Trouble crossing the Bolivian border: where law is a matter of personal interpretation

July 23, 2010 – Villazon

At 8.30am we boarded the bus that was taking us to La Quiaca, the last Argentina town before Bolivia. Four hours later we arrived and took a taxi to the border. We went through Argentine immigration and quickly got our exit stamps. From there on everything went so wrong.

Before leaving Uyuni for my salar trip I got an exit stamp for Bolivia and the officers assured me that I could enter the country again with that same visa (it had cost me $60). Upon entering the country the officer had told me I might have to pay Bs100 to keep the right to enter the country with the same visa but still nobody had requested it I wasn’t going to push it onto them. Back in Bolivia I felt comfortable that there wouldn’t be any trouble. Yeah, I couldn’t be further from the truth. As soon as I handed my passport to that same official who had sold me the visa he said I couldn’t enter with the same visa and I needed a new one. I told him what the official in Uyuni had told me but he wouldn’t bulge. I told him I wasn’t buying a new visa since I had done everything right and had followed the rules. It was clearly their fault and I wasn’t paying for it. After a while they sent me to the consulate that was a few hundred meters away. Apparently the consul would sort it out. I took a taxi there while Mario stayed behind looking after the bags.

Once in the consulate office I explained what had happened to what I thought was the consul but the lady turned out to be the secretary. She went to a back room and related the story to the consul ho came out a few minutes later, asked me whether I spoke Spanish and when I nodded he told me to go back to immigration and look for Sr. Rivera. ‘You got it?’ he asked. ‘Señor Rivera.’ he repeated.

I walked back and one of the officers asked me how it had gone. I told him I wanted to see Sr. Rivera. I had no idea who that person was but by the look on the official’s face I figured he was someone important. ‘Sr. Rivera. Carlos Rivera’ he repeated. He asked me to wait and went into a back office. He came out a couple of minutes later and said I had lost the right to enter the country on the same visa. He said I have to go back to the consulate. I lost it.

I told them it was their mistake and I wasn’t paying for it. I told them I had already been to the consulate and they had told me to deal with Rivera. I demanded I saw him. They refused and Mario and I stood in a corner trying to figure out what to do. I was so angry I broke crying. I hadn’t done anything wrong and yet I was being punished for it. It wasn’t fair. An official came a few minutes later and said we had to leave the office and that Rivera would be there at 14.30pm. I said I wasn’t going anywhere and he snapped saying ‘Wait forever then!’.

It looked like our best option was to go back to the consulate. We walked there and upon seeing us the secretary just told us to go into the consul’s office. I explained what had happened and he said he couldn’t do anything since Rivera was the immigration’s boss. I told him they had said he could give me another visa and only then he asked for my passport. He saw the pretty photo I had and made the most inappropriate comment I thought. He said I looked very pretty in that photo and asked what had happened with me. Why was I wearing a baseball hat, looking like a revolutionary? I thought he had no right to such comments in his position, thought it very sexist and broke crying. He didn’t get it. He thought someone had abused me. I hated him.

He said he would give me a new visa for free. Just like it should have been the first time. He said I needed to have a passport photo though. Obviously I didn’t have one and he wanted to send me to a photo studio to make some. When he saw me crying thought and after his secretary advice he let me just make a color copy of my passport along with some other copies that would be sufficient. Mario and I went looking for a Xerox and eventually found one. I got all the copies and went back. The secretary lady helped me with the application and the cleaning lady took it to the consul to sign once it was ready. 15min later we were still waiting for the papers. ‘What is he doing in there?’ asked the secretary. ‘Nothing.’ Responded the cleaning lady dryly. The secretary was the only person along with the cleaning lady who actually did any work at that consulate. I found the consul reading a newspaper and checking his personal Hotmail account upon entering his office the first time. The secretary also explained ho Bolivian visas for Bulgarians worked and that they are free. All it takes is a visit to the nearest consulate. Nobody had told me that the first time I had gone to immigration. They had just charged me the $60. She said different officials interpret the law differently. It is all about personal interpretation. How convenient!

Eventually the consul was ready to receive us and sign the papers. He signed the application as well as the visa the secretary had stamped into my passport. He stressed how this was a 30-day single entry visa and how I could have it extended if I wanted to. ‘It is a single entry visa’ he repeated several times before he let us go. I hated him so much but still politely thanked him before leaving the office. I thanked both the secretary and the cleaning lady from my heart before leaving.

Armed with my new visa we went back to immigration where more drama awaited us. We stood in line waiting to get our entry stamps. Mario got his 90-day stamp first and then it was my turn. The official took my passport, looked at me and called out to a colleague of his. He pointed at me and said ‘Look at this face and remember it!’ he said through his teeth. His boss, Sr. Rivera, had misinterpreted what I had said to the consul and had given him a hard time saying he wanted to charge me Bs100 (almost in the form of a bribe) to let me in the country. I opened my mouth trying to explain what I had said but he wouldn’t listen. He just put words in my mouth. I stood there quietly, waiting for my passport and once I got it I left. I couldn’t stand the look on their faces. I ended up being the bad guy although I hadn’t done ANYTHING wrong. I was on the verge of shaking from rage. I was so pissed. You think they would have given me my $60 dollars (paid for the first visa) back?! Ha-ha-ha.

Because of all that trouble Mario had also had some problems. Having left him with all the bags the first time he had been asked to leave the office with all the luggage. He had tried to explain what was happening but nobody would listen. When I came back and we were about to go into the office again one of the officers standing outside in control of the crowd in need of exit stamps snapped at him threatening not to let him into the country if he continued disrespecting his country. All he was doing was trying to make his way into the office loaded with four backpacks.

I was glad to be out of there. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I had told the officials how as a tourist I rely on them to advise me on the correct immigration practices and I have not the slightest idea that different offices interpret the law differently. ‘How is it my fault’ I had asked ‘if you colleagues in Uyuni supposedly belonging to the same Bolivian police, to the laws of the same country have told me something completely different that what you are now telling me?’.

What had also really pissed me about the consul’s behavior was that he was also trying to blame me for what had happened saying that I hadn’t done my homework before leaving my home country. He mockingly said ho I should have logged onto the Internet and read the immigration rules and prepared accordingly. Didn’t you hear me tell you that I had phoned (Inet site are often out of date) the Bolivian Consulate in Holland well before the beginning in of my trip where a lady had informed me about the immigration procedures. She had assured me I didn’t need a visa and that it only took a stamp to enter the country. She had advised me to get a Yellow Fever vaccination though since it might be required upon entry. And I had done so. That’s why I was surprised when they told me I needed a visa the first time I was here. I should have doubted them and gone to the consulate the first time. Nobody though (besides the secretary) thought about apologizing, not to mention giving me my money back. Instead the consul lectured me on how I haven’t done my homework. Very disappointing, frustrating, enraging!

After a few hours we were finally out of there. A piece of advice to all of you out there. Do not trust the immigration officials at the border crossings. If you are in doubt just refer to the nearest consulate. Do not doubt yourself. Good luck!

Quebrada Humahuaca (Tilcara, Purmamarca, Humahuaca)

Day 1: July 21, 2010 – Tilcara
We made it to Tilcara in the late afternoon. It was dark by the time we got off the bus. We saw a hostal just across the street from the bus terminal and thought we would inquire about the price. It was cheap but it was also rather ugly and uninviting. We thought we would ask around before we make our decision. On the way to the center we came across a nice looking hostel but it was unfortunately fully booked. The lady however pointed us to the local tourist office. We made our way there and asked about accommodation. I was very surprised when the hostel prices they gave us were ridiculously high. We asked what would be a cheaper option and they pointed us to some family run accommodations. Mario went looking for one and I stayed at the office with the bags. He came back after a while saying he had found one and we went to leave our bags. When I saw it I thought it was rather adventurous to say the least. The room had a comfortable double bed and the walls were painted in wine red which created a warm, inviting atmosphere. Apart from that though the floor was bare concrete covered in dust and there was no brick wall above the door, instead there was a light ‘wall’ made of bamboo sticks. We wondered whether it would be warm enough at night but eventually our worries were all in vain. We slept just fine. The bathroom though was another story. To quote Mario ‘You feel dirtier after you have been to the bathroom!’. Couldn’t agree more. We didn’t shower that day.

We went out to get some dinner and found a really nice restaurant that was unfortunately full. We went around looking for another place but really none of them appealed to us as that other place did. We decided to go back and wait for a table. We sat outside and the owner came out with two glasses of delicious liquor and some peanuts. Time flew by. Both Mario and I had fun with the dog of the owner who was a very friendly, happy, fat golden retriever and loved plastic bottles. We played ‘catch’ with her, that is if we managed to get the bottle out of her mouth. The lady had a very strong grip and sometimes would get very excited. A bit too excited about our safety. Anyhow, we didn’t have to wait too long and we were soon having a lovely meal. After dinner it was bed time.

Day 2: July 22, 2010 – Purmamarca
We got up and headed to the bus terminal. We caught a bus that was to take us a nearby town famous for its colorful mountain (Montaña de los Siete Colores). The ride only took about 20mins and we were in Purmamarca in no time. We started by exploring the handcrafts market arranged around the central plaza. So much color and shape, so much tradition and custom. Lovely! I like a few things but decided to hold off the buying until we got to Bolivia since the same stuff would be much cheaper there.

Since we hadn’t had any breakfast we were pretty hungry and it was already lunch time so we found a small, family restaurant and sat waiting for a waiter. It took a while before anybody brought us the menu and even longer before anybody brought us food. At the end we had spent more than 1.5h there which was beyond our idea of a quick bite. The food was worth it though. I had a locro – a lamb stew traditional of the region, and Mario had a llama stew. Finger-licking-licious!

We then headed to the top of a hill that served as a lookout point for the colorful mountain. It was super windy and I nearly lost my hat. We took a couple of photos and headed to a path we had seen from the top. We walked to another lookout point before we decided to climb up a rock that revealed views of the whole valley. We carefully made our way to the top and went down the sandy path with even more care. The strong wind blowing in our faces wasn’t helping. On the way down we stopped at a shop where I bought a small present for a relative and then headed back to the center. We decided to have some freshly squeezed orange juice before we left since we had some time to kill anyway. At 4.00pm we were back on the bus to Tilcara where we had to take another bus to Humahuaca.

Luckily, there was one in about 30min so we just took a taxi back to the hostal, took our backs and boarded on time. An hour later we got off at the bus terminal in Humahuaca. That’s when Mario realized he had forgotten his guide book along with its case and a CD at the restaurant in Purmamarca. Unpleasant but not the end of the world. We headed to the center but before we had progressed too much a guy stopped us offering real cheap accommodation. He said there was a very nice kitchen as well as a new, clean bathroom. Even double rooms! It was too cheap to miss and e decided to check it out.

The house was organized around a clean, square courtyard with an old in the middle of it. The kitchen was indeed very nice, and the bathroom was amazing according to local standards – white tiles, clean shower curtain and a new shower with hot water and amazing water pressure were worth it! The sleeping quarters were a lot less impressive but would still have to do. There was a mother travelling with her two teenage daughters and us two. They got a simple dorm room and upon some insisting we got the ‘double’ room. What was it like you wonder? It was a double mattress thrown on a bare concrete floor in what was more of a storage room than a bedroom. We were separated from the dorm by a thin curtain. Well, for $4pp we couldn’t complain. We had plenty of blankets to keep us warm so we were happy. ‘You gotta admit we have stayed in some pretty adventurous places’ I told Mario. Luckily, he had his sleeping bag with him that we used as a bottom sheet since there were no sheets or pillow covers. Again we slept well. One of the best nights we have ever had as a matter of fact.

We showered and went out for dinner. Before we reached the center we got stopped by a guy advertising a nearby restaurant that offered a live music performance. The menu looked alright, so did the prices and we went in. Mario decided he felt like playing backgammon and went back to get the board. I ordered some snacks, some wine, and more than 20min later I was still sitting alone. I wondered what had happened to him. Why wasn’t he coming back? Eventually he popped his head through the door. It turned out that he had gotten lost. I was so relieved to hear that as I thought he might have gotten mugged or something. He got back just in time for the folkloric performance. He had a horsemeat steak (first time we ever saw it on a menu) and I had a llama one. We enjoyed the music and then to our surprise there was a second act. This time a man and his young daughter were reciting local poetry. Mario wasn’t impressed and rightly so because they really weren’t that good. But we couldn’t be too mad at them; they were just trying to make a living.

After dinner we went back home and slept. We were getting up very early to catch a bus to the border.

Valles Calchaquíes (Cafayate, Angastaco, Molinos, Seclantas, Cachi)

Day 1: July 14, 2010 – Cafayate
We got off at the central plaza in Cafayate and the first thing we noticed was ho pretty it was. Next thing we got approached by touts offering accommodation and one of them caught our attention. It was ridiculously cheap and it sounded alright. We went to the tourist office looking at the accommodation prices as well as getting some info about local activities. As we couldn’t find a cheaper option we headed to the place they had offered us earlier.

We only had the house description (the only adobe house on such and such street) and we couldn’t find it at first. We walked a bit further up and we saw it. The rooms were arranged along a dirt courtyard boasting some vines at the further end. The bathrooms were decent, they assured us there was hot water, the rooms were basic but clean and comfortable and we decided it would d for a couple of nights. We settled in and went out. As it was already dark we only had time for dinner before we went back to the hostel.

Day 2: July 15, 2010
On the next day we visited yet another winery and a goat cheese production farm. We had a late lunch, played some backgammon and walked to another winery for the walk’s sake. The rest of that day is rather blurry. I just remember having dinner that night and going to bed.

Day 3: July 16, 2010
This was the day of our trip to the local quebrada. It didn’t start until 2.30pm so we had a relaxed lunch and a stroll in town before we left. It was fun. We enjoyed walking between the colorful, funky rock formations and enjoyed some marvelous panoramic views. The stop before the last one was a natural amphitheater with 85% acoustic. We enjoyed a wonderful traditional flute/guitar performance and even bought the CD that we forgot in a restaurant a few days later.

Back in town we had dinner in a lovely restaurant offering live music. What was really cool about it was that the bands and the music styles changed throughout the night creating a merry atmosphere. It was then time for bed. We were catching a morning bus to a small town further into the valleys.

Day 4: July 17, 2010 – Angastaco&Molinos
Our bus was supposed to leave at 11.00am but it was late due to road blockages caused by the snow (turned ice) that had fallen a couple of nights ago. The bus was coming though so we just sat and waited. We got some burgers for breakfast as well as some tangerines aimed at maintaining high levels of Vitamin C in the battles against our colds. The bus came and to hours later we were in Angastaco, a small ton in the middle of nowhere. Now this is where the fun began as there was no further public transport and we had to figure out how to get to our next destination of the loop.

We walked around a bit, bumping into two Argentine travelers who were also looking for transportation. There were private cars willing to take you places for a fee but they just charged way too much. We decided to ‘explore’ the town before we tried to hitchhike. Not more than 30min later we had seen the church, the plaza, and had even climbed up a hill for a panoramic view, thus exhausting the local attractions.

We went to the petrol station at the end of town, hoping to get a ride but got advised to completely leave town and head to a crossroad that was a kilometer away in order to get better chances of hitching a ride. We got a local man, who had packed all his family in a truck to take us to the junction and rode on the back bumper of the truck holding tight to ropes and whatever else as available. We were happy to have avoided all the walking but it was hard to hold onto the truck for much longer. We were relieved to get off the back of it.

We started walking down the road, hoping to get picked up soon but we had advanced a few kilometers before we decided to stop and have a break and decide on our next move. It was late afternoon and we didn’t have that much daylight left. We sat on the road nearby an adobe shack and waited. Mario entertained himself with a friendly dog playing fetch and other silly games while I rested on the sandy rocks. A couple of cars went the other way but none passed our way. After a while we decided we would take the next car going back to the village and spend the night there before we attempt hitchhiking again in the morning. Luckily, at that moment a car passed our way and took us. 20mins later at the back of the truck we stopped at a farm and the driver asked us to get off since it wasn’t his. He promised to come back for us in about 15mins. We waited and took photos and a bit later he re-appeared, having picked up another lady on the way. We got back on and a little while later we arrived in Molinos, a small, dusty town half way through the valley. Although the scenery up to Angastaco wasn’t that impressive it quickly changed once we left it turning into the most spectacular view (one of the best during this trip) all the way to Molinos. Sitting at the back of an open truck just helped us appreciate it better.

Once in town, the lady riding with us advised us on some accommodation and we went looking for one. The lady offered a room for AP$35 per person and we decided to check out a cheaper place first thinking it as a bit too much. We found the place she had recommended and it turned out to be a student camping facility that also had a few old fashioned rooms available. It all looked like a horror movie hospital or a mental institution and for the difference of $1 e decided it wasn’t worth it. We went back to our lady and imagine our surprise when the accommodation offered turned out to be a beautiful private house that we had all to ourselves. We got the beautifully decorated master bedroom, settled in and took a wonderful hot shower before we headed out for some food. A restaurant we had seen earlier that day was closed so e headed to another one recommended by locals. It turned out to be a lovely family run restaurant and we had some delicious chicken soup and freshly squeezed orange juice for $2.50 per person. We then walked back and went to bed in our beautiful house.

Day 5: July 18, 2010 – Seclantas&Cachi
We woke up, had breakfast in the nice kitchen of the house, again all to ourselves, and headed out. We had to make it to the town of Seclantas that wasn’t originally a place we were stopping at but after the locals told us about the festival taking place there e decided to check it since it was on the way.

We walked out of Molinos, and pretty soon a local truck picked us up. He dropped us off a few hundred meters away from the village, trying to avoid potential trouble with police control checking vehicles at the entrance. As we entered town we heard music coming from the church and just as we got there, people were taking the Virgin out of the church. We had made it just on time for the main procession. We humbly walked among the locals and carefully observed the procession. It went around town and back into the church making a stop at a predetermined spot on the main street. There were some speeches before the gaucho parade began. I was hoping there would be one since I had seen them carry the statue of the Virgin and then disappearing into the side streets where their horses stood. It didn’t take too long for the parade to begin and soon enough several schools were performing up and down the main street. It was rather impressive since they had the horses trot in a certain way and all of the men wore their parade uniforms turning the defile into quite a show. They went up and down the street three times before they left which was more than enough. We then followed the procession back into the church and went looking for a place to eat lunch. We found another family run restaurant that served good food but not as nearly as cheap as the other place we had visited the night before.

As we were walking out of town we heard music coming from the local sports center. We went in only to find a few hundred people sitting around long table, having cheap lunch while a band as preparing to play some music. We got invited by a local man and also found out that there will be a traditional dance off in the evening. We were bumped for not having had lunch there, for missing an opportunity to mix with the locals but we had to go. The traditional music and dancing sounded very appealing but we had to go. We had to hitchhike our way to our next major stop – the town of Cachi.

We walked out of the village and managed to get a few kilometers before we stopped for a break. All that time not a single car had passed us. It wasn’t looking good. We waited for a while but still nothing. Then we decided to just keep walking. It wasn’t getting us too far but it was at least keeping us warm. We had walked a good 7-8km before another local truck picked us up. A few tourists with empty cars had passed us by and refused to take us and by then we had committed ourselves to just walking the 20km (we later found out it as a lot more than that) to town. We were so grateful and happy when the truck pulled up and let us climb into the back of it. Just as we were approaching the truck thought he seemed to be leaving and for a moment we stood still before rushing into the back. We thought he was playing tricks on us but we later found out he actually had problems with his engine and the mere fact that he had stopped to pick us up could cost him and his family (wife and a baby daughter) getting back home. We couldn’t believe that despite it all he had still stopped to pick us up. How very nice! That was only the beginning of the afternoon’s odyssey though.

We had reached a small, dusty town and a few men standing on the side of the road had hailed the truck driver to stop. He did and we thought they were hid friends, wanting t give him a package or something. It turned out that they were just strangers whose truck had broken down and they needed a lift to the next town. Despite the problems with his engine our knight of a truck driver pulled to the side, waited until the son (there was his old father too) had attached the emergency chain, and left again dragging them behind. It was all going fine until the chain broke due to the pressure put on it upon climbing a steep section of the dirt road. Again, the truck driver stopped, somehow backed the truck down the road trying to turn the engine back on, and again waited until the chain as fixed and re-attached. Back on the road again, we went for a few more kilometers before the chain separated again. Same thing, backing down, engine wouldn’t start, waiting. Eventually we made it into town, we got off, shook hands, said thank you and walked up the street looking for a place to stay.

We knocked on the door of the first hostal that e came across but nobody answered so we just walked further up. We asked a few locals and one of them, a mentally challenged young man pointed us to a place. We couldn’t quite figure the directions though; he saw us standing there with confused looks on our faces and kindly offered to take us. Again, very kind. The locals have been absolutely amazing. A gaucho whom I’d remembered from the parade had also stopped trying to help the father and son with the broken truck. Amazing really.

We settled in and went out for dinner. Mario was feeling sick so we just decided to get something and go back to the hostel. Mario went back and I picked up the chicken and followed him a few minutes later. I found him sitting by the fireplace trying to warm up after the cold truck ride and the freezing cold night of Cachi.

We had dinner and then Mario decided to shower. Big mistake! He wouldn’t come out for a really long time but I didn’t think much of it. I thought he was enjoying a much needed hot shower and I didn’t want to disturb him. After a while though his absence got really suspicious and I walked towards the bathroom to look for him. I bumped into him walking towards the dorm, shaking. It turned out that the shower arrangement had been really weird and the hot water had run out a couple of minutes after he had got into the shower. He had spent the next 25mins freezing cold, waiting for more water to warm up. ‘That’s just what we need!’ I thought. ‘What if his cold gets worse after this…’ I wondered. Luckily, I had prepared his bed and had put a hot water bottle in it. I had also prepared a hot medicine tea for him. He drank it and went to sleep. Luckily, he woke up feeling just fine the next morning.

Day 6: July 19, 2010 – Cachi
We checked out of the hostel thinking there was a 3.00pm bus leaving to Salta. We decided to kill some time by hiking up one of three lookout points in town. We walked out of town, and up a hill leading to the local cemetery. Goodie! I like cemeteries, they can be very interesting. We walked into it and strolled through the graves, every now and then having our attention drawn to a really old tomb, an interesting name, or dates. One family tomb in particular drew our attention – looking at the family names of women, men and children we tried to figure out their family tree. It was virtually impossible. We got some of the relations right but then some were a complete mystery. We then stopped at one of the most ancient tombs in the cemetery. It was build out of adobe and by now almost completely ruined but the recently put cross indicated its date. It was built in 1884. What did I tell you about cemeteries – exciting!

We then made out way to the actual lookout point and sat there for a while, chatting, enjoying the warm sun and the magnificent mountains surrounding us. We wondered why people raved about this small town. It was pretty, but not exceptional and the views of the valley had been times better earlier on, compared to the ones we were faced with now. Oh well! It was time to make our way back to the bus stop and we slowly descended. It was 2.50pm and the ticket office was still closed. It wasn’t looking good. We walked up to the tourist office and asked them about it. They said the bus was most probably not leaving due to the road blockage on the way to Salta. There had been some snow and it had apparently turned into ice. The lady advised us to go back at 5.00pm when another bus was arriving in order to get information. Since we were not going anywhere we went back to the hostel and checked back in. We then went to lunch.

At 5.00pm we went to the bus stop and finally found it open. There hadn’t been a 3pm bus but luckily the services were restored back to normal on the following day. We bought our tickets and got on with our day. Later that night I cooked dinner and we went to bed. Our bus was leaving at 9.30am.

Day 7: July 20, 2010 – Salta
The bus left and soon revealed some pretty amazing views. We knew what to expect and were eager to see it. At first the scenery was rather flat and desert like. But then we got to this lush valley with steep hills on both sides. This was also the frozen section of the road. Of all the places to have ice, it had formed on the most dangerous section of the road. It was narrow and steep. A precipice was looming on both our sides. The driver slowly inched his way through the valley though and we eventually made it.

After the big valley we stopped for a short lunch break and we got some empanadas. Back on the bus I felt a bit dizzy because of all the steep turns and dozed off. When I woke up we had almost reached Salta. Back in town we looked for a different, a cheaper, maybe even better place to stay but unfortunately we didn’t have any luck and we ended up going back to our pretty colonial house which really wasn’t the end of the world. We settled in and must have gone out but none of us actually remembers.

Day 8: July 21, 2010
We had a relaxed start, got some breakfast, did laundry, and went to the Inet before we finally left to Tilcara – a small town in yet another quebrada.

Salta and the Opera

Day 1: July 11, 2010
I arrived in Salta very late at night after a picturesque journey through the Jama passage. I got a taxi and headed to the hostel that Mario and I have agreed on. Taxis in Salta by the way were very cheap. He dropped me off at the hostel, I handed him a rather large note and he of course didn’t have any change. I went into the hostel and told them I wanted to stay there and wondered whether they had any change for the taxi. At first he didn’t but then he found some small bills and paid for it. I would have to pay him back.

They didn’t have any space available in the main building but they offered to take me to their second building that was just a few hundred meters away. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it. It was a large, spacious colonial house elaborately decorated with pretty tiles. There was even a small fountain in the back courtyard. I got settled in the dorm and went out for a quick bite. I had a plate of locro in a nearby restaurant before I went back to the hostel for a hot shower. I bathed and went to bed.

Day 2: July 12, 2010
I got up in the morning, eager to see Mario, wondering why he was running late. While I was having breakfast, the lady informed me that the other building had advised Mario as to my whereabouts (just as I had requested the night before) and he was now on his way to me.

Once he had settled in we went out for a bite and a mini city exploration. We wandered around, chatting. We decided we felt like some Chinese food and asked around for a restaurant. The police pointed us to a couple of good places and we went to check them out. The Chinese restaurant was not just Chinese but everything else you could imagine and it was all you can eat. I don’t remember the last time I had seen Mario so excited. The only downside was that it only opened at 8.00pm and it was still about 6.30pm. We decided to head to the market to kill some time.

After dinner we went to the tourist office to get some ideas. We decided to go for a short hike on the following day.

Day 3: July 13, 2010
After breakfast we headed to the city center and after some searching we found the bus stop we needed. Soon enough the bus arrived and it took us all the way to a nearby village where we could begin the hike. The trail was only a couple of kilometers long and it didn’t take too long to finish. It was a pretty, leafy walk under the trees, overlooking the valley in the distance. We walked casually, stopping at a small river to get some fresh water before continuing to the lookout point on top of the hill.

We bumped into this young bull on the way there and Mario was trying to take a photo with him, hugging him! Once that was dismissed we could continue our walk. The view from the top of the hill was pretty. We saw the village of San Lorenzo at its foot, Salta in the distance as well as the valley further down. We played a few games of backgammon, Mario munched on Pringles and I had some M&Ms before we headed back to town.

As we were walking back to the hostel we passed by the local theater where I spotted a poster for an opera performance for that same night. I went to give it a closer look and realized it was the national polyphonic choir and soloists singing excerpts from Traviatta accompanied by the local symphony. It was too good to miss and although Mario wasn’t too excited he agreed to come in and find out the ticket prices with me. Imagine my surprise when some of the best seats cost only $4! There was no way I was missing it now. I imagined it being explosive and I was so excited. Mario wasn’t sure but he thought it was so cheap that he couldn’t really go wrong so we bought the tickets.

We went back to the hostel, showered, dressed up and hurried back to the theatre. The seats we had bought were better than I thought and we had an excellent view of the stage. Soon the performance began and we listened. Mario made fun of certain parts but admitted he actually enjoyed it. I was so happy that it turned out to be the explosive performance I was imagining it to be. As we were leaving the theater they treated us to a glass of champagne. Sweet! Mario was now in love with the performance.

We went for a late night dinner and then back to the hostel to get some rest.

Day 4: July 14, 2010
Today we were going to Cafayate for a multiday trip through Valles Calchaquies but first we had a few chores to take care of. Mario had to talk to his family, I had to talk to mine, and most importantly I had to extend the dates for my return flights. While Mario busied himself on the Inet I checked my bank account, making sure I had enough money to pay for the next three months of traveling as well as pay the airlines penalty fees. Once that was confirmed I found their phone numbers, talking directly to the airlines instead of going through the website I had used t purchase the tickets thus avoiding an extra penalty charge. Luckily, I could change the tickets, and my preferred dates were available. I worried it would be a huge deal as I had seen others struggle with it but it only took half an hour (mostly on hold) before I saw the e-mail confirming my new dates. Sweet!

Now that was taken care of, I could talk to my grandmother. First thing she said was ‘where are you? Aren’t you coming back already?’ and then ‘Who’s this Mario you are traveling with?’. Gotta love my grandma. After the latest updates on the garden, the animals and the family affairs I decided to talk to my sister, since I hadn’t spoken to her in a really long time. I couldn’t get through to her at home and I tried her mobile but that didn’t work either. I phoned my dad, hoping he would know where she was and although he got her on her mobile I only managed to relate a message to her. The rest of the time I spent talking to my dad about the family and my travels.

Once we were done with all the talking we picked up our laundry and headed to the bus terminal. The trip to Cafayate took four hours and we arrived in the late afternoon.

San Pedro de Atacama: a favourite desert

Day 1: July 8, 2010
We enjoyed the views on the way to the small Chilean town of San Pedro de Atacama. I can’t describe it. It was beautiful. We had an aerial view of the rocky, pinky desert punctuated with unspeakable rock shapes. If you squint at it you would see vast open spaces colored in pink and white and covered in mist.

Our first stop was Chilean immigration (again!). Fill in the immigration form, fill in the customs form, have you passport stamped, get your bags out and scanned. Same thing, different day. The bus dropped us off in the middle of town after giving us some useful information. Very nice of them.

I tout for a hostel advertised a good price for what looked like a nice, new hostel and I agreed to give it a try. As we walked I realized it was rather far away from the center and I kinda regretted my choice. But later when I thought about it I decided it was kinda cool, being in a slum outside of town.
I got registered, got all the information I needed, and headed for the shower. I hadn’t bathed in a couple of days, I was dusty and cold and I was looking forward to a refreshing hot shower. Not today. The water was cold. I was so frustrated, to the point of tears. ‘Tears?’ you would say. Yes, tears. Just before I left for Bolivia I got a cold from our bikes and wines day. My nose was either blocked or runny and I had to deal with the extremely dry climate of the desert. Breathing was tricky. Then I had also got my period on the first day of the trip, having to fight cramps and the lack of decent bathroom facilities. And finally I hadn’t been able to sleep due to that headache. It has piled up as you can see and that cold shower was the final drop.

Still, I quickly washed up and went out in search of some lunch, money, and maps of the area. Mario had suggested I bike the desert, this being one of the best ways to explore it. I had also got some extra info from others and I had a general idea what and how I wanted to do it. Still I wanted to see what else was there, get a better idea of what exactly I wanted to visit, and then figure out the best way to do it.

I have decided to bike the closer attractions tomorrow, and then book a tour to a distant lagoon and a few other spots. See how tomorrow goes; I might decide to bike to the lagoon as well since it is only 24km away. That way have all the time in the world to float in the salty waters.

I walked to the center, got some cash out (not too much since this is my last visit to Chile), found a nice place to eat lunch and had a carrot/pumpkin soup, followed by steak in mushroom/pepper sauce and grilled potatoes, and even desert (that I took to go, since I couldn’t swallow another bite). All that accompanied by a huge freshly squeezed orange juice.

I then walked around town and enjoyed the pretty main street. It has no pavement, meaning it gets muddy when it rains but today wasn’t one of those days which only added to the general charm of the place. There is the muddy street, lined with low, adobe houses, painted white. Most of them were restaurants or hand crafts shops, which added color to the earthy tones of the houses and the street. All the signs were kept in the same manner (carved wood planks or chalk boards for the menus) which suggests some building planning. There were also very pretty, old-looking street lights – rustic, wood poles, with ancient lanternas hanging from them. All in all, very pleasant and lovely. That of course is just the main street. The rest of it is unpleasant dusty street and ‘buildings’ that really shouldn’t be called that because they are not more than a few brick or wooden planks thrown together with a tin sheet for a roof.

I paid attention to all the tour agency, and especially the photos of their trips, trying to decide what looked pretty and was therefore worth visiting. Once I knew What there was to see and had made my selection I researched the bike rental prices and checked with the tourist office for a map of the area. It looks like I will be able to bike it all. Nice. I better get a hat though. My face is rather red as it is. I also checked ticket prices and departure days to Salta, Argentina where I am meeting Mario again before coming back to Bolivia.

I was done with work and it was time to relax. I sat on a sunny bench in the lovely main plaza and read a National Geographic magazine I had picked up way back in Ushuaia, Argentina just before we had left sailing. I was told to stock up with books and I did. I barely touched them. Once I picked up ‘War and Peace’ there was no time for anything else.

I have been wanting to read an article about the Mexican Tarahumara people living in Barranca del Cobre which I had visited in the very beginning of my trip. It was late afternoon yet the sun was still shining strong. It got pretty hot at some point and I felt I was burning when I decided to move to a shadier bench. That was too cold though and I got up for another walk in town before I headed back to the hostel. I didn’t really feel like doing much and thought I would just read a bit more and have a relaxed evening before I got approached by the girl working here asking whether I wanted to go out later tonight with her and a Brazilian guy who was also staying at the hostel. I agreed, we arranged a time and I just sat catching up on writing while I was waiting. It is almost that time though so I better get going. I am just going to have a light dinner and a drink before I crash (we went to a lovely bar situated in a backyard under the stars with a looming fire in the middle of the patio; it turned out that we had a lot more in common than I thought and we ended up having a great evening with lots of stories and laughter). I need my rest before I go cycling all day tomorrow.

Day 2: July 9, 2010
I got up and had a breakfast of leftover goat cheese sandwich (from previous night’s dinner at the bar) and a leftover peach desert from the previous day’s set lunch. I then walked into town and rented a bike for the day. The owner also gave me a map and let me know the possible day routes. I decided to cycle through the Moon and Death Valleys. I left town and headed up the paved road and deep into the valley. I stopped at the entrance, paid my fees, got a map and a few pointers and was back on my way through the rocky valley. It was beautiful. My first stop was a small canyon and a bunch of caves. I did the caves first although I didn’t have a light. I reached the dark part, made a couple of steps into it and decided I wasn’t going a step further. It was too dark and too quiet. I nearly turned back when I saw a path above the dark section. I climbed up the rocks and walked the dark section on top of the rocks before I reached the light parts again and continued my walk until I reached the end. By looking at the map I thought the canyon should start where the caves ended, at least it looked like it on the little map I carried. I walked around, looking for clues, signs, paths but there were simply too many of them going in hundreds of different directions. At some point I decided I couldn’t find it and went back. That’s when I bumped into something that looked like a sign and decided to follow it. Soon enough there was a second one and I was then convinced I was on the right path. I walked down the rocks, waving ‘Hi’ to a couple that was also exploring the area (nice to see another living soul, comforting) and eventually made it to the very beginning of the walk which was also the beginning of the canyon. I walked through there too, marveling at the rocky shapes. Fun and pretty. I left the canyon behind, walked back to my bike and continued my trip but not before I made use of the bathroom. I was fascinated by it. It was one of the best bathrooms I have ever seen, and what made it so more special was its location – middle of nowhere, dusty, dry, rocky desert – and yet there was this small, fully tiled, clean bathroom, with ceramic seat and a sink, running water, toilet paper, soap and even air freshener! Amazing. Such a pleasure after an exhausting bike ride.

Back on the road, my next stop was a massive dune overlooking a colorful (red) rock formation called the Amphitheater. I saw one side of the dune, and followed the indicated path to what turned out to be the top of the dune. It was marvelous. The best view in the valley. In front of me there was the ridge of the dune, spreading a few hundred meters ahead of me. To my right there was the reddish Amphitheater, and to my left there were more mountains, more rocks in white, pink, beige, brown, red and any other color imaginable.

An added bonus to my visit to the top of the dune (like the views wasn’t enough!) was a Chilean team of photographers and Brazilian models working on a photo shoot for a local magazine. The theme was 20’s-2010 fashion and the doll like model was seated in the sand sporting a lovely 50’s black satin dress and a pearl necklace. There was also a matching black ribbon holding her pony tail high up, thus revealing her fragile, porcelain colored neckline. Her face was the first thing I saw when I reached the top of the dune and I was blown away. She was probably the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Absolutely stunning.

The shoot was soon over and the model and two members of the team made their way down the hill towards the fancy black caravan. The photographer and his assistant stayed behind and we got chatting. We spent the next 30-40mins chatting about the modeling industry in Chile, travelling, and extreme sports. It turned out that there weren’t that many pretty models in Chile and they had to import them from other countries, in this case Brazil. The pretty Chilean model, who was once a Miss Something would appear on every cover thus tiring the audience with her looks. In order to mix things up they had to resort to foreign girls. This time they had contracted two Brazilian girls at the age of 19-20. One was frail and delicate, while the other had a lot more of everything, thus exuding a sexy, animalistic vibe. They both had their roles to play. The two guys also told me the models were almost at the end of their career at the age of 20. The average age for a model apparently is 13-14.

– 13-14? – I exclaimed. But there is nothing to them – I said. Their bodies are not even developed yet.
– Their bodies are not developed, they are still girls. They are flat back and front but they have the height and they can walk. When they go on the catwalk they look like queens – the photographer said. ‘Interesting’ I thought.
– So what do they do when their career is over at such a young age? – I asked.
– Most of them study – they guys responded. We often have two models and one of them will be reading while we are working with the other one- they added. Furthermore, they get paid very well and they put money aside – the photographer added.

I guess I don’t have to worry about them. I asked the photographer to take a photo of me on top of the dune with my modest, barely functioning pocket Sony camera. He did and then he took his super-duper camera and took some more photos of me. I told them I got nervous in front of such big camera stuck so closely into your face. They comforted me though saying the imperfections of the face didn’t matter and that nobody could take away my happiness. I sure have a lot of that!
After a while it was time for me to leave and we took our goodbyes. We hugged and kissed, wished each other all the best and I walked down the path again munching on a delicious baked empanada I had bought for lunch in the morning.

I continued my bike journey until I reached a Place called ‘Las Tres Marias’ – three rock formation perched on a natural rock platform resembling women in prayer. I also visited a salt cave. It was very small, but its walls were covered in salt crystals. I even licked it to make sure. It was salt.
I was almost at the end of the valley but not before I went down a very steep hill just before the exit. Once I reached that I had to make my way onto the main road and look out for the road to the Death Valley. It was late afternoon but I still had some time left.

Back on the main road I cycled for a few kilometers when I saw a winding dirt road to my left and decided it was the one to take. There were no signs but it looked more or less right on the little handmade map I carried. I got on the dirt road and very slowly made progress. First keeping to the winding road, later getting off of it and hitting the rocky field surrounding it as it was easier to pedal on the hard surface compared to the soft sands of the road. I reached a half moon shaped opening in the mountain that I thought was the valley. I cycled through the narrow canyon, worried that it was a dead end every time I saw a big rock blocking the road. I got out of it and into this wide valley that went right and left. Which one was I to take? Which led back to the main road? I went right. I cycled slowly through a red, rocky valley boasting round shapes. I hoped it led back to the road. It was getting dark, the sun was slowly setting and I didn’t have any time to lose. I cycled, getting deeper and deeper into the valley until I hit the dead end. The road was blocked by 50m high rock walls. There was no getting out of there.

I turned back and quickly pedaled back. It was getting dark and I was getting worried. Luckily, the trip back was all downhill and I got out of the canyon much faster than I had entered it. I moved so fast that I almost flipped the bike when I reached this rocky area. Out of the canyon there was a whole lot of field between me and the canyon. Again, it was mainly downhill until I reached a clearly defined road that connected me to the main road. It was all uphill though. I tried cycling up the dirt road for a while but by then I as exhausted and I didn’t last too long. The soft sand under the tires wasn’t of much help either. I pushed the bike for the remainder of the road.

By the time I reached the main road it as already dark. It as pitch black and I was a little, dark dot on the highway. I had no lights or anything indicating my presence on the road. I put on my jacket not only because I as super cold but also because I was hoping it would reflect the light. I as hoping it ill make my presence on the rod known. I waited for a couple of cars to pass by before I crossed the road and slowly started making my way up the road. Again, it was all uphill and I was tired very quickly. I could see cars going downhill a couple of kilometers away from me but first I had to make it there. I thought things would be much easier and quicker once I got to the downhill part. I couldn’t be further from the truth.

Once I reached the downhill part I realized going fast downhill on a 120km/h highway in complete darkness wasn’t a good idea. All I could see (and even then barely!) as the white line on the road separating me from the cars. Cars were flying by on my left and a precipice as on my right. Joy. On top of that there were rocks on the road making my descent very tricky. I let the bike go relatively fast until I hit a large rock. The bike jumped up in the air; meanwhile I pressed the breaks real hard resulting in a screeching back tire, partial loss of control and a dislocated chain. I managed to stay on the bike however, and I thanked God for the lack of cars on the road at that moment. My chain was dislocated though. I wondered what it would be like to change tires in the dark but luckily I didn’t have to find out. Fixing the chain wouldn’t be less tricky though. I stepped aside and tried feeling the chain. It seemed to be stuck. I turned the bike upside down, ready for some serious repairing. I thought having the chain closer to me (instead of having to double over it as a better, more convenient idea. Luckily, a car passed right at this moment, illuminating the bike parts and I managed to get it unstuck. From there I managed to get it back onto the wheel by feel. Luckily it wasn’t damaged and it worked just fine. The incident got me worried though. I decided to take it very slow from then onward regardless of how long it would take me to get back to the village.

Back on the road I was cold. I had no idea how far I as but I calculated it much be at least 10km. I wasn’t having fun. I just wanted to go back to safety. It was freezing cold, and the road as getting worse (more rocks, sand and wholes). I was worried. I saw lights in the distance at some point but nothing immediate. Imagine my relief when I finally saw the welcoming sign for the town and its warm lights in the nearby distance. I was on the verge of crying. That’s how happy and grateful I as at that moment. I was pretty shaken up by the whole night cycling experience and just wanted to get back home and go to bed. By the way, the area here I got lost as called ‘Valle de la Muerte’ or ‘Death Valley’ (at least I thought so at the time) – some place to get stuck at!

I took the bike back, told the guys I got a bit lost and that the bike has proven solid and he asked me what did I mean by that comment. I thought I’d spare him the chain accident and just told him it had handled the off road sandy bits very well.

On my way back home I stopped at an Inet café and related the day’s story to Mario. I felt like I needed to share with someone. Back in the hostel, there was no hot water again. I just undressed and went to sleep. What a day!

Day 3: July 10, 2010
I woke up and there was no hot water again. Oh well! I headed back to the bike office for my second day of cycling the Atacama Desert. This time the guy behind the desk was a lot more friendly and even gave me a kiss ‘Hello!’ upon seeing me. I was going to some nearby ruins and possibly to some further rocks. But first some chores needed doing. I had to take some money out and buy my bus ticket for the following morning. I was going back to Argentina, meeting Mario in Salta. And I also wanted to book a tour for the afternoon (Laguna Cejar). I was going floating in some extra salty lagoons. A nice present to my sore body and a nice way to end my visit.

I as sore from the day before and I really took my time cycling. When I made it to the ruins, I first decided to climb up to a viewpoint and was pleasantly surprised by the views it revealed. I could see the town from the top, a reddish rock valley as well as what I think as the actual Death Valley. I was so happy to get a panoramic view of it afterall. I still don’t know whether it was the valley but I’d like to think so. I hung out on top of the hill for a while and then made my way back down. I still had the actual ruins to explore.

That consisted of another hike up the hill in between the ancient walls. The view from the top revealed what I already had seen from higher up and therefore wasn’t worth it. I made my way down and had a relaxed lunch (meat empanadas) before I headed back to town. I had taken my time and there was no time left to go cycling anywhere else. I dropped off the bike and went to the tour agency where we were being picked up.

For my surprise I met Amilkar, a buddy from the hostel and his dad waiting to leave as well. I as happy we would be doing the trip together. Soon after I arrived we got onto the minibus and headed to the lagoon. There were three lagoons and most people floated in the one with the rocky bottom (one could cut his feet). Our guide thought it better to float in the one without a bottom or at least one that was very deep down under the water (50m). The third lagoon’s bottom was muddy and unsuitable. We undressed and after a short explanation we went in in search of the hot spots. The water was freezing cold on the surface but pleasantly warm near the salty bottom. I let myself float and quickly swam to the center of it looking for a hot spot as indicated by our guide. I found one and floated there for the next 10-15mins only occasionally adjusting my position in search of the hot water. Once we were out our guide rinsed us all with fresh water, we took some more photos and got back onto the truck for our second stop.

We reached the so cold Eyes of the Desert (Ojitos del desierto) – a couple of fresh water lagoons. It was fun taking reflection photos there but we were soon rushed back to the bus as it was time to head to our final destination where we would watch the sunset over some Pisco Sour and snacks. Yum! We reached the Mirror Lagoon (my name for it) just in time. The light was perfect and the reflection of the mountains and people – impeccable. The light, hence the scenery changed three time before the sun set completely. We just munched on cheese, olives and chips, drank Pisco and enjoyed the view. First thing we did when we got there though was to take our shoes off and walk into the water over the shallow salty bottom.

– How much further does the shallow extend? – I asked the guide.
– Nobody knows – he answered. But at some point it just breaks into an underwater precipice – he added. That was when I abruptly turned around and went back. I was not going to fall through the salt into God knows what.

Soon, the sun was completely gone and e headed back. Amilkar was very excited about his day and kept talking. Not just to me but to everybody that as in the car. Brazilians for you!

Back at the hostel we had a BBQ waiting for us. We had agreed on it in the morning and we found Cintia (a Chilean girl living at the hostel) making hot, spicy salsa for the churripan (sausage in bread). We quickly bathed; there was hot water and great water pressure this time.

By the time I came out of the shower, the fire had been started and people had gathered around. We sat around, drinking, chatting, and most importantly eating. The sausages didn’t take too long to cook and before I knew it I had downed three of them, a glass of Pisco Sour and some red wine. We also had some grilled chicken. Everything was absolutely delicious. It was a great night. After dinner, we all sat around, chatting, enjoying the warmth of the fire.

Close to 12am I got pretty sleepy and thought I would go to bed. Just before I did I had to settle the bill. I walked into the kitchen and as I was paying Cintia approached me asking whether I wanted to go to a party.

– What kind of party is it? – I asked.
– A party – she said. My friends are sitting in a truck, around the corner waiting for me. Come on lets go – she urged.
– No, I think I am just going to bed – I said. I am pretty tired.

I went inside and brushed my teeth and then it dawned on me. ‘What if it is one of those desert parties I have heard people talk about? That’s pretty cool. I am tired but I don’t want to miss such a party.’ I thought to myself. That’s when Amilkar came in and asked me what as that party Cintia was talking about. I told him I didn’t know and also shared my concerns. What if it WAS a desert party? Cintia also came in shedding more light on the issue. It turned out that the party was someone’s birthday in some house. I thought it wasn’t worth it and tried to get myself out of it but Cintia was really persuasive and convinced me to go. I just couldn’t say ‘No’. I told her I was only going to stay a couple of hours before I came back and she assured me she would get her friend to give me a lift back. Luckily, Amilkar was coming too.

We left the hostel and packed into an old pickup truck with Cintia’s friend Alex and his 40-year-old drunk buddy. We drove through town, soon leaving the well lit streets for the dark, dirt roads of the surroundings. I sat on Amilkar’s lap (there were four of us on seats for three) and wondered where we were going and whether these people could be trusted. On top of that Alex kept messing up the directions and we had to rely on the drunk’s directions. If that wasn’t enough the truck’s engine wasn’t working properly and kept switching off. I have to admit it was funny and we spent the whole way to the house doubled with laughter.

We finally saw the light of the house and heard the music spilling onto the dark street. It turned out to be a bit more than a barn with a few tables covered with leftover grilled meat, empty bottles and plastic cups. In the center of the dirt courtyard was a rusting metal container that doubled as a fireplace. We met the birthday person, who turned out to be a 40-year-old and paid respects to what appeared to be his wife. We then huddled by the fire and spoke between ourselves. I feeling slightly uncomfortable and thinking we didn’t belong there and were so out of place. The 40-year-old drunk we had come with kept hitting on me and I kept trying to get rid of him. Things didn’t get any better when another mature gentleman approached me asking to dance. I danced, it was fun for a while but then he kept insisting and I had to make up a whole lot of excuses. I told him I was tired and I needed a rest.

– If you dance with me, you will be the most popular girl here! – he said. ‘Tempting, but no.’ I thought.

I talked to Amilkar, to Alex, to one of the locals, we talked about family and children, about racial problems in Chile, and we danced a bit. It was soon 2am, the promised two hours were gone and it was time to go home. Alex got into the truck, and so did four of the girls that were at the party. To sat in the front seat, another two at the back, and there was barely any space left for me and Amilkar. Again I ended up sitting on his lap. Alex tried to back the truck through the narrow gate but instead got stuck in the ditch that was right in front of it. He tried to maneuvers it out but every time the truck’s engine would switch off. After a while the drunken birthday man took charge and got the truck out. That wasn’t enough though; he decided to give us all a ride back to town. Some of the girls sitting in the truck were his relatives and urged him not to drive, but he wouldn’t listen. I was worried and so was Amilkar. We exchanged looks and held tight to the front seat. Luckily, the driver wasn’t as drunk as we thought and managed to take us back to the hostel in one piece.

Throughout the night, Cintia had jokes about how I am never going to forget that night and she sure was right. I don’t know if it was good or bad but it was certainly unforgettable.

I went to bed and woke up in the early morning in time to catch the bus that was taking me back to Argentina. On the way to the terminal I bumped into Cintia and her French buddy Victor who were just coming back from the party. It was 9.30am. I wondered where Victor had slept since Cintia and Alex were dating and probably had spent the night together…

We took our goodbyes, hugged and kissed and I left Chile for the last time.