From 27.05 .: Forced break in Arica

27.05.:

another beautiful morning with clean and clear air. A nearly trouble-free night. The previous day was just too exhausting for any conditions like cold or lack of oxygen to have any impact on my sleep.

I'm glad that I'll be back at sea level in a few hours and it will be warm again. I'm looking forward to my hostel 'Sunny Days', the calmness there, the nice breakfast with the other hostel guests, and Ross, the good spirit. He sets the pace here with his calm and relaxed attitude. But surely also the guests themselves, who all come over from Bolivia or San Pedro and want to enjoy the tourist-free zone.
Before I leave, I want to give attention to the Vespa. Yesterday it had a break and was observed by curious cats on the securely enclosed neighboring property. A black cat, very graceful with a white dot on the tip of its tail...
Paw prints on the seat show me that the Vespa has become part of the inventory of this courtyard.
It starts, but doesn't take any gas. I struggle with it over the gate threshold to our opposite hostel. I know the reason. It lies in the jets. If the makeshift from Calama were still in the carburetor, I would have been worried. But there would have been a solution here too. I remove two copper wires from the jet, because we want to go down, not up. It starts, takes the gas again like a thirsty person takes water, and off we go.

A last look into the communal room. The clean men drink coffee, and the TV gives it all. I'm so glad that I can turn my back on this noise source. And I make a resolution: I will never spend money on a TV set in my life. It should never claim a place in my house. The monitor and the internet are enough for me.
The road out of the valley, with its demanding slope angle, takes the Vespa at 40 km/h. We climb again to about 4,000 meters, a last look at Putre, and then we continue uphill. Suddenly, I see a dented container with an open sliding door lying on the left side, and I believe I perceived a functioning interior light. if the interior light of this wrecked and completely disfigured container, which is still lying on its side, is still working, then it hasn't been there long, it shoots through my mind. A parking bay opens up to the right of me. I pull over to the right and struggle against the dogs that keep shouting at me: Thomas, everything's fine, keep going, others will come and look. Come on, keep going...

What do I do if the truck driver is still alive but trapped and urgently needs help? Ambulance? Do I have a telephone number? Do I have bandages with me? Well, I have a belt, but what else??? The minutes pass by. I turn the Vespa in the opposite direction and drive towards the accident scene, which is not in the middle of the road, but also in a kind of parking bay in a left curve. Vespa off, helmet off. I listen to see if I hear any groaning or cries for help.

Dead silence?

I'm less interested in the container, but rather in the answer to the question: where is the towing vehicle? I see the bent guardrail and can imagine that the driver's cabin must have been thrown quite far away. I start searching and finally find the remains of the white bodywork.
Slowly, I move towards it, and only on the second look do I recognize tracks that are probably 2 to 4 weeks old.
Leaves are lying there and initial signs of rust are signaling to me that the accident did not happen tonight.
I am reassured, the interior light of the container was probably just a reflection of light - I can continue driving with the comforting feeling that nothing has happened recently. It's not until I'm sitting on the Vespa and start driving off that I notice a freshly built grave decoration with a holy statue and flowers on a higher rock ledge.
Wrecked vehicles are not uncommon on Chile's roads. On the Pan-American Highway as well as on regular country roads. Nobody cares, they rust away, and maybe some people later take parts of the bodywork to seal their corrugated iron roofs. And at regular intervals, on my previous trips, I have always seen the gravesites, decorated and adorned with the Chilean flag in blue, white, and red. Died for the common good in the transportation of essential goods?

After fifteen minutes, the Vespa attracts attention again with its jerking. Stop again??? I just want to make progress! But there's a parking bay. Almost routine now, but with the utmost concentration to ensure that no screw goes its own way, I enlarge the jet by another two copper wires and immediately notice when giving gas that it has more power now.

The rest of the route is beautiful, low traffic, but not relaxed, because the experience on the way there with the tricky sand track after the right curve is still present. The first valleys come again, long, sloping, and straight stretches, and the Vespa purrs along at 100 to 110 km/h.

again the fertile valleys stretching for kilometers - until the next ascent - waste is a problem.

as the descents become flatter and the road is lined with palm trees and green hedges, I stop at an inviting kiosk. I buy cigarettes and half a liter of cola and sit on a stool made of rough tree trunks. Sheltered from the sun under a thatched mat canopy.
I finally enjoy the warmth, the light, a small chapel on the opposite side on a hill, and arrive at sea level 0. An older Chilean man watches with interest as I secure the Vespa after parking and immediately asks where I'm from and where I'm going. We try to have a conversation, but I can barely understand him because he can't articulate clearly anymore. His rows of teeth are incomplete. A nice and cozy man who seems to have arrived in the present moment.
I finish my drink and realize when I start driving again that the Vespa also appreciates the change in air. It accelerates like crazy again, even though the wind is coming from the front.

Soon, Arica welcomes me again. I even rejoice in the well-known desolation and the deep blue of the Pacific. After a few turns, I'm back at the hostel.
After a correction, I get my old bed again in a four-bed room with a window and a tree with green foliage in front of it, with the familiar sounds of the neighboring school and the soothing atmosphere in the hostel.

The rest of the day is all about settling in, writing, shopping, and writing again.
Writing has become indispensable for me. Only through writing can I enjoy this great journey, bring back forgotten experiences, sort and categorize them.

28.05:

Pause and process. That's today's program. Planning and considering how to handle the time I've been given in Arica. Waiting for the parts for the Vespa to arrive, make the most of it, enjoy having no time pressure. But that will come with certainty at the latest with the exact departure date from Montevideo...
There is the option to take the bus that takes me to La Paz, to take a Spanish course in Arica, or to switch from the taking side to the giving side and teach German. The school is right across the street, and there is even a school where German is taught. If I were to choose this option, it would mean staying here for the next four weeks, getting in touch with the local population and experiencing everyday life firsthand. That sounds very appealing to me, and I will flesh out these thoughts this week.
But today, writing is on the agenda because the tour through Lauca National Park needs to be processed. I also use the map function offered by Vakantio, which allows readers to follow my tour geographically. It works.

I only hear good things from home. Sven, who takes care of the garden, is very committed and makes suggestions for preserving the substance. Miitja, one of my tenants, will celebrate his birthday in the garden with my permission on the weekend. A portable toilet has been ordered because the house will be locked for the guests. Ludwig, my main tenant, has been informed by me, albeit quite late, about the project. Miitja and he won't get in each other's way. Nora and Rieke have announced their visit. How will the two of them feel about the situation of the closed house...?

29.05.

The blog is updated. Now I can plan again because 'I'm free'.
The Peruvian border is a concern for all of us. Many want to go to Peru and get stuck there because it's ordered to be done strictly by the rules there. That will affect me in two weeks when my tourist visa in Chile has to be renewed. For this purpose, I have to leave and re-enter the country so that I have the coveted stamp in my passport.

30.05.

For days, it has been cloudy in the city of eternal spring, but around 19 degrees.
The situation at the Peruvian border is unchanged. I'm still relaxed because the spare parts are taking their time. They are already in Chile, but they are probably stuck in Santiago. Although the Chilean post also offers a tracking service that allows me to see where the package is, it doesn't show me anything here.
It feels good not to be rushed by external things. I'm now waiting for a response from Colegio Alemán in Arica. I offered to give German lessons there and to meet them for a conversation. The first email was redirected to Germany, and from there came the sensible reply that I should contact the school in Arica directly. I wouldn't have thought of that...

Daniel, an Englishman, was at the border yesterday and already got a stamp in his passport - after 5 hours of waiting - but then he couldn't continue because he didn't have a stamp for his motorcycle he bought in Chile. He is back here, quite annoyed, and has decided to spend today uselessly.

The previous day has a special experience in store for me:

I'm done with my writing, the sky has cleared during that time. I pack my things and want to walk into town to take pictures. It has a special charm because it doesn't offer any tourist photo motives. So only special settings remain.
But I don't get far. The Liceo Santa María across the street has just finished school. The whole street is blocked, street vendors, aware of the kids' hunger, stand ready with empanadas and sweets. In between, the gas truck provides sound with its speakers on the car roof and loudly advertises gas cylinders while playing South American songs from the speaker. I am once again surrounded by typical South American joy of life. I walk through the parked and waiting cars when I suddenly hear someone calling. Normally, I don't react to unmotivated calls, but here it's different. I turn around, and a middle-aged South American woman attracts my attention. She sits in her small car with the window open, smiles at me, and asks where I'm going, where I come from, where I live... Her son Alejandro (preschool age) sits on the back seat, chewing pastry with chubby cheeks and observing me with interest.
We talk about this and that, and then she asks if I don't want to ride with her. She wants to show me something in Arica.
What have we always preached to our children? What have we always been preached as children? Never get into a stranger's car...

This warning comes to my mind at exactly the same moment when I close the passenger door of her small Honda. We sit in the car for a while, talk to each other, and I realize that she - her name is Theresa - is still waiting for another child. She doesn't show any signs of driving. I don't think much of it and let things come to me. The car radio, which is also supplied with South American music via the smartphone, is set to 'festival mode'. Theresa talks, radiates, the music blares, Alejandro sprinkles the car with crumbs - Theresa seems, in my eyes, abnormally 'in a good mood'... but why does someone have to take something if they simply radiate joy of life and interest in others?, I ask myself at the same time.
'Vamos?, vamos?', she finally asks, and I say okay and immediately get a task: adjusting the right side mirror. It always folds itself in when the engine is turned off but doesn't automatically fold out when the car is started again. So I adjust the side mirror to the correct position.
Changing the background noise while driving again and again, she drives at a rather high speed on the coastal road, talking, gesturing, keeping only half an eye on the road, taking the right of way from a delivery van, ignoring its angry honking - that's how we drive along the coast at an excessive speed. The window must not be closed, Alejandro - seatbelt requirements are overlooked - sits curled up in front of his back seat, protecting himself from the strong wind, while chewing pastry. It's a truly obscure situation I find myself in. But I feel like I'm in a movie and am curious about the ending. It occurs to her that she needs to refuel. Here in Chile, there are gas attendants - I wonder what their life expectancy is, as they inhale gasoline vapors all day long - refueling for her doesn't take much time as she only gets 3,000 pesos. 4.50 €, including cleaning the windshield. No tip...

Well - I ask myself... is she after my money??? A scam that I don't know yet? Alejandro on the back seat, who encounters mistrust with an innocent face and thus unconsciously supports his mother's plan...?

I'm curious about the end of the movie, I stay in the car, adjust the right side mirror - mas, mas, gracias - and off we go again. Not long afterwards, we find ourselves in a nicer neighborhood of Arica, still close to the beach. Low houses that are almost overwhelmed by high-rises. There is a small park with a playground, a small church built around the 17th century with clay walls, and many small adobe houses clustered around a green square planted with white-blooming oleander. She takes out the remains of a joint from her pocket, and the air fills with the scent of good cannabis, Alejandro disappears to the playground, and we enter a ceramic workshop. In between, she quickly loses her car key, panics a bit and finds it a few meters away in a flower bed. How did it get there?
Is she perhaps a potter and wants to show me her workshop and encourage me to buy jugs, bowls, and plates? No - probably not. I notice the potter from the back rooms, we make small talk, but he doesn't ask me to buy anything after I said that I'm traveling by Vespa in Chile and don't have space for additional luggage. So I'm out of the loop.

not only the hazard warning lights move to the beat of the music, but also the 'solar panels' on the roof swing along...

We stroll across the square, take a look at a shoemaker's who not only repairs but also manufactures shoes. But I'm distracted by a VW van blinking in time with the music - and when the shoemaker notices my interest, he shows me even more settings. It's a Bluetooth-connected speaker box.
Of course, it has to be photographed. And just before we say goodbye, he points to the church and an old black VW van in the parking lot.

black and white cat on a black ground -
unfortunately, the VW van is not a European model...

We take a look at the old church, Alejandro crawls under the blanket-covered altar and climbs into a covered house about two meters high in front of the church's entrance. There stands a cross that can be seen from all sides - and he proves his Christian upbringing: he climbs into the house and stands in front of the cross, forming a cross himself, which has exactly his measurements. Blasphemy? I take another look at the black VW van with the white cat on the roof and take a photo.

I notice Theresa speaking into her smartphone, notice a change in her otherwise radiant face, and understand that she is slowly expected at home. That's good - the movie is coming to an end. We drive back again, she plays Shakira loudly at festival volume, wants my phone number, and a little later, after I already said that I want to go back to the beach, she stops the car. I could have also driven to her home with her. Then I wouldn't have left, would have slipped into the role of the guest recipient - all of that would have limited my desire for freedom. Shortly before I get out, she arranges a date for the same evening at 6:30 p.m. I agree, say goodbye to a munching Alejandro, whose top has given up the dazzling white for rather brownish-gray, and take a deep breath.
I cancel the evening appointment by text message - an important call that I'm expecting later in the evening...

I pass by the market halls and stock up on mango, honeydew melon, salad that is already prepared and just needs to be seasoned, onions, vinegar, and oil, and make my way back home.

The rest of the evening is comparatively relaxed, writing and chatting.