Enjoy:

I’ve done Arica > San Pedro before, albeit with a change at Calama. Thing is, I just remembered one of the more annoying bits…

Chile has concerns over various food pests and as a consequence you not only get checked for fruit, cheese etc on boarding the bus, there are also occassional checkpoints. So at 3.30 in the freakin’ morning the lights all come on it’s time to step into the cold.

So here I am, wide awake, irritable, and in full realisation that this bus was designed for a country where the average height is a good two inches (5cm) less than back home.  So I’ve got my music on, popped my fleece on and hoping for some sleep.  Soon.

The smells of Telepizza were calling me in, and I succumbed.  I went in.  I watched them making a pizza… and lo, it looked like pizza!  And verily, I ordered.

While I was waiting for it to be made I sat down and combined reading and watching a telethon for Un Techo Para Chile which has been fundraising like mad lately around here.  I’d thrown a few coins into a collection box without really knowing what it was about.

A wino kept wandering in and out, watching the TV for a bit, and then ambling out.  He’d just stand there, near the door.  I studiously avoiding catching his gaze.

The program then showed a short film about a young family moving from what was essentially a corrugated board shack into a newly built, if somewhat spartan, apartment.  That’s when I heard the blubbing.  I looked and saw the wino, just standing there, mouth turned down, tears streaming down his cheeks, and blubbing like a three year old that’s been denied another sweet.

It was heartbraking.

If you have a moment, consider making a small donation by following the link above.  Since the strong earthquake recently a lot of families and individuals here have lost their homes.  Others are just living in absolute poverty.  They need your help, and once they have decent living conditions they can do more with their lives, educate their children better, and bring themselves a better future.

Argh! It’s vomiting salad at me!

Father’s health was seriously affected by malnourishment.   Maybe he was just scared of the food here?

Chilean cemetery by rob-sinclair, flickr, cc-sa

Phew… so what a day.  It started off with a cold shower and a blandly unsatisfying breakfast of a cheese sandwich, juice and tea.  But whilst eating a man came up to me and introduced himself as Joaquin Alvarez… the Honorary British Consul in Arica!  It was an unexpected surprise… I thought I was meeting him later in the day.

Sadly it was just a few minutes as he teaches English in the mornings.  But one thing I have to remark upon is that he immediately expressed astonishment at how similar I looked, sounded and behaved like my father.  He had been a friend of my father’s for years, not knowing of any family, and to see a similar, younger version standing in front of him.  It was a shock to him.

Later, we met properly, and we talked.  I’d brought him some union jacks and tea as a thank you for his help so far.  I didn’t expect the help he was about to give.

First the formalities… he showed me the paperwork he had, and my father’s passport.  This was the moment when I’d see what my father looked like recently.  In the picture was a tired man looking older than his 60 years.  But it was definitely him.  I will take a picture and add it to this post later.

Joaquin then took me to the hospital to discuss the matter of the hospital fees.  My father had been in the intensive care unit, and these had added up.  The positions were argued as so:

From the perspective of the hospital, a fee would be necessary in order to secure my father’s body and to help pay their costs.

From the perspective of the consul, many Bolivians and other illegal immigrants die in the hospital and there is never any money to pay for their care.

From the perspective of the social worker, if I was rich enough, and cared enough, to travel halfway round the world then I could surely afford to pay the fees.

The discussion went on.  As you may have seen in my earlier post, I had a particular position I planned on setting out.  In the end, we came to an agreement… I would pay half, and there would be an unofficial agreement that should I have more money in the future I could make a donation to the hospital.

This seemed to satisfy everyone enough to make progress.

The next stage was finding an undertaker, and to choose the coffin.  Now that was odd.  I discovered a few cultural things:

1. Hearses here are white, and often just large American estate cars.
2. In the UK a basic coffin is a pine wood thing in what we consider to be a classic coffin shape.  In Chile it’s the same shape as typical US coffins… but covered in fake fur.  I’m still trying to work out how that’s cheaper than a layer of varnish, but it is.
3. There isn’t necessarily a church service… it’s just straight from hospital to cemetary.
4. Most funerals tend to take place within 24hrs of death.  Over a month is extremely unusual.
5. Cremation is rare and therefore a very expensive option.

Once a coffin of suitable size for a six footer (people here are short) had been found we were off to the cemetary. I had to settle for a sort of beige fur, incidentally, so my father looks like he’s being interred in a poorly cut Bungle costume.

And the cemetary was a real eye-opener.  You can’t bury people when your town is built on rock.  So instead, it’s simpler to build what look a little like mini concrete apartment blocks into which the coffins are inserted.  See the picture above right.  The cemetary is also surprisingly brightly coloured.  In due course I will take pictures… it’s a fascinating difference in the way death is treated here.

And you know what amazed me most today? The effort put in by Joaquin, the consul.  He spent six hours with me, going backwards and forwards between the hospital, banks and funeral parlours.  He made a string of phone calls, and helped me way beyond the call of duty.  Truly, a great man.  I’m lucky, really.

Fighting the altitude on the Altiplano

This photo is on the main road from North Chile to Bolivia as it heads through Chile’s Lauca National Park. This is the nice and easy part – it seems that once in Bolivia the road deteriorates significantly in quality and safety. Just a few weeks after I took this picture a minibus full of tourists plunged off the side of the road and into a ravine, killing all the occupants.

The very high altitude here certainly makes the lorries work hard. Older trucks belch black fumes in this almost pristine environment, but thankfully they are still relatively few and the damage, I hope, is limited. More modern trucks are cleaner, but you can tell from the roaring engines that they work hard up here.

Preparing Llama for dinner

These people make a living at the border of Chile and Bolivia. Although Chile is relatively rich, times can still be hard for indiginous people in remote locations. In the summer season they make some money from passing tourists, many of whom have visited Lago Chungará – the worlds highest lake. Here they’ve just slaughtered a pregnant Alpaca – its unborn baby on the car’s bonnet prior to preparation.

Looking out over Valle de le Luna, near San Pedro de Atacama

Ok, first shot to go up on the photoblog*. I’ve decided to leave it up even though it’s a relatively poor quality re-size. However, I feel it still illustrates the beauty and scale of this location. Here we are, perhaps 1000m above the valley floor below. Priscilla, who I’d just met on this part of the trip likes sitting in dramatic locations… but I couldn’t help but notice the significant crack that ran all the way through the rock. One day it’ll fall off, I’m sure of it. It could easily take a tourist with it – half the guides cheerfully let tourists stand on it, while the other half warn how dangerous it is….

* Note, the photoblog and main blog have long since been merged into one.