, sleep will come easily, however. And it will not because of the spartan housing conditions. In my down sleeping bag, a bottle of Pisco that I had buried to protect it from shock, was broken on the ground and released its heady fragrance and tough. The scent of coffee grounds mixed with the smell of oil permeating our clothes ever since the day the atmosphere will simply nauseating. Later, when the nearby church resound drums and wailing of bigoted service, the atmosphere will rise another notch. The "ceremony" will last until two o'clock in the morning.

(Tombs in the churchyard of Chiu-Chiu)

I even imagined for a moment, in a kind of nightmare, half awake, half asleep, that we should carry out human sacrifices as the noise from the church became annoying.

As if nothing had happened, and as had been expected yesterday, Doña Virginia woke us up early this morning. She brought on a tray, teapot, rolls and jam based on a result that we could not identify. "That's what your strength before you go to walk, the owner smiled from the hostel.

From the establishment of Doña Virginia must indeed walk at least two hours to get to "The Eye of the Sea."
In a vague way straying repeatedly and sometimes mingling with the traces left by herds of sheep, one must first cross a large stretch of rocky Pampa under a sky-blue steel. This morning, there was no shadow of a cloud, except a few fumaroles crachotées by a distant volcano. Probably the San Pedro.
Inlaid in a slight decline in the field, the "Eye Sea" finally appears. This is a saltwater lagoon, perfectly circular, the diameter must not exceed 60 or 70 meters. The water-its location and lack of a clear indication, could easily escape the view of passersby. But without doubt this is due to this kind of irresistible attraction exercised by certain geological phenomena that we we found without too much trouble this water hole in the desert. A curiosity since time immemorial is the origin of the wildest legends. There are of course the usual testimony "credible" of those who, like the shoreline of Loch Ness, spotted on the surface of brackish waters a form resembling that of an antediluvian monster. But there are also poets. Those who believe that the bouquets de Cortada (a type of grass) did his best to push the edge of the lagoon are in fact the reincarnation of the "Three Mary." Three girls having drowned here once and whose hair spoke of, say, the look and silky texture of these plants! Other stories also tell that the Inca, fleeing the conquistadors would have swallowed up by some of their fabulous treasure. Among the most recurrent myths circulating around the lagoon there is finally one evoking a love story between a girl of Chiu-Chiu and the famous Inca Tupac Amaru rebels who took refuge in the region some time before resuming his desperate fight against Spaniards. Desperate to be able to hold his lover, too busy making war, the beautiful Chiu Chiu, spite, went to drown. Since then, told, the lagoon has taken a nice emerald green color. Eye color of the unfortunate mistress of the last great Inca rebel (executed in Cusco / Peru in 1572). More prosaically, Doña Virginia we still had strongly advised to avoid swimming in the waters of the "Eye Sea".
"If you really want to swim, stay close to shore because the water is very" heavy "there. If you go to the center, you'll be sucked in and you will never go back, it's a bottomless pit. No one has ever measured, Assen boss coffee As a final warning. " (based travel diary from December 91)

(Chiu-Chiu, "El Ojo de Mar, the Sea-Eye)

* The vinchuca (Triatoma infestans) present in the clay brick houses is a biting insect hematophagous of America tropical family of bugs ( Reduviidae). Is the vector a trypanosomiasis the Chagas . A deadly disease related to the disease sommmeil) from Wikipedia.