Following an amazing 3 week stay in Cordoba, I was craving for a change. After all, an integral part of the journey is the act of traveling, right? Teaming up with Shlomi, one of the guests at the hostel where I was working, we decided to head out to the Atacama desert in Chile, the world{s driest desert and home to some amazing natural treasures. The standard, tourista way of getting to Atacama from Cordoba is to spend 370 pesos on two buses, as well as 30 pesos for a night stay in between. 400 pesos is more or less 120 bucks American, which to some may seem like not too much, but to us it means over 123 nights stay at a hostel. If only on principle, we couldnt buy into this gringo-cheating machine. So we chose the alternatrive: Hacer con dedo aka hitch-hike.
We began our quest for cheap transportation in the Northern outskirts of Cordoba. Cheered on by a busload of school-children, we were dropped off at a defunct gas-station, and within 20 minutes were picked up by couple of artists heading out to fix their car. Chatting with Alpha Blondy in the speakers, the couple brought us 20 km further than their stop, at a gas station North of Jesus Maria. We said our farewells with kisses and gifts (incense and bus tokens) and began work on our next ride.
First ride...
After 40 minutes of waiting, we get picked up by a traveling salesman, who brings us North another 40 km, and leaves us with a tip. Apparently, you can find a bed at any volunteer fireman{s house in the world if you become part of the rapid response team. Unfortunately Dormida, the town we were dropped off at, is little more than a service station and a kiosk. This is where the luck runs a bit dry. from 4 pm until midnight, not one ride. We truly reached a black hole of transportation. Empathizing with our cause, the girl working the pump became our spokesmen to the clients, while the woman at the kiosk tried bribing the bus drivers for a free ride, to no avail. We set up our tent behind the garage, with music from the Jungle Book blaring off some arcade game lulling us to sleep.
Dormida, home sweet home...
The next day, my thumb was already stretched out by 8:30. 2 hours of nothing, and our hopes are slowly draining, when Shlomi walks up to a bus on its way to Jujuy, one of the major hubs in North Argentina.ñ A little bit of haggling and we get a reduced rate for the ride. 100 pesos a person instead of 180. A lot of money but we were comforted by the fact that the drivers probably pocketed to cash instead of serving it up to THE MAN.
Sticking it to the man, one peso at a time...
10 hours, 4movies, 20 free cups of soda and coffee, and 4 meals (spare box lunches are a treasure for the mochilero) and were in Jujuy. It finally hits me that I am about to leave Argentina. The Faces in Jujy are much more indigenous looking, the smells and sounds a lot more chaotic, a lot less European. Planning to stroll a bit in the city and head out to the outskirts for a service station to sleep in, we make friends with a local working in one of the area kiosks. Jose ends up letting us crash in his apartment and drives us to the service station the next day.Life is Good.
These cars still existy and are being used!!!
8:30 on a Tuesday, and that thumb is stretched out again. No Luck. The people are friendly, and seriously wish they could help. Its just that they are all heading South, except for one truck who offered us a ride to Bolivia. At 6 pm,. two tankers show up to refuel. Doubtful of any success, seeing as they petrol companies are quite strict about not allowing their employees to pick up hitch-hikers, i tried my luck nonetheless. With a wink of his left eye, the jefe of the three says no. He then demands 200 pesos. We haggle it down to 150 pesos, and within 10 minutes I{m riding shotgun in a 16 wheeler carrying enough gas to blow up a small island.
The only way to cross that desert
Eduardo, our driver, is pretty much what you{d expect from a trucker. Big, round, serious, but always open to conversation. We offer him so Coca leaves, he bests us with his fresher stash. We share with him our food, drinks, music and words. He maintains a constant pace of 25 km an hour while climbing up the Andes, all the while pointing out llamas, rivers, constellations, and other treasures of the road. Unlike the caffeine-pill guzzling Gringo truckers, Argentina has strict laws regarding the amount of hours a trucker can drive. And so around midnight we settle in Sasques, a pre-fabricated wild-west looking town built solely as a home for a customs office.
We head out towards the Chilean desert at 10 the next day, finally arriving at San Pedro De Atacama at 3 pm, not before making offerings to Pachamama, of course.
Offerings of Coca to the gods...
San Pedro is a 3-street town sitting at the edge of the Atacama desert, named after the tribe who had populated the region for centuries. I wont get into the details regarding all that the Atacama has to offer, as I cannot do this immensely beautiful region justice. So I will let the pictures do the talking...
They always have to remind you who is boss in these parts...
The Three Marias
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