I travel. A lot.
I enjoy it and like to share the fun with my friends.
I don’t travel to tourist areas.
Even so, there are lots of beautiful things I see in my travels, and many wonderful people to meet.
I’m writing for myself, the way I see it.
If it looks different than you remember, that’s why I didn’t read your book and instead went to see for myself.
I also post coordinates for google earth if you want a better idea of where I've been. If not, they are not required viewing. You can also double click on the pictures for more detail. Have fun.
It’s been 10 yeas since I was last in La Serena, Chile ( 29°54'2.81"S 71°14'41.16"W). But when the first church in town was built in 1588 and rebuilt after a pirate bombardment in 1640, and rebuilt again in the 1880’s, a ten year absence won’t be felt. It wasn’t. The pacific still rolls on beautiful beaches in long swells that invite surfers, fishermen, families of Argentineans riding horseback at sunset. January is high season here, middle of summer, time of a long school break when the cities are sweltering and the beach calls like it does all over the world where there are wide white sand beaches and fair winds to coolly dry you when you get out of the chill water.
The first two nights I stayed in a hotel at the end of what would be called the strand. The boulevard that follows the beach and divides the sand from the condos, hotels and bars. With the ocean so close, the only thing better than the weather was the seafood. Some of the great things I ate include a Mountain and sea salad with the meat of a whole shredded crab to one side and fruit cup molds of avocado, asparagus, , tomatoes and maybe a couple other things to hold it together. A halibut steak and a creamy crab stew were other highlights.
Oh, yeah. Work. There was a day trip past Vallenar ( 28°34'11.21"S 70°45'38.51"W) to a copper project in the highlands. Only 2200 meters. 8200 feet. Low by Chilean standards.. In the northern part of Chile the river valleys are the only green. This is the land of the Atacama desert, of the Valley of the moon. On an earlier trip, I was way up north in the small town of Maminya. Site of hot springs, the Spaniards came here to convert the early Indians. (Ayahuasca? I think so. The corner stone of the church had the crest of Castille and Leon and the date of 1620 . Pilgrims were stumbling off the Mayflower, sick and disgusted after their trip, their hardships only beginning, and the Spaniards had marched across miles of the harshest desert anywhere to convert the natives. Conversion attempts abound. Just down the road, in Pozo Almonte, is a Mormon ward house. The airports are full of blissed out teenagers of a dozen denominations spending 3 years of a poor mans wages to come here to feel good about themselves putting a new roof on a hospital. Note to gringo do-gooders. Send money, it will help more and put the poor locals to work earning an honest wage instead of your charity. That whole bootstrap thing you are usually so proud of, remember?
Some pictures someone else took, I think I stayed in that same green room:
http://picasaweb.google.com/oyegigi/MaminA/photo#5139396707457209554
Lat/Long: 20° 4'34.97"S 69°12'17.19"W
Town is actually east of this spot, but Google earth doesn't have very good pictures of the town, kind of like Area 51. From the coordinates above you can see the terraced gardens that have probably been there hundreds of years.
Whoops, got sidetracked in the desert as is wont to happen in my life. Wandering in the desert. Familiar ring. Story for the ages. As we cross the desert mountains, an old truck is pulling the grade. About a 10 ton 10 wheeler, it is obviously struggling with the grade. Letting him pass, we see that he had pulled across the road in a near flat spot just ahead. The driver explained the trucks brakes probably weren’t good enough to hold it on the grade while he let the overheated engine cool. That would be the same brakes his life depended on going down grade on the other side of the hill. With the back full of green-gray rock and two buddies riding on top. The further explanation was that these were “artesinal miners” mining in the old way Pick and shovel down a rathole in the desert. The nearest town 3 hours away in a new pickup. Probably a day away in the truck they had. At least 2 hours to a cell phone signal to get a helicopter if you knew where you were. The government runs refineries to take the ore these miners produce. But their claims are not that productive. In fact, their claims are probably dead placeholders. They show they have a claim and can take ore to the refiner. In fact, they are driving out into the desert mountains to root around in old abandonded mines, the most dangerous kind of mining there is, in the hopes of better grade and a little more money since the government will likely cheat them out of their full refined share, claiming low grade or impurities that affect recovery. Games on both sides. Miners risking their lives in solitary rat holes unmarked and unremarked the government doing what it does, taking their labor and giving little in return.
On to a more modern mine, the kind Chile is interested in. A modern project, permitted and conscientious about doing things the right way, plastic under every engine so as not to spill a drop of oil on the mountain that will soon be torn down if all works out. Enriching geologists shareholders and us contractors. More labor exported from the US. We have huge copper reserves in places like Michigan and Arizona, but everyone from the local town to the Indian tribes to the state and federal governments want something, employment and training is not enough, give us more they screech, until the echoes can be heard in Chile and Botswana where the locals are getting training in new jobs. Training that allows them to work on the few jobs permitted in the US because now e have a shortage of skilled workers and it is easier to import them than to spend 5 years training someone to run the equipment efficiently. Our methods demand efficiency. Everything is calculated on a nut. You can make your nut or not. The higher your costs, the lower the chance of making your nut. Everyone drives costs down, hiring contractors to reduce costs and risks. Contractors that bring in people from elsewhere to make the nut. Chile, Mexico, Australia. Two years with the company and demonstration that you can’t find someone that knows how to do it in the US and they have a visa. Bad enough to drive jobs offshore, then we import them for people that will send the cash home. And who can blame them? It is a global economy and we are high bidder.
Oh, this started in the Chilean desert. No pollution here, except for a little dust. Yet the dust threatens another highlight of Chile, the observatories. Spread out on the ridge, the air is so clear you can see the white domes clearly from the valley 5000 feet below.
29º 15'S 70º 44' west The string of white pearls on the ridge in Google Earth
http://www.ls.eso.org/lasilla/user-info/aboutls.html
There is even a housing area for the scientists in La Serena Housewives and househusbands with doctorates of their own, unable to work due to visa restrictions., volunteering in the community (when they are wanted-which is not always) and chillin'. I don’t even know how many observatories there are in Chile, but I’ve seen a few. One night in the Andes at 13000 feet, I learned why. The Magellanic clouds thicker than anything the milky way could produce, or maybe I’ve never seen the milky way unencumbered by light, dust and pollution. Lying on the rocks of a riverbed, too overwhelmed to talk, no one to share it with, each star searing a new memory. The timelessness of Chile does this to me. Ten years apart, was it this trip or last? Is that a new impression or an old memory? I go to the office. Two Jaimes, worked for us 10 years ago. One I didn’t know so well, has matured into middle age, a sharp guy taking care of things. The other was a young expeditor, took care of lots of things because he spoke Spanish and English. Everyone’s favorite, keeping track of inventory now as inventory manager. A big hug for this Jaime, we got on well 10 years ago and there is no space in that time as I walk through the door and see him. Certainly not a typical introduction, but it is a small business and the webs of relationships stretch across continents and hours like undersea cables linking communities. We each had followed the other’s career over the years, in fact expected to meet again long before we did.
On to tour the modern equipment the current boom affords us, the better to be competitive when the cycle inevitably turns down. I love it when people ask how long the cycle is. I tell the story of buying a bar of silver when my oldest was born in the last boom, planning to buy a bar on every birthday until college, then selling the bars to pay for college. It almost worked. Had I continued to buy the bars when the price fell through the floor, that first bar would have finally been worth what I paid for it 21 years later. For the first time. That’s the cycle. You can make money in mining, but you have to drive costs more than most businesses, between safety and the environment there is no room for error. Margins are better in other countries. And we are back to the reason I travel.
And back to La Serena. Need a trip to Antofagasta. when you walk in, the place is immaculate in the busiest time of the year. The entire operation is designed to make it easy to do things right. The wash bay is tiled with an upper work deck; the change room is white tile, spotless and clean. Anyone working there would know to keep things where they belong and clean up after himself. I’d let them work on my airplane if I had one. Turns out the manager is a pilot, that explains a lot, they understand maintenance. Either pilots do their own maintenance, when their life depends on it, or they contract it out, paying top dollar to ensure things run right. Either way, a flying hobby in this case makes for an excellent manager.
Antofagasta
23°38'28.54"S 70°23'57.78"W In google earth, look for the daisy chain dams and spillways in the huge gullies just to the east.
is a town that is growing up, cranes condos and skyscrapers are everywhere. Boulevards are being made and remade. The only constant is the graffiti. What is it about the Latin world that demands graffiti? Rome too, so it’s not just Latin America. Almost wish spray paint had never been invented. Maybe their children’s act of rebellion will be to clean graffiti from everywhere they see it. It’s my dream, I can put what I want in. The murals among them are striking, channeling Diego Garcia, Frieda Kahlo and Maynard Dixon, but they can’t be everywhere
Antofagasta is a day trip we are out the next day by way of Iquique, kind of the long way around, but that is the connection we have. Couple more airports. The most striking change since I was here last? Freaking jetways. In a country where the temperature seldom gets to freezing where the people live, every airport has jetways. It used to be charming when they rolled the stairs up to the front and back door to go outside and you walked across the tarmac. Gave you a chance to realize you were somewhere else, in another country, or a different part of a large country. Now you walk from an air-conditioned plane to an air-conditioned terminal. Hell you could be in Chicago. Of course it hits you when you finally leave the terminal, but it’s not the same you have already missed the excited yelling and waving from the terminal balcony, families long separated seeing each other, calling out in tones you can’t translate but you do understand. Just security guards making sure you keep moving, cab drivers vying for you attention more forcefully than the cigarette companies on the signs. Then you are off, into the car, missing the arrival of own arrival.
On my return, it was time for a different hotel. This one was downtown near the churches and Japanese gardens, but about a mile from the ocean. Catering to business travelers, less character, more service. Give me character. Nothing to complain about; just little to remark upon.
Well, time to leave la Serena, one of my favorite places in the world. The Santiago airport (yup new jetways) has a humorous sculpture, a large, very tall pile of luggage. For someone that travels a lot, it’s great to see an airport that can laugh at itself, though I’m sure there was a sign somewhere saying the luggage wasn’t _really_ lost.
Short flight to Mendoza Argentina. 45 minutes over the Andes. Can’t help thinking about the soccer team that crashed in the Andes years ago. Did they turn to cannibalism? Don’t remember but wouldn’t blame them. If I’m dead and it helps, eat me, I don’t care, glad to help – just don’t hasten things if you please. Lots of clouds only glimpses of the steep harsh terrain but the even the airbus 320 is bumping along as though even a few thousand feet of air can’t smooth that trip. Then the mountains stop and the Argentine plain begins. Lots of green in midsummer, a regular breadbasket. Oh and wine barrel. Argentine wine has come on the world market in the last few years. Vineyards everywhere, even signs saying organic, 5000 miles from the nearest English speaking country. Guess it will be in a magazine somewhere sometime. Another jetway at another airport, makes them look the same. No welcoming warmth of the concrete apron, no standing only bus for rainy days. The last time I was in Mendoza, there was a sign in a dirt lot in front of the airport informing everyone the Falklands did in fact belong to Argentina. Now the same dirt field is a vineyard with ersatz barrels out front to remind you that they sell wine here. Along with everything else you can get at wal mart. Of course, that’s because wal mart is here just as they are everywhere. People understand English the same way I understand Spanish, from the signs in the aisle of the home depot. culture lost, hip hop won. “Angel of the morning” on the radio, with a Spanish rap over it. Odd but not unpleasant.
Mendoza has something else no other place does. Trees. In great profusion, all over. They are planned for as the city grows, they add trees before anything else. Ditches run all over the city, water brought from the nearby mountains. Once a week or so, they flood the ditches, water for the trees. The city has tiled over many of the ditches downtown since I was here, but the ditches still run. Some people even plant grape vines along the ditches, then train them up on wrought iron frames as a screen from the street. Green everywhere. And a very clean city. While waiting for my ride in front of the hotel one morning, a city water truck with a hose and man attached was driving slowly down the street, watering planters in the median and hosing down the tile there.
32°53'22.29"S 68°50'39.33"W even in google earth you can see the trees lining the streets.
One really odd tree at the shop. The tree bark was a smooth light green, but all over the trunk and larger branches were conical pointed spikes, broad but sharp. Of course, it wasn’t enough to look at them, this highly-educated world traveler had to feel them like a three year old to see if they were sharp and as pointed as they looked. They were. Lots of them all over the trunks and on the upper side of the larger branches. Birds liked the tree. Even the meanest old tom cat wouldn’t try this tree.
Birds here are cool, if I knew anything about birds I could fill some sort of bird watcher’s manual. Saw a cardinal, but it was rust colored. Saw a meadowlark, but the yellow was too bright. There are these really large hawks here with orange and black around their eyes and an orange-ish beak. The birds look familiar until you look close, then they don’t. Kind of disorienting and amusing at the same time. Trippin’ on birds. Flushed a lot of quail during a trip to the country. Dick Cheney wasn’t along, both me and the birds were safe.
Mendoza is in a large valley at the base of the Andes, but we had a trip to the country planned, to Trapiche. 33° 6'27.89"S 66° 3'39.81"W
It is an area of high hills with many lakes. We crossed miles of vineyards of course, before entering rolling hills near San Luis. Sunflowers, corn and hay all looked green and familiar. On the plane back I sat next to a seed breeder who travels to Chile several times a year to look after seed strains being developed in a second season. We don’t even know the kind of global economy that surrounds us. Seed genetics R&D, twice a year.
The familiar again, huge clumps of Pampas grass. Of course, we are in Argentina, home of the Pampas. Grows wild here, no need to buy it from the nursery. Probably a noxious weed like baby’s breath. Raspberry shrubs grow well, this time of year there are a few dark berries with lots of lighter ones scatter throughout. Birds will have a party when these babies are ripe.
The trip to Argentina seems short, though I spend almost as much time here as Chile. The greenery has consoled my eyes after the Atacama desert, and I am tranquilo, a value here as much as it is a description. One of my new friends in Argentina bids me “Linda viaje,” - beautiful journey. It’s not a farewell I have heard before, but my mind instantly knows it is already true.
