The Desert

The day starts as any other travel day. Our plans include renting bikes to ride to some ancient ruins in the morning and touring the Valley Of The Moon in the afternoon. The afternoon tour is to be the first of two tours we had already paid for. The second tour taking place the following afternoon is the one I am the most excited about. We will see salt fields and deep turquoise lagoons that we will have the opportunity to swim in. The salt flats specifically are on my “top 5” things I want to see in South America. With our two day stay planned out, I feel quite content. We even have our bus ticket to Argentina booked.

After breakfast, we pick our bikes from the rack of options at our hostel. Julie and I are off. Neither of our bikes are in pristine condition. We joke about their overall shitiness, but feel sure that we will be able to complete the 3km journey on any bike. It’s only 3km. The road is slightly bumpy with washboard conditions in places. However, it is a beautiful day and we can see one of South America’s tallest volcanoes in the distance. We are sure to get some good views as the ruins sit atop a large hill.

We have been riding our bikes all of 7 minutes and are congratulating ourselves on finding the right path when we come to a river. I am surprised by the amount of water for the desert. The red muddy flow is moving quickly and appears to have taken out the dirt road. After looking around for a minute, we spot a make-shift bridge that we are able to walk our bikes across. On the other side of the river, we jump back on and continue to peddle. Less than three minutes later there is yet another river cutting through the road. After looking around for a moment, we realize there is no bridge this time. Pedestrians approaching on the road from the other side have stripped off their shoes and socks. We decide that the river does not look too deep and we should be able to wade across while pushing our bikes. We laugh at the predicament, while we remove our shoes and socks. The water comes to our knees, but we make it across safely. We sit on the side of the bank letting our feet dry in the desert sun. When most of the water has evaporated we reapply our socks and shoes. Off we go again. Less than a minute further on, another river crosses the road. This river looks a little more daunting. A truck is stuck half-way across and the water covers the bottom third of the passenger doors. We are close, we can see the ruins in the distance. We walk up and down the river bank looking for the shallowest place to cross. After about 15 minutes of speculation and watching another more daring biker make the crossing, we strip off our shoes and socks again and cross the river. This time the current pushes at my bike as I cross and I almost fall several times. But finally, with feet soar from the river rocks, I make it. Again, we wait for our feet to dry before putting our shoes back on. Though it has taken us 45 minutes to ride less than 3km, my mood is good. What an adventure. Rivers in the desert. We find it amusing that no one in town, not the woman we rented the bike from, none of the people who we asked for directions had thought it important to mention the two river crossings.

We arrive at the ruins and they are very cool. We also have excellent views of the volcano.

The way back goes much more quickly. Knowing the path that is the shallowest, we cross the first river without much difficulty. We don’t bother to put our shoes back on between the two rivers. The second river is a piece-of-cake and the total time it takes us to get back from the ruins is about 25 minutes. I congratulate myself and Julie on being adaptable travelers. The morning was an adventure and lunch tastes that much better because we worked for it.

Our afternoon tour begins in the rain. Julie, myself and a man from France are the only people of 16 who decide to brave the rain to walk through a desert canon. The rest of the tour group remains in the van. I feel blessed to have the rain. Not only does it suppress the overwhelming desert heat, but I feel alone. The place is not over run with tourists and I find such a sense of peace amid the canon walls.

At our next stop the rain has lightened and more of the group decides to join in on this part of the excursion. We scramble up a mound of sand and salt for a gorgeous view of the strange rock formations that were created by an ocean hundreds of millions of years ago. We notice instantly that our hair is standing on end. The guide explains that the ground is rich in minerals and that this is a place of high energy. Atop the hill, we have a breathtaking view. I can only imagine that this is the closest landscape on earth to that of Mars. Cliffs drop abruptly and the ground is crumpled. Our hair stands on end even more. Lightening strikes in long bolts on the distant horizon and thunder reverberates off the rock. The atmosphere contributes to the otherworldly feeling.

One of our fellow tour members raises his hand above his head. A sound of strong static pierces the air. I try. As my hand shoots up into the air, I can feel a disturbance of energy and my body too produces the tingy sound reminiscent of an outdated radio that is struggling to find a signal. Now everyone is raising their arms and laughing at the sensation and sound. In a moment I am overwhelmed by the energy of this place. I can literally feel it, see it as it pulls at Julie’s hair and hear it every time I extend my hand. As I bring my arm in closer to my body the sound stops. I move my arms in and out realizing that the threshold for the sound occurs about a foot outside of my body (the range of the aura according to most energy workers). I feel happy, happy in a way that I have not felt in a long time. I am part of the energy of this place, connected. I am here, feeling this and it could not be more real. All of my senses are heightened.

The guide explains that he has never seen this before. He assumes that the phenomenon are a product of the rain and lightning. I feel incredibly lucky. For whatever the reason. I, we, these people I am with are blessed to have this experience. We are all laughing together as we raise our arms over our heads and check out how ridiculous we look with our hair standing on end.

We get back in the car and drive off to have a look at a salt mine, some more strange rock formations and salt deposits. These too are quite interesting. My mood is very cheerful and I chat in broken Spanish to the Chilean social workers that are part of our group. We all have a good laugh when I mix up words and accidently insult everyone calling the landscape dirty (sucio) instead of dry (seca).

As we drive back from the tour we chat about our plans for the rest of the time in San Pedro de Atacama. As it turns out, many of those on this tour plan to take the lagoon and slat flat tour the following day. It is at this time that our driver turns around and lets us know that the road to the lagoon and the salt flats has been closed due to the rain. “It hasn’t rained this much in at least five years” the driver explains. He assures us that we will get our money back. In an instant I change. It is as though my mood has been struck by lightning. What? I am not going to be able to go see the white salt fields (it doesn’t matter that I have just seen brown salt fields) and swim in the turquoise lagoons. Dread falls over me. I am suddenly pissed. No one else in the van appears to be fazed by the news. They are still smiling and joking. I try telling myself that I should be happy. I just got an experience that undoubtedly few people get. But no, I am not happy. The smiles on everyone else’s face only make me angrier. How the hell can they still be happy after hearing such news? What is wrong with them? I am pissed at myself too. I could have visited the white salt flats and lagoons in Bolivia, but had been told that the trip on the Bolivian side is very dangerous. 13 tourists had died on the trip in the last 2 years alone. I had decided against the excursion in Bolivia because I knew I could see very similar landscape in Chile and it would be much safer. But no, I would not be able to see it here either.

Back in town we all depart to our respective hotels. Power is out in town due to the lightening. Icing on my cake. It takes all of my energy to hoist a smile on to my face and wish my fellow travelers luck as we all say goodbye.

As we walk in the dark back to our hotel, I feel attacked. The world hates me and even worse, I hate me. What kind of a dumb ass am I? I should have visited the salt flats in Bolivia when I had the chance. I should not have let my hopes get so high. Furthermore, I hate myself for feeling this way. How can I let the lack of one experience so fully piss on another beautiful and unique experience? Tears well in my eyes.

The next morning I wake up pissed off. I am angry because the people next door have woken early and are making an enormous amount of noise as they pack to catch their bus. When I get up to pee, I find that both of the shared bathrooms are full. I stand in my pajamas and wait for ten minutes before someone finally vacates one of the bathrooms. I hate them for taking so long. By the time I brush my teeth, I am in tears. All of this over a canceled tour? What kind of 27 year old world traveler am I? I don’t have to go to work today. I can read and lounge around. Today’s tour is canceled, but I still have innumerable cool things ahead of me on this trip. Why can’t I let go of this one thing? Why can I just relax and roll with the punches? I have been in high spirits for most of the trip. Why now am I falling apart? A viscous cycle is underway. I grow more angry at myself for being angry.

After moping around and a bit of crying I decide to jump right in and be pissed off. I go for it. I fling myself into bed and cry. I tell myself It’s okay to be in a bad mood. It’s okay to be pissed. Maybe it has been too long since I have experienced the dark side of myself. Maybe the overwhelming joy of the day before tipped the scales too much. I am in the desert both physically and emotionally.

The moment I give myself permission to feel like shit, to be pissed at the world is the moment I start to feel better. Not great, but at least not a crying wreck of a person. I am in the desert now, but tomorrow, I board a bus off to somewhere new. This is travel. High highs and low lows.