We agreed to write up our thoughts about this trip separately. Guess we thought it might be interesting to see what we saw as the highlights and then compare and contrast. I know you lot probably don’t care but having spent six months in each other’s constant company we became adept at thinking of things that might give us something fresh to talk about 😉
Another hour passes, another 100km rolls by. The Atacama desert, the driest place on the planet is an utterly barren landscape. A vast, arid, rocky desert without a shred of vegetation. But it is not the landscape we are here to see. It is the stars…
Ten P.M. in the surf house and all is quiet. After hours in the water most of the inhabitants are hitting the recovery button, closing doors and going to bed.
At ten thirty a car pulls up outside. As the reggeaton fades, five girls get out giggling. Each is carrying a bottle of booze or a pack of beer. Looks like its going to be a lively night and, perhaps unsurprisingly, my plans for the evening change….
Hoping for a cloud inversion at dawn (photography fans) we are lying in the roof tent listening to the drizzle in the dark. It is cold and dank at 4,200m and yet there remains a dog roaming the hillside barking to remind me why I dislike dogs.*
Given this blog is mainly for our future selves I make scant apology if much of the following makes little sense to someone who doesn’t ride a mountain bike…
It is an unmarked door in a low grade neighbourhood. Inside a man has a bucket grain alcohol, a ladle and two square meters of straw matting. He is here to die. Continue reading “La Paz – female pantomime wrestling and grim reality”
When Daphne’s passport came through, I was happy, relieved and on the wrong side of the Atacama desert. I’d been here because it is a world famous astrophotography location with spectacularly clear and dark skies. Except when it rains.
When you pick up a hitch hiker you have a very,very short period of time for you both to figure out if either of you are a serial killer.
As I rolled past, he put his cigarette out on the heel of his Vans and put the butt in his pocket. Serial killer he may be, but a considerate one at least. I stopped, rolled back, window down and asked where he was going. Atacama. Jump in amigo.
I am here because I need a city. I need to do things like organise insurance for the truck. Like buy food that isn’t noodles and frankly try to dry everything out. Thing is, Salta is actually quite beautiful so I stayed, and made some photos….
The dust blows across the high plains in grey swirling red clouds. The ‘painter’s palette’ landscape rolls by in a blur of brick red, ochre and ethereal greyish greens. Stepping out to buy goat cheese and bread is like stepping into oven. So it is surprising that just 12 hours later I was bailing out the tent with a bath sponge…