Its a Long Way From Berlin to Memphis
(Today`s trivia question - what band wrote the title song in the subject line.) And it feels like an even longer way from La Paz, Bolivia to Santiago de Chile. Take a look on a map, its nearly 2000 km, I believe. This translates into 39 hours on a bus. I left La Paz at 6 Saturday morning and got in to Santiago a little after 9 Sunday night. This is a lot of bus time. But, as buses go, it wasn`t so bad. The scenery was well nigh incredible, and it was a good way to see rather a lot of the Atacama Desert. Which I looked at a lot, since I have read my books a few times (Emma has brought new ones), and while I wrote a letter, its hard to write on a bus, so its rather short given the journey time.

Leaving La Paz, you travel across pretty flat altiplano for a few hours, until you can see the Andes in the distance. Flocks and flocks of llamas (my favorite, as we all know), fuzzy faced alpacas, smaller vicuna, and deer-like guanaco are everywhere, often crossing the road, forcing the bus to slow down and blow the horn. Then you slowly start to climb t make the pass across the Andes, which is quite beautiful. In the middle of it all, the bus stopped to let us figure out the chaos that is Bolivian border crossings. There was one line, whether you were leaving or coming in, plenty of forms, which it turned out I didn`t need as I am not a Bolivian or Chilean national, and in fact was the only non Bolivian or Chilean on the whole bus. I was quite a novelty. Everyone wanted to talk to me, and I just wanted to figure out whether or not I needed to pay the 10 Bolivianos exit fee, which it turned out that I didnt. Or maybe I did, and they just left me alone about it. One never knows. I am totally willing to pay my US$1.25 equivalent at any time, but they never asked for it.

As soon as out of the Bolivian crossing, the country got almost lush. Green all over the place, broken up by bits of snow on the ground since we were at such a high altitude. This time, we were up so high that it hurt to breathe just sitting on the bus. Lakes everywhere, birds on the lakes, more vicuna, more alpacas, less llamas. 15 minutes later we were at the Chilean immigration stop, which I think was a good indoctrination into the differences between Bolivian culture and Chilean culture. In Bolivia, its every person for themself, put yourself in line, try and get a stamp, do what it takes. And they did not care about our baggage. Never looked at it in the slightest. In Chile, where I had to stifle a laugh as due to the cold all the immigration officials (since the building was not heated) were in big warm overalls, which to me makes them all look like rowing coaches in November, everyone off the bus, everyone claim their luggage, stand in line in the order that you are on the passenger manifest which the bus provides, go through immigration, then have your bags x rayed, then have the bags searched if customs feels necessary, then in an orderly fashion get back on the bus. All the while in the freezing cold, which no one except the Chilean rowing coach immigration officials were dressed for. There was snow on the ground, but the immigration station is in the middle of a national park, so it was next to one of the lakes with the flamingos, which made it all worth while. Once back on the bus, the scenery for the next few hours was fabulous, with high mountains, still the lushness, birds, animals, great vistas, everything. Which gave way suprisingly quickly when it finally did happen to the desert. Which has its hills and canyons, and nothing green. Nothing except shades and shades and tones of brown dirt and sand. The desert continues all the way until you get to the ocean, where the very edge of the sands are not called desert, they are called beach.

Where the ocean meets the desert in the very north of Chile is a town called Arica. Arica is small, and I was just passing through - my bus went further south to a place called Iquique. Iquique is much bigger, but again filled with very little. The primary industry in Iquique is the duty free zone which has been set up there to promote trade. This has worked very well, but creates its own problems for the traveller, that of the frequent luggage check. You are only allowed about US$800 worth of duty free goods, and they make you stick to it. Changing buses, our bags were searched (and I mean a real "take the cage lock off the backpack, take everything out of the backpack and let some customs official fondle it" search), and twice we were stopped on our way south, everyone out of the bus, let`s get our luggage searched again. Happy 4 in the morning to you too, Mr. Customs Official.

It was a long bus ride through the Atacama, which is incredibly beautiful in its own way, but unending and unrelenting. There is no green (but there are a lot of abandonded nitrate mines) until nearly 100km outside of Santiago. The bus company let us while away the hours watching movies, and let me tell you, you haven`t really wondered if you are hallucinating until you are in hour 16 of watching the Atacama go by, the only American for miles around, and John Water`s movie "Serial Mom" is being shown on the bus TV screen, dubbed into Spanish (Kathleen Turner sounds a lot less husky in Chile.). We got about 6 movies, and the whole selection was quite random. Serial Mom, Problem Child, Perfect Storm, Joan of Arc, Dying Young and A Knights Tale. I was sitting there frequently saying "this is really happening, I am not losing my mind, I am not losing my mind."

BUt eventually I made it to Santiago, which is pretty much at sea level (ah, breathing without pain or effort. Its a good thing.) and surrounded by vineyards, which is also nice, and condusive to acquiring the odd bottle of Concho y Toro. Its also the nicest, cleanest, most modern city I have seen since Brasil, and is completely different to the other parts of South America I have been in so far. Emma, my travelling companion for the next three weeks, arrived this morning, and we have decided to keep pushing further south, so we are on the 8pm train to Tecumo, and connecting in the morning to Puerto Montt, the gateway to Patagonia. Its a bit wild. I have been close friends with Ems for 10 years now, but somehow since she lives in England not managed to see her for 2 years. Not that it matters. As she put it, there is no one else she would travel to Chile for, and there sure arent many if any I would sit on a Bolivian or Chilean bus for 39 hours for, so we are just happy to be together. Plus, as noted, Santiago and Chile overall seem pretty great. And incredibly beautiful. We both have a lot to tell each other to catch up on, but we are saving it for the train.

The next installment will be from beautiful Patagonia, if not from the Falklands themselves. The Christmas decorations are up here, but it doesnt feel like Christmas at all, what with being in shorts and a tshirt again, applying sunscreen with impunity, and a lack of Christmas carols, cold and snow, although Emma has brought me a present (thanks, Kats) and a stack of Christmas cards, all of which I cant decide whether to open on the train or to save for actual Christmas day. I am awful at this sort of thing. I will shake boxes and try to figure out what it is for days ahead of time, but always hold out til Christmas, although I become highly annoying in my guessing and my box shaking so that those around me just wish I would cave and open it up. 31 going on 5, cest moi.

If its snowing where you are, go out in it and play and think of me.

Love,
Anne