From Codpo to Pica

Friday 4th January

We were woken by several very noisy men passing by our bedroom window. We both passed on having a shower as it wasn’t that salubrious, and we felt we would come out dirtier than when we went in. We had arranged to take breakfast at the restaurant at 9 o’clock. When we arrived, last night’s dirty pots were still on the table. The landlady cleared them away and brushed the crumbs on the floor.

The breakfast was minimal. There was one cup of coffee with a tin of condensed milk, which looked disgusting. Kevin had undercooked eggs, with dry bread, and Joan had cheese on bread. That was it. It cost £1.60.

We can understand that some places in Chile are quite distant from shops, and that people really don’t have much money, but it costs nothing to make a place clean or to tidy up.

One thing we have noticed about Chile is that no matter how poor a community is, there is always a pristine kiddies’ play area.

When we were leaving the village, we saw the hotel that we would have preferred to stay in. It looked like some work was going on, as the main Chilean holiday season is approaching.

Further up the valley we came across a rock decorated as a shoe.

We headed south down Ruta 5, to Pozo which was about 200 km away, and the next petrol station.

We had decided to visit and stay in Pica for the night. An oasis town famous for its fruit. On the way we called at La Tirana, a pilgrimage town, where a local warrior princess was converted to Catholicism, and martyred by her own people. We arrived at 1.30 pm just as the church shut for two hours!

We drove through the desert and could see a streak of green on the hillside in the distance. This turned out to be Matilla, another oasis.

Our Rough Guide said the best place to stay in Pica was Hotel Los Emilios on Cochrane. We had some difficulty finding it, and when we did it looked a grubby, ramshackle place. We didn’t stay and went in search of somewhere more hygienic. Up by the thermal baths, we came across the Hostal Café Suiza, an immaculate looking place, run by a Danish woman and her Swiss husband. The building had no apparent construction defects, and was very neat and tidy inside.

On the street outside, vendors were selling fresh fruits on stalls.

We explained to the landlady that we had had some really awful meals for the last three nights, so she kindly rang a restaurant in town to warn them some veggies were coming. We had empanadas (a sort of cheese pasty) and chips, with a salad. A relief after two nights of cold spaghetti, and one of rice.




We had decided to visit and stay in Pica for the night. An oasis town famous for its fruit. On the way we called at La Tirana, a pilgrimage town, where a local warrior princess was converted to Catholicism, and martyred by her own people. We arrived at 1.30 pm just as the church shut for two hours!

We drove through the desert and could see a streak of green on the hillside in the distance. This turned out to be Matilla, another oasis.

Our Rough Guide said the best place to stay in Pica was Hotel Los Emilios on Cochrane. We had some difficulty finding it, and when we did it looked a grubby, ramshackle place. We didn’t stay and went in search of somewhere more hygienic. Up by the thermal baths, we came across the Hostal Café Suiza, an immaculate looking place, run by a Danish woman and her Swiss husband. The building had no apparent construction defects, and was very neat and tidy inside.

On the street outside, vendors were selling fresh fruits on stalls.

We explained to the landlady that we had had some really awful meals for the last three nights, so she kindly rang a restaurant in town to warn them some veggies were coming. We had empanadas (a sort of cheese pasty) and chips, with a salad. A relief after two nights of cold spaghetti, and one of rice.

One night in Codpo

Thursday 3rd January

It rained heavily last night. We’d had another exceptional meal of cold spaghetti and boiled, frozen veg again last night.

At breakfast they gave us coca leaves and some other herbs to help with altitude sickness, or maybe it was to help obliterate the memory of some of the worst coffee we had had so far. (And that is saying something, in even the posh hotels, you only get instant coffee.)

We set off back to Arica. On the way we passed the Pukara de Copaquilla, an Inca fortress with typical round houses from around 1000 b.c.















On the way we decided that we didn’t want to stay two night in Arica, but would rather see some different places. We cancelled our hotel and then went into the centre to have a decent meal, as we didn’t know what we would get later.


We saw several car transporters taking old cars to Bolivia.



On the way to Arica we had seen a sign to a village which seemed to have lots of facilities. After about an hour, we saw the sign again and headed inland. 47 km later, we reached Codpo, a small oasis town, deep in a valley.

To our surprise there was a tourist information office and it was open. We’d seen a sign for a hotel on the way in, so we asked if there were “habitaciones” available. We were shown to a room off a road in a side street. The wife of the tourism officer came and changed the linen, and we paid the pricely sum of 13,000 pesos ( about £13). The officer seemed very concerned about our dinner so he took us to the restaurant, which was shut, and arranged for it to be opened up for us.

Back in the room, there was no electricity, though there were light switches and fittings. Unlike Colchane, they had provided candles and matches. You could see daylight through a crack in the wall, though inlike Tocopilla this was mostlikely caused by bad construction and not an earthquake.

We did a “pasiendo” (walk) around the town and saw the tourism officer on his bike. He seemed also to be in charge of the village water supply, which he explained had been installed a year ago, and came from bore holes. He then went off to feed his livestock.

We saw fig trees, lime trees, grapes and other things being cultivated in a rather ad hoc way. There were also sheep and pigs.

On the way back into the village, the tourism officer was there again talking with the local Carabinero, no doubt telling him about our arrival. He had previously explained that once some French and German people had visited the village, but we were the first English.

On the edge of the village, we found a sizeable hotel complex, complete with modern buildings and a pool, but it was closed up.

At 8.30 p.m., we turned up at the restaurant which was in darkness, apart from a couple of lightbulbs. We were served a meal of rice, lettuce, raw tomato and avocado with hot bread. Miraculously at 9 p.m. all the light came on, and the proprietress explained that there was electricity for three hours per day. At other times, a generator is used.

The meal with wine came to £3. Back at the room, the lights were like Blackpool Illuminations, but for the third time only in Chile, there was no WiFi.

Then the electricity went off. We had only had one and a half hours.

Volcanoes, vizcachas and flamingos

Wednesday 2nd January

It rained quite a lot last night, but when we awoke the sun was shining throught the window. We had a relatively early breakfast as we were scared of missing it, when there isn’t anything else around here. It was pretty basic, consisting of a flask of hot water, instant coffee, toasted bread, jam or cheese. We pushed the boat out by requesting milk.

In Putre, we visited the house that sold fuel. The guy had several large bidones in the boot of his 4X4, and he measured the requested amount into plastic containers and then siphoned into our car. It cost nearly a pound a litre!

With fuel supplies secured, we booked into Hosteleria Las Vicunas for another night.

We then headed up to Parque Nacional Lauca, taking a shot of the village below.

One the way we passed some vicuna, who had their own road sign.

We also saw a sign for Colchane which is 200 km across the altiplano. If we ever return again, we would mostlikely do it all off road, as we understand the distances, the need for a big 4X4 with bidones and the petrol situation.

P.N. Lauca is high at over 4000 metres, and the altiplano is surrounded by snow covered volcanos, including Volcanes Pomerape, Parinacota and Guallatiri. They were shrouded in cloud, mainly.

We turned off to the village of Parinacota, where we expended a lot of energy trying to photo very nervous vizcachas, who kept springing about the place. We had some success.

We also managed to photograph a giant coot.

And an ugly Llama.

The village is mainly closed, except for festivals. The name Parinacota means flamingo lake in Aymara, and we saw some flamingos in the distance. There was a church built in 1789, with a brightly covered door. As with many of the churches on the altiplano, the campanile stands a little way from the main building.

We bought a wall hanging (for £2.50) from an Aymaran lady, who had a stall nearby.

After that, we headed out of the village and were caught in a hailstorm.

The next viewpoint was of the Lagunas de Cotacotani, which are a collection of lakes in the lava field of Volcan Parinacota.

We drove a little further on and the cloud temporarily rose and we managed to get a shot of Volcan Parinacota (6330 metres high), which is one of the highest volcanoes in Chile.

Next came Lago Chungara, at an altitiude of 4600 meters, possibly the highest we have been on this holiday. It really was beautiful, quiet, and full of birds. As opposed to the flamingos we saw at the Salir de Atacama, these were bright pink.

When we planned the Chile trip, the description in the guidebook made this place seem amazing, and in no way did it disappoint.

In the distance one could see the snow-capped Volcan Guallatiri (6060 meters), belching out a plume of smoke.

Some of the road signs in Chile state the obvious.

Having reached the border with Bolivia, we headed back down with the idea of visiting the Termas de Jurasi. However by now the cloud had descended and we were stuck in a crocodile of five cars slowly descending. We were stopped by the military asking us where we were going, but they didn’t seem interested that we were returning to Putre.

Rather than descend the main Ruta 11 in a crocodile, with the threat of mad buses or car transporters descending on us in the cloud, we turned off road, and went the alternative route to Putre. On the way we met a herd of goats, and the kids were determined to throw themselves in front of us. Once we carefully passed them, the goat dogs came chasing after us and tried to round us up.

Back at the hosteleria, the rain is now very heavy, and the workers have given up for the day, walking back into the village with their tools and their dogs.

This season is what is called locally, the “Bolivian summer”, and between mid-December and mid-February there are heavy rains, and this is not the recommended time to visit the volcanoes. We suppose it is the equivalent of June in England, when it always rains at Wimbledon.

Back up into the altiplano

The church at Putre

Tuesday 1st January 2008

As ever we did not get away from the hotel until late. After last night’s partying the streets of Arica were very quite and almost all the shops were shut. But most importantly the botilleria was open, so we bought some Cab Sav and headed off into the hills. Initially we went the wrong way, but eventually we found the road leading up to Putre and eventually Bolivia.

Initially the route inland was quite lush with tomatoes and maize being grown. We even passed a hostel specialising in vegetarian food and yoga. Pretty soon though we were rising into the arid mountains, though the road was remarkably good. We managed to avoid the occasional mad Bolivian bus, but apart from that there was little traffic on the road.

Imagine our horror though when we noticed some wet stuff on the windscreen!! Kevin struggled to find the wipers as we hadn’t had to use them so far. We are staying the night in Putre which is about 3600m above sea level. A lot of people stop here before going climbing in the Andes, to acclimatise to the altitude.

The hotel is a modest series of bungalows. A cat, very similar to Molloy, was on the door mat as we came in.

The view from our bedroom

We waited until the rain eased off before heading into town. Putre, like Arica, was closed, but hopefully tomorrow it will return to the buzzing town described in the guidebook. Though closed, there is even a restaurant specialising in vegetarian food.

A traditional building. The grass hides the corrugated metal roof.

We spotted a sign saying “We have fuel”, so hopefully tomorrow we should be able to fill up and go and explore Parque Nacional Lauca, with its Christmas Pudding volcano (currently covered in cloud.)

We were pleasantly surprised to find that there is both electricity and WiFi here.