Pisagua to Arica

Sunday 30th December

During the night we could see people wandering around looking for the source of the electricity cut. It seems that the local Caribineros usually sort it out, but this time they had to get someone from the city, which we assume is Iquique, about 200 km away.

The old Fire Station

By the morning the lights were back on. We had breakfast and signed the visitors’ book for the landlady. She wanted to read our guide book, and was appalled at how out of date it was. We promised her that we would email Rough Guides when we get back, and ensure everyone knows about her hostel.

Public phone box outside La Roca

View from our bedroom

View of our bedroom on the left

We then set off back to the headland to video the sea lions, or “lobos” (wolves). On the way we heard a racket come from the sea, and saw an armada of pelicans, who were bossing the seagulls about.

On the pier, people were buying fish, but not in bulk, one or two per person.

It was much hotter this time, but we still made it down to the shore. The sun was in a better place. We did quite a bit of filming and took some better photographs. Sea lions seem to love playing around in the incoming waves – a bit like humans.








As we made our way back along the narrow track on the edge of the hillside, a 4X4 came along and offered us a lift. As it was so hot we did not think. The man was obviously a local, as he drove precariously close to the edge, up and down the very bumpy track. We both held on tight and leant towards the hillside, as if that would make a difference.

Kindly he dropped us off at the hostel, where the Landlady was keen to offer us a beer. We tried to explain about not drinking and driving, and politely refused.

Finally we set off. On the way out of town we visited the cemetery. We are told that there are many British people buried there from the nitrate era, but the names on the graves have disappeared. It was quite a dilapidated place, and quite gruesome as you could see collapsed coffins. We didn’t want to look in!!

However the most terrible thing about this cemetery came at its furthest point.

During the initial years of the Pinochet regime (11 September 1973 – 1990), Pisagua was used as a concentration camp for the local leaders of the opposition Socialist Party. Socialists were incarcerated in the Pisagua jail, tortured and falsely accused of crimes to justify their treatment. About thirty individuals were either shot or had their throats cut in the graveyard or thereabouts, including a fisherman and a young boy who had nothing to do with politics. In some of the cases, their corpses were blown up to conceal their executions. Many of the families have still not had the chance to bury their relatives.

There is an open pit in the graveyard where they excavated some bodies. It has some words by Pablo Neruda above it, the famous Chilean poet, and roughly says that thousands of years could not wash away the blood spilt here.





More recently (last year) a new monument has been erected giving the history of the site, and the names of those known to have died whilst incarcerated at Pisagua.

After visiting this sad place, we left Pisagua, up the steep track again, and headed north to Arica. There isn’t much along the Ruta 5, not even a petrol station. Just a few posada, or truck stops.

A subtle Chilean warning sign

The Ruta 5 has been mainly flat across the nitrate pampa, but towards Arica, it goes down and up steep hills, high above deep valleys. There were loads of mad bus drivers, hurtling their way to Iquique and Santiago, which is almost a full day’s drive from here.

Eventually we descended into Arica, which is more like a city than Iquique and Antofagasta. Our hotel is on General Valasquez, near the port. To date, we have been used to half deserted hotels, with a few mining engineers or European tourists for company. Here it is packed with families, who mainly seem to come from Bolivia.

Initially they gave us a room overlooking the pool, but there were loads of kids, music blaring and no privacy, so we asked to change and were given a suite of rooms in the rear of the hotel with two bathrooms and a Jacuzzi.

We walked into town, which was bustling with street traders and taxis. As usual there wasn’t much choice for veggies, so we ate Italian in a wooden building, on a corner. It must have been the worst Italian in the world. Kevin initially ordered “cerveza national” (local beer) and was told they only had Mexican. Joan asked for a wine list, referred to on the main menu, and was told there was no wine. Joan ordered a Pizza Ecologico and they did not have the ingredients. And then when we asked for pepper, they had none of that either. We won’t even talk about the “banos” (toilets.)

We didn’t stay long!!!

pozo alomonte to pisagua

A lorry carrying ammonium nitrate outside our hotel in Pozo

Saturday 29th December

We missed breakfast again, and had to go to a modest café that we had visited previously. It was quite basic, selling hot dog, burgers and “sandwichs” which seems to be the Chilean for “bocadillos.” They served very slowly but we were in no rush. We noticed that lots of people drank fizzy pops, rather than water.

Outside our bedroom window there was a lorry that contained ammonium nitrate. We had also noticed quite a few tankers passing through town with “acido sulfurico” on board.

After filling up again, we headed north to Pisagua. The road down was initially deceptively good, contrary to the guide book. It was a real wilderness. We passed another deserted graveyard, being swallowed up by the sand.

Then there was a desvio! The road down to Pisagua was being reconstructed, so there was a small (not) diversion via Viejo Pisagua. It involved a very narrow track, hovering on the edge of a very steep cliff, with only a small mound of sand to protect us from the abyss. Kevin drove with his eyes wide closed and leant heavily towards the hillside, just in case. We thought the trials were over when we descended into a valley with a beautiful bay, however we had taken a wrong turn and had gone to Viejo Pisagua (old Pisagua). We had to ascend again but not so high to pass over a cliff to new Pisagua.

Don't look down!

The beach at Viejo (old) Pisagua

Pisagua is overlooked by a fine clock tower which no longer works.

Behind the wooden facade is a mish-mash of corrugated iron and other materials.

The old hospital

We had not expected much of the town, but in fact it was quite charming. A former, booming nitrate port, there were many grand but crumbling buildings. We couldn’t find the hotel that was the former jail, but came across an hostel that had rooms and lots of cats.

It was perched on a rock, above the sea. It was all a bit ramshackle, and the landlady spoke a curious melange of Spanish, English and French because she used to live in Quebec.

The landlord had built the hostel himself and their bedroom was built on stilts with panoramic views of the Pacific.

A Chilean couple who were staying here told us that if we walked south of the village, there was a colony of sea lions.

The fishing fleet

Not a dog kennel, but a small shrine thanking a saint for a miracle last year.

We walked along the hillside, and about after an hour heard the sea lions making a racket. We followed the noise and found them. There were loads of them, camouflaged against the dark cliffs. We managed to get quite near one family, who seemed to be somewhat fascinated by us.

At this point, we realised that the battery on our video camera was flat.

The headland was clearly volcanic as there were several collapsed lava tubes.
We walked back to Pisagua.

Back at the hostel we discovered that the hotel in the former jail had shut several years ago. It has not a pleasant history (especially if you are a socialist, but more of that tomorrow.)

We had dinner in the dining room overlooking the Pacific. The landlady had made a big effort, given that we are vegetarian. And then there was a power cut, so we are sitting here, writing this by candlelight.

An impromptu visit to Bolivia

Friday 28th December

When we arrived at Colchane, we had used up well over half our tank of petrol and it was going dark. In our guide book there was a suggestion that we might be able to get emergency petrol in Colchane. The guide book had been wrong about San Pedro de Atacama, which now has a petrol station, but our first sight of Colchane was not promising.

Consequently neither of us slept well, worrying about the situation, with the nearest petrol station in Chile being at Pozo Almonte, over 180 km away. The thought of running out on the Atacama desert with its relentless heat was not good.

A gale blew at night, and in the morning we realised that the corrugated metal roof was only held in place by some substantial boulders. A common construction solution in these parts.

Hotel Camino del Inca

Bleary eyed we rose at 9 am with little prospect of breakfast that was served at 7am. After paying £7.50 each for dinner and bed, we went in search of fuel. The house indicated in the guidebook that might sell it looked shut up, the council offices could not help, nor could the local police, but the border guard said he would stop cars that came through and ask if they would sell. (Most Chileans in the hills drive big 4X4 pick-up trucks, that seem to have at least two HUGE plastic tanks on the back filled with petrol.)

After waiting, this approach was failing. Finally the guard suggested we drive over the border to Bolivia where there is a petrol station just after the frontier. Or at least that is what we thought he said.

We tentatively headed into the “no man’s land” between the two countries. A rope blocked the way into Bolivia, so we parked behind some queued lorries and headed into the melée. It was not at all obvious what we had to do. Unlike the Chilean side, the frontier was swarming with people. First we tried the national police who waived us off into the distance in search of a big house. Further on we asked someone in a random office where to go and he pointed to what looked like a military compound. With trepidation we proceeded to a check-point, who waved us to an office. At the office, we explained in Spanish our problem and he said go to the back office.

At last, a gentleman who could help. He walked through the crowds being greeted by everyone with handshakes. We said he seemed to know everyone and he explained that this was because he was the boss here. He had a word with the police and immigration, gave us a form and hey presto! We got in! (However we did have to surrender our passports)

We filled up about 100 meters into Bolivia, 24 litres = £8. Half the price of Chile. Now we know why there isn’t a petrol station in Colchane. We got our passports back and headed towards Chile. We realised that we had not taken any photos in Bolivia as we had other things on our minds, like just getting out!

Back in the “no man’s land”, we spotted the remains of an aeroplane that crashed some years ago, still rotting in the sand. Kevin confirmed that it did not have Rolls-Royce engines, but it didn’t have any engines at all.

We drove through Chilean customs without an eye lid being batted.

Having petrol, gave us the opportunity to visit the highlights of Parque Nacional Volcan Isluga. – the reason we came here in the first place.

Volcan Isluga

We headed off into the alti-plano and saw llamas, etc, grazing by warm volcano-fed springs.

The village of Isluga is a ceremonial village with the native Aymara people returning only for feast days and festivals. Most of it was boarded up, but some woodpecker-like birds swooped around the campanile of the church.

We headed on to Enquelga, the so-called administrative HQ of the National Park and this was a small, dusty hamlet without shops or facilities.

We then went to another completely abandoned village, where the church and houses were dilapidated and we doubted if anyone returned there. Though if this were England, it would be full of second holiday homes.

All this may sound very desolate, but it is in context of some of the most beautiful scenery. We decided to cook a meal by a warm stream, under several volcanoes, with a herd of llama passing through. Bliss!!

Being so far away from everything is such an unique experience.

We headed back down to Ruta 5, glad to be free of the altitude, but with some amazing memories. The roads here in Chile are confounding. There are smooth modern bits, poor metalled bits with huge potholes, bits which people ignore and go off road to avoid, and then the carefully crafted corrugated sections. It takes on average 1 hour to go 50 km (30m) on the equivalent of the M42. (Actually that might not be bad for the M42)

In 150 km we didn’t get overtaken once, though we were in a pitifully slow Suzuki Jimny. However we had to stop for lunatic coach drivers hurling themselves recklessly up unmetalled dust tracks, creating their own sand storms. (Note to us: next time hire the biggest, most powerful 4X4 we can afford with big “bidones”)

Passing the Gigante da Atacama, Joan swore she could see it this time, but an up close inspection rendered nothing.

Still not obvious

Back to Pozo Almonte, for petrol and the night. Compared to where we have been, it is quite a buzzing little place, populated by people from the nearby mineral mines. There was even a programme about the use of mining explosives on the TV in the pizza parlour. Not exactly a tourist attraction, but not a bad place to be.

Giants, geysers and grim border towns

Kevin in a prickly situation ( he knew nothing about Bolivia)

Thursday 27th December

We set off from Iquique, stopping only to take a photo of the city from the parapenting mirador.

We filled up at Pozo Almonte, where they were selling fruit from a lorry.

At Huara we turned eastwards towards Colchane. After a few miles we saw Cerro Unitas, an isolated hill that has the world’s largest geoglyph on it – the Gigante de Atacama. Unfortunately you need a helicopter to appreciate it. Nevertheless we took a photo of his legs.

Then we headed steadily uphill into the Andes. The roads here are strange. One minute you can be driving on a freshly tarmaced road, and then the next minute you are on loose rock and stone. There was quite a bit of traffic on this road, apparently shipping used cars to Bolivia. It seemed much further than on the map. We stopped at a mirador to take a picture of the arid valley below.

Some of the colours of the mountains were amazing.

Eventually we reached the turn off for the geysers of Puchuldiza and headed into the wilderness. We saw some guanaco who ran off when we tried to photograph them.

There were these strange rocks covered in green growth.

The geysers are very isolated and we were the only people there. They were not as spectacular as the ones at El Tatio, but seemingly they freeze in the winter.

Back on the main road, Colchane turns out to be a town that never had a horse. It is a few buildings with a couple of food cabins, not the town the guidebook describes. We found a hostel that was basic but clean, to say the least. The electricity didn’t come on until 8 pm, and there was little hope of an internet connection, as there was not even a phone.

We ate a meal of gruel, or something like it, followed by rice (with fried eggs for Kevin) with lettuce and tomato. We had brought our own wine. There was a multinational troupe of folks who were doing a trip staying at the hostel as well. They had brought along some coca leaves which the locals chew to combat altitude sickness, but which are also hallucinogenic. We stayed well clear!

Tomorrow morning decides our fate. If we can buy petrol, then we can stay up here another night. If not, then we have to roll down the hill and hope we make it back to Ruta 5.

Writing this by a solitary flickering lightbulb, with the wind gusting outside, it feels very isolated. Colchane is 3,730 m above sea level and we can tell.