30/08/24-03/09/24

The border crossing. This was one of the longest and most drawn out thus far. We joined a queue that didn’t seem to be moving at all and stood in the freezing wind for close to an hour as we crept towards the one customs desk that was processing people exiting and entering. Nonsense. At one point an angry jobsworth came and yelled at everyone to stand in single file and in silence. Serious rage. Now it must be noted that there is a corruption gig at the border control: they ask you for money to stamp your passport. Juan had warned us about this and said “Do not give them money, it’s not official, it’s corruption.” Easier said than done when they have your passport. The groups in front of us had their 30bs ready to go, and when it got to us, the other British girl did a fab job of standing her ground and saying “We don’t have any more money.” He asked what our tour group was and how many of us there were and we pointed out Yas who was waiting outside. This seemed to seal the deal and he angrily stamped all of our passports without even looking at us.

This was only stage one. Stage two was getting in a minibus (ticket pre bought with our tour) and driven by another angry man to the actual border control for entering Chile. There were forms to fill out, declarations to be made, all in silence of course because this was very, very, serious. It was honestly the sort of environment that made you think “yikes! Am I guilty? Did I accidentally put a balloon of cocaine up my arse and forget about it?” It was also pretty tricky filling out a form on a bus driving along a dirt track.

Then all out the minibus, bags and all, to another passport control, this time stamping into Chile. You get a receipt and everything. Alex’s said he was Belgian. Our bags went through a scanner and back on the bus again for the final 50 mins to San Pedro de Atacama. Essentially the same desert as in Bolivia, but with a different name. Can’t remember the Bolivian one, but one means high and the other means dry in Quechuan. Pretty logical really. San Pedro is a main tourist hub for the desert and, at a much lower altitude (our ears popped going down the big hills in the bus) finally some trees!

We got out and parted with the other Brits and the Germans from our tour and went in search of lunch. We found a great place that had a fixed lunch menu for 8000cps (new country, new currency, new crazy exchange rate. This was about £7.50) which consisted of a yummy veg and quinoa soup, ribs and mash for me and chicken and rice for Alex. We also had our first Chilean Pisco Sour, that must not, at any point, be compared to the Peruvian one. Both claim they invented it and it’s pretty contentious.

We got to the hostel which was lovely looking and yet also gave me strong Schitt’s Creek vibes; namely because the young woman who ran the place was like a Chilean Stevie Budd. Having not had a proper shower beyond a chilly tits, pits n bits rinse in cold showers, I was dreaming of a hot shower. When it was apparent that this was not going to be the case, yet again, I had a complete sense of humour failure and fully sobbed in the cold bathroom. It did eventually burst into life but was lukewarm once more. Nevertheless, I had to wash my hair. The combination of greasy roots and mad static bush was too much to bear. After this we settled down to a quiet evening with a few snacks and a comfort rewatch of “Firefly” and eventually went to sleep.

We then went to a nice bar for beers where they played South American rock and metal and it was generally really good vibes. There was also an excellent pub dog.

It was as we began to flag that we discovered it’s nigh on impossible to get a taxi in this town. None of the apps work and when we followed the directions to the taxi rank it was empty. A nice lady working in a kiosk there let us wait at the tables outside and eventually took pity on us and called someone she knew who turned up in one of the legitimate taxis so who knows where he was hiding.

Not gonna lie, a rocky start to Chile for me!