Days 36 & 37 - San Pedro de Atacama.

Luckily, on the bus to San Pedro, we have the air-con on most of the time, so I manage to sleep, on and off. The sun begins to rise as we drive out of Antofagasta, illuminating the dirt-brown plain and the early morning mist on the equally brown mountains. A processing plant in the desert is belching black smoke. More trash everywhere. In the distance, there’s the odd dust trail left by a truck passing through. We stop for a slow freight train. The baby in the seat behind me is squalling for the umpteenth time. Change buses in Calama.

The closer we get to San Pedro, the more stunning the scenery. It’s not for everyone, but to me, the surrounding moonscape – the bare reddish mountains – is just beautiful. San Pedro is like a small green oasis in the desert, its one-storey adobe houses hidden amidst the greenery. I’m staying at Hostal Sonchek; my first choice, Takha Takha, where I stayed last time, is booked up. They all look alike, these hostels – greenery in the inside courtyards, a few benches or hammocks, some cats dotted about the place, and no-frills rooms without heating.

San Pedro is my home in the north of Chile. I really like the chilled-out vibe, the dirt streets, the good food and the incredible scenery within reach. Last time I was here, I went sandboarding, swimming in the salt lakes, I visited the highland villages and the geysers at dawn, and went stargazing. San Pedro (or the Atacama Desert) has some of the clearest skies on earth, which is why I’m deeply disappointed that on the one night I’m here, it’s cloudy and the stargazing’s cancelled. The French guy who runs it is amazing; he’s got several high-powered telescopes set out in his backyard; his explanations are very entertaining and best of all, you get to look through all the telescopes, and where there’s only one star to the naked eye, you see a cluster; you can see the craters on the moon, and I still remember the wonder I felt – the fluttering feeling in my stomach, when I first caught sight of the tiny golden Saturn with its rings clearly visible.  It didn't seem real.

I pay a visit to Martin of Cosmo Andino; last time I ended up joining a couple of their tours and their reputation is still the best in a town where every other place is a tour agency or a restaurant. Even though I’m on a ‘mini-vacation’, I still enquire about any changes since last time; we gossip about mutual acquaintances, and I sign up for the 4am visit to the geysers. Even on a ‘mini-vacation’ I can’t seem to sleep in.

The mundane stuff does get done, though: I drop stuff off at the laundry; exchange “Slaves of new York” (bleak but spot-on) for “The Subtle Knife”, which I’ve read already but love; write postcards to my inmates beneath the pink peppercorn trees in the plaza and post them, and visit La Estaka – still one of the most innovative places to eat which actually has good service. When I’m persuaded to eat at La Esquina by an English-speaking tout, I’m just amazed that they’re still open in a town where everything is so competitive: even though I’m the only customer, the staff stand around talking for about five minutes without greeting me or giving me the menu, then the soup takes years to arrive, and though it’s good, I finally have to then go up to them to get their attention. Suggested tip is 10%. I think not.

When I’m waiting for my pickup at 4am, a large black dog bounds up to me and seems ecstatically happy to see me. When I walk past Takha Takha later on, I see the same dog there, and realise that it’s the puppy from two years ago; I made friends with the family of dogs who lived in the garden, and the puppies would come and sit on my lap at night when I sat in the garden to watch the stars. In fact, the entire family walked me to the bus station when I was leaving.

Can’t sleep on the way to the geysers; it’s a two-hour bumpy ride and am feeling nauseous, unusually for me. A whole fleet of minibuses is there before sunrise; cold and slightly dazed from the altitude (4500m) we wander between the fumaroles and geysers spitting out jets of boiling water like ghosts in the mist. It’s an amazing sight, caused by intense volcanic activity: underground rivers are heated up enough to spew out steam which turns to water upon hitting the cold air. We have to be careful where we walk, because there have been several cases of boiled tourist.

Coca leaf tea for breakfast, and then we move on to the hot springs. Here there are several mighty geysers which have killed several people, as well as a pool fed by the natural hot springs. I realise later that I diced with death because I didn’t stick to the safe path (I didn’t even notice that there was a path); I could’ve easily fallen through the fragile ground and become a boiled egg. The hot spring are one of the highlights of the trip; at first you’re very very cold, stripping off in sub-zero temperatures and then you plunge into wonderfully hot water! The shallow end’s the warmest; here you can’t stay in one place because every now and then, you get semi-scalded by jets of hot water. Not many people can say that they’ve had a soak in a hot tub at a height of 4500m.

We go back a roundabout way, following dirt tracks through the mountains. There’s a lot of wildlife – mostly vicuñas, the smallest of the llama family and the ones with the finest wool. A vicuña wool poncho goes for $10,000 in the States because you only get around 200g of wool from a single creature and you can’t domesticate them. They graze not far away from the road, unafraid.

We stop at a tiny highland village; normal population: 40; current population: five people, a dog and two baby llamas; you can pay to feed them milk out of a baby bottle. There’s a little whitewashed church and the adobe brick huts have thatched roofs. A local is doing a roaring trade selling grilled llama kebabs. I have to get one, of course, though the going price of CH$1700 is pretty steep. It’s tender, flavourful meat. I notice that the people who were fussing over the baby llamas a minute ago are having no trouble enjoying the llama skewers either.

For our last stop, we follow a stream along a hill overgrown with massive candelabra cacti and through thick growths of reeds. It’s a bit of a scramble down, but it’s worth it for the waterfall at the end and the view of the narrow canyon through which you can hike back all the way to San Pedro apparently – it’s only 20km.

I may have caught too much sun because my head is burning up as if I have a fever and I have a craving for ceviche. It may be a bit silly, getting Peruvian-style ceviche when Peru’s only a day away, but I don’t care. Sleep in the afternoon and then bid San Pedro farewell again, hopping on an all-nighter to Arica in the north.