ab 07.05.: From Antofagasta to the desert city of Calama

07.05.

Woke up very satisfied: Vespa fit and blog updated. The morning is gray - peacefully Sunday. A nice breakfast buffet is ready, but I eat oatmeal as always. A guest tells me that there is milk in the fridge, I can take some. I thank him and ask if he knows the expression 'luxury'. He denies. So, early in the morning, I am already challenged in my creativity. How should I explain it to him in Spanish? I give a general explanation and mention car brands - he politely listens because he doesn't know what I want - and then I come to the luxury of eating oatmeal with milk instead of water, he understood that and laughed.
Before packing, I quickly go to the bank. The Vespa accelerates like a 750, I'm not worried about the mountains. The ATM doesn't give me any money - for whatever reason. It works with the Maestro card. The Chileans, who are also waiting in the ATM booth, are very helpful and sympathetic, and that's already half the battle. A nice farewell from my 'host parents' and off I go into the mountains. As expected, it is very steep out of the city and later the long climbs, which the Vespa masters brilliantly at the beginning. But then the shaking starts again. Not as bad as on the ride to Antofagasta, but still somewhat worrying.

Antofagasta is located on the edge of the Atacama Desert, writes Wikipedia. The landscape changes and becomes, to put it simply, more boring. The copper mines dominate the landscape, otherwise it is flat and hardly any mountains. I feel like I'm on a plateau. The side wind increases, driving becomes exhausting, at worst 60, otherwise 80. And I know there is more in it. But when I give it more gas, it starts to shake.

It's a Chilean couple who come from San Pedro de Atacama and want to go to Antofagasta. We get into conversation and he asks me if I want to continue to Salta from San Pedro. I ask him if he knows the condition of the roads. They are good, the mountain pass is newly paved, you just have to overcome 4,200 m. Well, I think to myself, that would be a solution, back from Peru and then on to Salta. Later I come up with another solution for my luggage: the trucks are not allowed to take hitchhikers - it says in big letters on the passenger door - but there is no mention of luggage... they could take that off me for the steep mountain pass, and at the border crossing I'll pick it up, an idea - or maybe more?

No mirage - trees actually grow here with lush green

It drags on and on, on the horizon you can imagine variety. By now we are heading northeast, the wind is coming from behind, the Vespa picks up speed, the engine stuttering fades into the background and soon snow-covered peaks of 5000m!

The shades of green of the copper dust change depending on how the sunlight falls

and now in the distance the two passes that someday want to be crossed...

At first I thought they were clouds

Now we're almost there. I can already see skyscrapers in the distance - it can only be Calama, which even has its own airport.

Not an inviting sight. The desert city is dominated by the copper open-pit mine. Only later do tree avenues open up.

The Vespa struggles in the city center from traffic light to traffic light, stalls, and even I feel deflated. But I imagine a nice campsite with a small gastronomy and a starry sky later. The GPS leads me there, but the campsite is closed. It's not worth it in the winter. I give the Vespa and myself a break. It's quiet here, the vegetation is lush and thriving in a juicy green. And on my way here to paradise, I crossed a river with flowing (!) water.
Considering that it doesn't rain here for 0 days a year and I imagined the city as dry desert misery, I am very surprised and I plan to go into edit mode on the Wikipedia page and correct the wrong impression. Calama is also a mining town that only blossomed into its current size when the neighboring and world's largest copper mine could only be processed but no longer inhabited in its vicinity. My first impression when driving in and waiting at the red traffic lights: hm - strange people - but the image quickly changes. Although only 230 km from Antofagasta, it's different faces that look at me.

Eventually I separate myself from the oasis of calm and quickly find a hostel with a large driveway for the exhausted Vespa.
In the evening, I have a very good salad at 'Bavario', which has a full house with mashed potatoes and cabbage, but also with all kinds of burgers.

08.05.

The first half of the day goes peacefully. No special events. Except maybe that I notice a certain shortness of breath in myself.
That worries me a bit, but when I later read that we are at an altitude of 2,300 m, it can be. Well, and since this VespamerikasuR - venture is not only about me, but also about the main character, it quickly becomes clear to me why the Vespa stutters and sputters..
A garden table is outside and an umbrella, I have a kettle and tea in my room. I get fruits etc. around the corner and take a little morning walk through Calama.
I quickly reconciled with the city and find it simply beautiful. The square opposite the cathedral, which is also used energetically here, crowded and narrow streets, many people on the narrow sidewalks, South American music from open windows or shops, and in the pedestrian zone from every shop promoters of cassette tapes that penetrate with merchandise or perfumes.
These contrasts fascinate me, and when I sit here again in the courtyard having breakfast and only hear sirens in the distance or the long, warning honking of the ore trains from the copper mines, I find that just as beautiful and can enjoy it.

She has a limp - which should actually make her likeable - and no voice and croaks away. But she wants closeness and I let her sit on my lap, but when she realizes that I'm not a fan of hers, she withdraws considerately.

But the day also has a second half...

Already in the evening before, I sent Wilfried - my former scooter instructor - a voice message and asked him for advice. Promptly he answers me - it's already 5 hours later for him, as well - and gives me tips on what I can do.
As I now read about the altimeters, the cause quickly becomes clear to me. I can't change jets here in the courtyard, I saw motorcycle workshops in the city, I sit on the Vespa and face the problem.
Then there is my first police check. Apparently, the traffic participants in the city center are checked at intervals. There is also a small car in front of me that is then allowed to continue. Then the rather young policeman comes to me and wants to see the papers. While I'm looking for the documents in my chest pouch, he walks around the Vespa and asks me where I come from. I answer and he abandons the inspection and no longer wants to see my papers.
At every traffic light it stalls, accelerating and getting away from the traffic light is a torture, and again I admire the Chileans for their politeness and patience. The engine is only barely making 40. It's time to confront the problem.
The Vespa stalls right in front of a motorcycle shop because I want to let a pedestrian pass and I also ask immediately - the doors to the shop wide open, the mechanics outside in conversation - if they have a workshop and know about scooters. Yes, of course, great interest in the Vespa, I explain my problem more or less understandably and assume that this is known here. Yeah - no problem, the price was quickly negotiated and off we go. There were just 5 mechanics here - or I mistook them for that - now only one remains, a rather young journeyman (I suspect), who immediately starts working on the Vespa and creates a medium chaos within a few minutes. I accept that. The coolant splashes towards him - of course hot from the ride here - no clamp at hand, no colleague to help, only one who shines his smartphone flashlight into the engine compartment. Carburetor taken apart and can't put it back together, parts lost, and in the end, the throttle doesn't respond anymore.
Get out of this shop is finally shooting through my head. Said and done, of course, I don't pay 25,000 CLP, but push the Vespa another 20 meters on the narrow sidewalk - also to a motorcycle shop that looks trustworthy. An orderly sales room with a long counter and a well-organized range of products on the back wall, I explain my situation and shortly afterwards the mechanic Jose comes out and asks me to bring the Vespa in. Here chaos prevails - as it usually does in workshops - but he goes straight to the matter purposefully and professionally. After an hour and a half, it takes gas again - the lost part is recrafted with the help of material from an aluminum drink can - the main problem is not yet solved, but manageable.
I pay and we arrange to meet again the next day.

I drive back, more stuttering than before, park the Vespa here, go to 'Bavario', whose host nods at me again in recognition, and fortify myself.
The rest of the evening is writing, maintaining the blog, and winding down.

09.05

Yesterday I quickly extended for another night.
Today the day is solely under the motto 'jet':
A carbureted engine needs air and fuel to work. If the quality of the air changes because it is thinner at 2,300 m, it needs less fuel, otherwise the combustion does not work properly and the engine is oversupplied with fuel. If you replace the jet through which the fuel is driven with one with a smaller diameter, the fuel mixture will be correct again and the engine will run smoothly.
That's my insight of the day and thanks to Jose - the mechanic - and his creativity, I can continue tomorrow.
Further altitude meters in sight while heavily packed.
The non-fitting jet, due to its diameter being too large, is simply 'narrowed' by him with a copper wire, reducing the amount of fuel and making the engine purr.
Details would bore many people, including me by now.

He's had it...

On the way back, I find a four-legged animal lying in the middle of the intersection. He's had it, I think, the cars drive carefully past him, and then I notice out of the corner of my eye that he's doing very well.
He has made himself comfortable in a pothole of his size and doesn't want to leave. He looks at me lazily, the drivers don't move a muscle, brake, and drive around.
That's how it is here with the dogs...

Tomorrow I'm supposed to go to San Pedro de Atacama. 'Only' 100 km...