ab 02.06.: Experience Arica

02.06.

My blog about the Viracocha III has caused justified irritations.

Glen comes out of his room when the blog is just finished, and I show him the uploaded pictures and the extent of the text.
He doesn't speak German, asks me how many people can read the blog, and marches to the Viracocha.
I continue writing and later go to the beach, doze in the sun, and write apps.
Today is an exciting day: Miitja is celebrating his birthday in my hometown in the garden.
He has informed all the neighbors, his father is in a band, and they will perform on the covered terrace that was built for this purpose. 40 people are expected, the portable toilet is ready, the weather is nice, Nio, a singer who performed at one of my house concerts, will also perform - I will be "connected" via WhatsApp and informed about the progress of the party with photos and video clips!

I come back from the beach. Ross, the hostel father, is already waiting for me and says there are problems with my Viracocha blog. Glenn is there and has brought a prepared text.
I want to go to the theater and don't have time for discussions. But there are two things I immediately take out - the part about the captain and the beer, and that Peru was not the place of construction but Bolivia at Lake Titicaca. The sponsors... says Glenn and that convinces me.
The waves have calmed down. A Pole who lived in Bremen for a long time has requested the corrections.

For 2,000 CLP I take a taxi to the Municipal Theater in Arica.

The blurred view of the Santiago State Opera House - from distant Arica

Swan Lake is on the program. Admission: FREE! Who pays for the orchestra, who pays for the ballet? Arica can't be that rich? A government educational program in Santiago?

A red carpet leads across the main square into the theater. Compared to Valparaiso, it's a real theater with padded seats, carpet, balconies, and lots of wood for good acoustics.
The house is three-quarters full. I see a big screen on stage, don't hear the cacophony of the tuning orchestra, and only after a second look do I realize that we will be watching a recording. Big speakers are installed on stage. Two technicians ensure smooth operation.

We are now involved in the events in the Santiago State Opera House, the orchestra is tuning and playing their instruments, bustle in the audience, people coming and going, good camera shots of the imposing interior of the theater, bordeaux color predominates, the balconies are ivory colored and adorned with gold leaf, the parquet floor is divided so that the spectators can move to the left and right like in a church - the lights are dimmed - also in Arica - and off we go.

The conductor, the orchestra, the overture.

I fall asleep during the first third - almost as always when I find peace in the theater and immerse myself in the music - then I'm awakened twice by a young lady who wants to get in and then out again - but then I stay awake and am fascinated by the costumes, the ballet, and the evil sorcerer. Great dance performances! I enjoyed it very much and the music - simply fantastic. Everything fit!

There is no taxi back. Only the collectivos, but they only drive in the city center, so I walk. The construction management for pedestrians is very tight. Suddenly and without warning, the sidewalk leads me into nothingness - onto the two-lane main road - high streetlights that don't give a pedestrian much security.

My stomach is in my knees, but half an hour later I'm back at the hostel: spaghetti, mushrooms, Parmesan, and tomato sauce.
A successful evening!

03.06.

Of course, today the Viracocha III is in the spotlight after breakfast. Not only to correct mistakes but to provide more information as well. Glen shows me some websites of the project, whose addresses I include as links.
In the afternoon, I go there again to get to know the Pole, his only response to my "completion report" was that he relied on it. Later he becomes more talkative, but the most important things are in the text and the links.

Before that, I drive further north almost to the Peruvian border, turn left just before, and drive a gravel road towards the beach. During my bumpy ride there, I notice numerous crosses and lovingly decorated graves. It can't be a normal cemetery. It is not fenced, no chapel in sight, quite neglected... I continue slowly and do not want to appear curious. Occasionally, a few cars overtake me. But then I do get curious and approach.
Of course: that suits the Chileans who love dogs so much...
At some point, the companions of life go into eternity, but their physical remains are carefully buried and not left to a knacker. It would be blasphemy!!

So there you can find the dog's kennel, its favorite toys in the form of chewed and eaten stuffed animals, photos lovingly put on an A3 sheet and glued to a wooden frame. With lovingly formulated final words, but the ravages of time, the strong west wind from the Pacific quickly bring them closer to the ground, but the smell remains. A lonely female dog appears, her nose to the ground, searching for the mortal remains of her companion. She looks at me somewhat disturbed - I am discreet and withdraw.

A dog cemetery and a sad four-legged creature, searching for its companion lying here?

A few hundred meters I have a great view of the surf, sit on a wall, enjoy the air, tranquility, and the distant waves. Leaving the Vespa unattended is too unsafe for me.

Shortly after, I hear a diesel noise and spot a fully loaded Jeep with Stuttgart license plates. A couple who have taken a two-year break and have been on the road since March, just like me.

A dog is also traveling with them, they have experienced a lot, Rolf treats us to a freshly chilled beer, and there is a lot to talk about.
They drive such lonely stretches that the dog doesn't have to stay in the car but can run alongside it. The rough terrain does not allow faster driving, which takes them to the most beautiful and remote places in the Atacama Desert.
In the meantime, a police car appears on the road, reduces its speed, but gives us enough time to hide the beer cans in the car and make it clear that Rolf is not the driver. (0.0%o), but his partner is. The police car turns around, stops, probably registers the license plates with the "D" and leaves us alone. We're about to take the next sip, but decide against it because he stops again 100 meters further and probably glances at us in the rearview mirror, then is probably called to an operation and really drives away.

Another Chilean man with his daughter and grandson joins us, attracted by the Vespa. Yes, he also has one. From 1958 and freshly restored. Why isn't he traveling with it? I wonder, but his daughter and grandson also want to be "driven" around.

We exchange phone numbers with the people from Stuttgart and will surely meet for a sundowner at the campsite.

04. 06.

Pentecost Sunday - which is not mentioned here in Chile. Just a normal Sunday, the supermarkets and our market halls opposite are open.

I free the carburetor from the last two wires it no longer wants and signals me with stuttering when I press the gas in higher revs.

In the early afternoon, Daniel, the Englishman, and I take a little tour into the mountains. He is around the mid-thirties and a funny guy.

Below, the sanded valley and my shadow, which might give an impression of how deep it goes here

The tour takes us up to 1,100 meters - good thing I freed the carburetor before - so there are no hiccups when accelerating. After just 20 minutes, we are already up there and have a great view of the hazy afternoon landscape. The mountains look like sand dunes. Underneath are not very large stones that like to come loose and bring sand and gravel onto the road.

How quickly can rock come loose here...

Steep, narrow, and curvy

We follow the river, which leads us back to the Pacific

The five and six thousand meters in the afternoon haze

The roads seem to be cut into the mountains with a sharp knife. Newly paved, but quite narrow and very curvy. There is hardly any oncoming traffic and an endlessly appearing plain that gently rises. The wind conditions are moderate. Daniel stops several times to take photos. He has a camera that he can clip onto his helmet. During our tour, it was turned on and gives a good view of the landscape, the narrow road, and the curves.

After a good hour, we are in Villa Frontera, not far from the Peruvian border, and meet the people from Stuttgart there, who are traveling with their Defender. We skip the sundowner because we have to consider our blood alcohol level, but we still have a nice end to the day.

05. & 06.06.

Yesterday was lazy, restlessness comes in quiet, hesitant steps, wanderlust calls.
I am well-rested and ready for new deeds and adventures.

During today's breakfast, Ross recommended that I simply head south through Peru. He would send me an email as soon as the parts from Germany arrived here.
I needed this encouragement. He's right. Although it's cozy and warm here in this safe and secure nest with defined horizons, the shared breakfast, nice people, occasionally exploring the beach or the surroundings, but that's not enough anymore. The school doesn't contact me - a Chilean woman told me during one of the breakfasts that the Chilean school system is quite closed. I don't believe it and will still try my luck later. In Peru? Or Colombia?
Daniel, the Englishman, said after our tour that my Vespa engine sounded "rich", it probably receives too much fuel. So I take a look at the spark plug. Although it is wet at the thread, it is a light brown color. It should be like that, so the engine burns well, but too much fuel is coming in. The jet is clearly too big, it has a 102 and should only have a 95. Well, then I will make do with copper wire again in the mountain ranges in Peru. That has proven itself and doesn't worry me too much anymore.

I pack up the Vespa, put tools, spare bulbs, a headlamp, etc. in the helmet compartment and decide to go to Arica to get new coolant hoses.
Thanks to Google Maps, which I can finally use offline now that I have downloaded the necessary map sections, I quickly find a ferreteria - a hardware store - and ask for the hose. The saleswoman is very nice and helpful and explains that she doesn't have something like that but gives me the name of a kind of hardware store where I can find something like that. She emphasizes several times to ask and ask again... everyone doesn't know everything, I should persist. In the end, she even shouts after me "cuidarte" - take care of yourself!!
I quickly find the hardware store, but they say no to my question and immediately point me to a shop a few streets away that sells exclusively rubber products. And there I find what I'm looking for. A small shop, maybe two to three meters wide at the front but losing itself somewhere inside. I explain my request and show the junior - I suspect he is the son who will continue the store later - the "object of my desire" - he immediately takes his measuring instrument with him but gives up because he needs the inner diameter. I hesitate for a long time, even a very long time, before I dare to loosen the coolant hose from the carburetor on the open street. I know it's difficult to reconnect them. But there's no other choice, I pull, the green liquid - still hot from the ride here - spills out, runs over my hand and onto the street. The junior takes measurements and luckily quickly comes back with a hose. The installation works, he even has metal clamps in the right size - I pour in coolant and look forward to my theater visit, which starts in fifteen minutes - but then the junior points out the green liquid that is leaking under the engine. After various adjustments, no more water escapes.
My actions are observed by the dog with a home first skeptically and then benevolently. He runs after loudly honking cars, comes back out of breath, and takes his place, as if in the middle of the sidewalk, again.
In a way, the two of us are already "traffic-causing" because I also need part of the public sidewalk, which is not very wide: for parking the seat, for the rolled-out tools, my things. No one minds, no one grumbles or scolds, rather interested looks at what a Vespa from Germany is doing here on Vicuna Mackena. Meeting each other again like this creates a kind of "feeling at home". We nod to each other, chat a little, and go our separate ways.

07.06.

At midnight, the uninformed citizens and tourists of Arica were startled by loud cannon shots.
Arica is celebrating the 137th anniversary of the battle for the neighboring Peruvian Tacna, which was also the subject of the Saltpeter War.

The trigger for the Saltpeter War (1878 to 84) was Bolivia's decision - despite a contrary treaty between Chile and Bolivia - to impose export taxes on saltpeter, as it was shipped through the Bolivian ports of Antofagasta, Iquique, Arica, and Cobija.

From Bolivia's point of view, this was a necessary step because it was suffering from ongoing drought and the effects of a severe earthquake. And it could not benefit from the saltpeter riches.
It was to be expected that Chile's saltpeter mining operators would not pay these export taxes. They were simply expropriated. This led to armed conflicts in the course of which Bolivia lost 120,000 km2 of land with rich mineral resources along a length of 400 km and lost access to the Pacific.
An agreement between Peru and Bolivia ensures access to the Pacific. Within the framework of the peace treaty between Bolivia and Chile, Bolivia is allowed to use the sea here and was assured of a railway line between La Paz and Arica.
Otherwise, the only option left for export business is the Atlantic.

I had chicken (pollo) for the first time in Chile today. Millions of them are devoured every day here and probably everywhere in South America. Chicken is advertised everywhere. There seems to be nothing else. But my organism signaled to me that it wanted meat, so I dared to try it. The last time!!

After that, I expected a big fiesta in Arica. But apart from holiday bustle and funfair for the kids, there is nothing to notice about the anniversary. The walk after the chicken menu feels good.

So tomorrow I'm going to Peru. I hope I can cross the border smoothly and that the strike by the Peruvian customs will not cost too much time. Tacna is my destination. 50 km from here.

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