Do you know the way to go (out of) San Pedro?
The Lonely Planet guide describes San Pedro de Atacama as "a quiet little town" which "you might spend more time in than you expect."
We were to spend three nights there and to be honest it was more than enough.
This is no reflection on the town itself of course, it was a pleasant little western type place, the sort of which you half expect to see Clint Eastwood and Lee Van Cleef facing off along one of the high streets, but it was very expensive and had only one bank machine which seemed to work on a whim. Not so bad if we had stocked up on Chillean cash before hand of course, but all of us were skint. This was the first place in which we could actually get the currency and we were all penny pinching until the almost legendary ATM machine started spewing out those handy notes.

Our campsite was quite pleasant though, and so we spent much of our time finding cheaper pursuits, such as cards, chess, reading books and idling. When it came to meal times, we again went of the cheap option and bought stuff from the local shop to eat rather than risking the overpriced resturants.
On our second night at the place, we took a trip to watch the sun setting over the sand dunes in the Atacama desert. The most impressive aspect of which was not the sun (which we only really saw drop behind a mountain before everyone turned away), but the dunes themselves which were vast. Other tour groups were around for the same event, one of whom - disconcertingly - was led by a bloke dressed as Superman, the atmosphere was pleasant, and the scenery progesively more surreal as the sun dropped and the colours became stranger and redder.
That evening, Gary and I made ourselves popular by staying up and chatting at unnecesary volume while everyone else tried to get an early night before raising at four the next morning for an optional excursion which the two of us decided against. Strictly speaking it wasn't really our fault as much as the people who turned up afterwards and who put on a spectacular display of being considerably more drunk than we were. At one point two of them - complete strangers both, from seperate trucks - fell off the bench onto the ground where they remained, writhing until someone, somewhere, yelled at them to "get a tent".

The following day was spent being slightly hungover and slightly more apologetic (A six pack of beers was purchased for the driver who was something like three metres from the fumbling couple) dodging the sun and finding cheap things to do. The evening was a lot quieter and to most in the campsite's malicious pleasure, I didn't sleep that well that evening myself.

That morning we set off for the beach resort of Las Sienna, a big beachy resort full of anoyingly beautiful people lounging on the sand in ways which made you feel lumpen and ungainly when you do as little or as much as walk past them. We were camping (again), this time in a campsite off the beach (a good thing, putting up tent pegs in soft sand is a silly pursuit). The sea here was cool (warmer than Pueta Inca, despite it's more southerly location) and by turns choppy and calm. Nice enough but I confess that I'm not really big on beach resorts. I prefer the smaller ones, issolated and less commercial. Still, I suspect it could be argued that the scenery was nicer, in a sort of lecherous way, of course.

After a nice evening in a bar (quelle surprise) during which I managed not to also get dragged to the nearby club (a good thing by the sounds of it, not that it wouldn't have been fun, but might have been expensive/messy/generally ill-advised) we woke the next morning to find overcast skies covering the broad beach in both directions. Unfazed, a group of us set off along the beach towards the intriguing looking headland, baring a curious looking cross overlooking a fishing port.
The dull weather had scared off all the tourists and the beach was bleak and empty other than our own nattering crowd of six trudging up the sand, avoiding and gawping at the beached jellyfish. Fishermen hung around mending their nets and various kids were running about beachcoming. It took us about two and a half hours to reach the fishing port, where a large Tescos equivalent and market provided an excellent lunch consisting of cold pies, crisps, fruit and juice. We decided not to bother climbing the hill to the cross (which looked even weirder close up) and instead headed back down the beach, where the sun started to emerge from behind the clouds and burn us ruthlessly.
We stopped off for a beer in a beachside bar, where the waiter regarded us constantly and with suspcicion. We took it in turns to use the facilities, then as we were sitting down with our beers heard him spraying the loos with an aerosol. Nice.
A little bit of unwise sunbathing later, we stumbled back to the campsite in time for tea (barbequed fish, nice), then retired to the beach in the evening with a few bottles of wine, staring at the stars.

After two nights in La Sienna, we set off for Con Con, another camping resort this time much closer to Santiago. It wasn't, however, very close to the sea, but this was compensated for with a nice swimming pool and a handful of other handy facilities. My group's turn to cook dinner again that night and we were preparing fahitas for twenty four, a new one on me that, thankfully they turned out well and tasted great. In other words, no one complained. Always a plus.
We had been told by the campsites owners that we would have to leave early the following morning as a police training exercise was to be taking place on the premesis, and so we had one final (rushed?) evening in a tent, before heading off for a final trip on Jock, the big yellow bus, to Santiago.
- posted by Vince @ 2:25 PM