We are cruising up the panamericana in a comfy Turbus. The view has been spectacular. We edge through the hills, up and down and sometimes through a dark tunnel. For hundreds of kilometres I see the cacti like statues, glorious soldiers keeping watch. One bright spark has lined them up against his perimeter fence. I doubt anyone has invaded his territory of late. Every so often we drift a little closer to the coastline, and get treated to fine surf clattering onto deserted golden beaches. A lot of this part of Chile is unspoiled; those intending to emigrate to their own private paradise could do a lot worse than pick here.
We had managed to snag the last two seats on our bus at a compromise; they weren't side by side, but rather one behind the other. We haven't had to sit separated on a bus since Brazil. A kindly soul sitting in one of the adjacent seats offers to switch with me, so we get to sit together after all. Sarah spends most of the journey asleep whilst I read Lonely Planet's guide to Bolivia (2010) in anticipation of our arrival there in mid-April. Somewhere on the road a girl jumps on and sells us four buns for a quid. They were excellent too. Another man sells me a packet of charqui de equino, but more on that later. As far as bus journeys go, this is a good one.
That is, until the chubby child that has been running up and down the aisle gets taken to the toilet by his mother. Suddenly... its all gone a bit obscene. The elderly chap in front of us, dressed in double denim, covers his mouth and starts to gag. Sarah's nose has twisted out of shape. A lot of people on this bus are clearly character actors, judging by the smell-the-fart acting going on. Yes, the fat child's arse has exploded on the bus.
The toilet is now utterly out of order. The bus attendant suddenly appears, having been summoned by a passenger who has to hold their breath, so awful is the stench. He clutches a tin of air freshener and some bleach. Someone somewhere has lit an incense stick. The attendant emerges from the toilet after approximately three seconds, his face caught in a grimace of pain we can all sympathise with. He has thrown the bleach around the walls and toilet and gotten out of there ASAP. Sarah wants them to stop the bus so we can get off. I agree. It looks like the fat child needs another poo.
Luckily we pull into Coquimbo and some people get off, so at last we can get some fresh air in the bus. La Serena is a mere ten minutes up the road from here. We have already spotted the enormous cross overlooking the bay, but La Serena, 'the prettiest town in Chile' is looking a lot like a cross between Coleraine and Salou. Still, we grab our tickets to Caldera for Monday from Turbus, and a taxi to the hostel is a reasonable $3000 with a surly driver.
Hostel Andes is comfy, cheap, and cheap. That means no hot water after 11am, breakfast is tea or coffee with a packet of biscuits, and there's a 'please tip the cleaners if you think they've done a good job' poster on the wall. This is Ryanair hosteling, and perfectly fine if you abide by the rules.
This is our neighbourhood in La Serena, I have not taken a photo of the enormous supermarket, nor the source of the fishy stench beside our hostel (still better than child bum let me assure you).
We had managed to snag the last two seats on our bus at a compromise; they weren't side by side, but rather one behind the other. We haven't had to sit separated on a bus since Brazil. A kindly soul sitting in one of the adjacent seats offers to switch with me, so we get to sit together after all. Sarah spends most of the journey asleep whilst I read Lonely Planet's guide to Bolivia (2010) in anticipation of our arrival there in mid-April. Somewhere on the road a girl jumps on and sells us four buns for a quid. They were excellent too. Another man sells me a packet of charqui de equino, but more on that later. As far as bus journeys go, this is a good one.
That is, until the chubby child that has been running up and down the aisle gets taken to the toilet by his mother. Suddenly... its all gone a bit obscene. The elderly chap in front of us, dressed in double denim, covers his mouth and starts to gag. Sarah's nose has twisted out of shape. A lot of people on this bus are clearly character actors, judging by the smell-the-fart acting going on. Yes, the fat child's arse has exploded on the bus.
The toilet is now utterly out of order. The bus attendant suddenly appears, having been summoned by a passenger who has to hold their breath, so awful is the stench. He clutches a tin of air freshener and some bleach. Someone somewhere has lit an incense stick. The attendant emerges from the toilet after approximately three seconds, his face caught in a grimace of pain we can all sympathise with. He has thrown the bleach around the walls and toilet and gotten out of there ASAP. Sarah wants them to stop the bus so we can get off. I agree. It looks like the fat child needs another poo.
Luckily we pull into Coquimbo and some people get off, so at last we can get some fresh air in the bus. La Serena is a mere ten minutes up the road from here. We have already spotted the enormous cross overlooking the bay, but La Serena, 'the prettiest town in Chile' is looking a lot like a cross between Coleraine and Salou. Still, we grab our tickets to Caldera for Monday from Turbus, and a taxi to the hostel is a reasonable $3000 with a surly driver.
Hostel Andes is comfy, cheap, and cheap. That means no hot water after 11am, breakfast is tea or coffee with a packet of biscuits, and there's a 'please tip the cleaners if you think they've done a good job' poster on the wall. This is Ryanair hosteling, and perfectly fine if you abide by the rules.
This is our neighbourhood in La Serena, I have not taken a photo of the enormous supermarket, nor the source of the fishy stench beside our hostel (still better than child bum let me assure you).
Oh sorry, tell a lie, thats the supermarket on the left.
At the Plaza de Armas, as per usual, there is a big cathedral, which you might expect, given that La Serena is Chile's second oldest town.
It's quite chilly here in... ummm...
Found a bar called Rock & Sicodelia. Didn't go in here. Went into a sports bar where we heard some very poor latin pop music and we ate a platter of olives, slow cooked steak, chips and tostadas. Back at the supermarket I bought my first bottle of Pisco. This delicious distilled spirit is a grape brandy produced solely in Chile and Peru, and comes in a variety of ages, from the very young and clear, to the golden añejo. I went straight to the well respected Mistral brand and chose the fancy 46% version, black-label pisco. The taste is somewhere between tequila and whiskey. Lovely and smooth with a little burn, and some organic qualities without the overwhelming plant taste that accompanies tequila. Not quite as much of the firewater effect that whiskey can provide though. It makes you wonder why it isn't exported, although here a bottle costs you about $5000 in the supermarket depending on the brand.
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