The Journey Home

In Calama, Mike traveled North towards Peru while I started my journey South to catch my flight out of Santiago. Hitch hiking at this point was very enjoyable. The first day I was picked up quickly by three different truckers and I traveled almost 800km to Chanral, a dusty beach town clogged with truckers. 

It was a perfect opportunity for me to practice my conversational Spanish and it turns out I had learned a lot more than I had thought. One of the most difficult things for me was thinking of a new way to say something when I didn't know the words. I had to learn to be creative in how I spoke, using the words I knew to communicate my meaning. I thoroughly enjoyed conversing and I was told by each of the three men that they could understand me well. I know much of it was encouragement, but it was welcome nonetheless.

I slept on the beach that night in Chanral. The deep, fine sand felt good to sleep on and I spent the morning walking around barefoot, enjoying the feeling of no boots. Today would be different from yesterday. My first ride was a private vehicle: a brand spanking new MG sedan with the plastic still on the armrests. The driver was named Andres and we immediately hit it off. The drive to Copiapo was down the West coast of Chile, a beautiful coast with the desert terminating at the rocky coast. The Pacific Ocean stretched to the horizon and we made terrific time down Ruta 5. Andres was on his was to the bank to sign some papers for his new car and we had the best conversation that my limited Spanish would allow. In Copiapo he treated me to lunch and we traded Facebook info.

My next ride took me all the way to La Serena, another few hundred kilometers South and home to a bustling colonial city situated on several miles of broad beach. Again, another private vehicle, we made amazing time and I got to La Serena that day with enough light to find a hostel and explore the city. La Serena is one of the oldest cities in Chile and the architecture was beautiful. The shower was most welcome though, it had been almost a week! After a fitful night's sleep, I walked down to the beaches and walked several miles until I was out of town. The weather was overcast but warm and the surf was relaxing to listen to.

Getting out of La Serena proved to be the most difficult task yet. It was a large, busy city and there were not many places to catch a ride. My first ride took me to the outskirts of the city, but I stood there for 3 hours as I tried to find a ride further. Finally, after walking a few miles, a baker picked me up on his way to deliver bread to a small suburb of La Serena. He told me I would have much better luck in that area then in the city and I agreed. He left me on the freeway and I was thankful for Chile's relaxed road rules. I stood there, on the shoulder of a two lane freeway thumbing down a ride. After about an hour, a pickup truck with two men in it stopped and told me they were driving the rest of the way to Santiago! It was an 8 hour drive and I was stoked.

The two men were once again beyond nice, buying me dinner at a roadside restaurant that made their own cheese. The queso empanadas were delicious and we set out again. The drive was beautiful! We drove through the semi-desert, North of Santiago and we passed near the ocean through a twisty, turny road which we took at great speed. At times we hit 170kmh (100mph) on the straights. The 8 hour drive turned into 6 and they dropped me off at the nearest metro. In 20 minutes I was back at the hostel, with plenty of time for Free Wine and Pasta Night.

At the hostel I struck a bargain with management. I fixed the computers for two nights of lodging and breakfast. One evening I went out with the staff and we didn't return until early morning - I was not in bed until 6 am! The next day I took the taxi to the airport with some new friends who were from Canada. I spent that night in the airport and the next day I was off!

I laugh to myself when I think about my route home. I was flying into Greensboro, 2+ hours from my home, Boone. I would stay a couple nights with Janna and some new friends there, then take a train to Charlotte to meet Paige. From there we drove an hour and a half south-west to Greenville, SC to see my long lost friend Alyssa and finally I met my mom two more hours north in Johnson City, TN for the final hour and a half home. Not many people could take a 2 hour drive and turn it into 7 more hours of traveling over the course of 4 days. Now, however, I am home. 

For the time being, anyway.

Bolivia: Part 2

This type of traveling is addicting. The route is not known, the means are unsure, and a miscalculation can be everything from mildly inconvenient to severely dangerous. Walking out of Uyuni and into the desert late that evening was exciting. There is always a little bit of apprehension that follows, but I can easily push this feeling to the back of my mind. The circumstances that we were in were a bit more tricky than I had previously alluded. Mike and I were in the country illegally. It is a $135 fee for the Bolivian visa and Mike and I were supposed to pay in Uyuni. We were now leaving Uyuni with no intention of going back to pay the fee. I was against paying on principal. I would only be in this country for 4 days, and I knew not when I would return. I was also against paying based on my financial situation. Obviously we would have to address this situation at the border but we also needed to be careful while in the country. A run in with authorities would quickly become messy.

Heading South, Mike and I walked several kilometers outside the city. We would stop periodically and ask, "En cual direccion es la frontera de Chile?". We got funny looks and were directed down a few different trash strewn roads before we ended up at a decent spot. Our first ride came quickly and we made almost 200km to the town of San Cristobal in a truck with two women and a dog who was, unfortunately, not happy about having his spacious back-seat-domain intruded on. We had just enough time that night to hike several km outside the city and set up camp on the outskirts. The traffic had died down to just tour vehicles returning to their homes and vehicles bound to the many local mines. One truck stops but is not offering a ride. He tells us no one will pick us up and to return the way we came. We brush it off and don't think much of it. Until the next day.

Culpina K was a small town in the middle of the desert that we stayed in during our 4x4 tour. Now it was the last mark of civilization on the way back. Mike and I found a ride there early in the morning and then sat by the road for the next 4 hours as no traffic passed. Sure, there was the occasional mine truck and tour vehicle, but they were not going to pick us up. We looked at some maps of the area and saw that there was a road to the North which went through several towns and was significantly closer to the border. Unfortunately we had ridden almost 100km out of the way but we cut our losses and set off on our new route. The rides were fairly plentiful and we made up the 100km quickly. It was still early in the day and our final ride was a red pickup. There were 3 people in a single cab and the back was full with barrels and gas cans. Mike and I piled in and rode the next 50km to Rio Grande. When we arrived, we asked the driver which way to the next city and the border. He furrowed his brow and said very confidently that the way to the border is down South, where we had just been. We told him no and showed him the map with the road. The next city was Julaca and they pointed us in the direction of the city which we estimated to be about 30km away. Mike and I walked down the road in disbelief that people didn't even know where the borders were.

Not even 5 minutes later the same red truck pulled up behind us. They said they were headed to Julaca and offered to give us another ride. As they got out the moved around some things in the back of the truck they said "you guys went the wrong way". Mike and I thought nothing of it and happily hopped in. Soon we were driving off into the middle of nowhere. It was not until the road started leaving the power lines that something felt wrong. I started thinking about why these guys had suddenly decided to drive to Julaca. "Are you worried at all?" I asked Mike. He looked at me confused for a second, blinked, and replied: "yeah". I looked around, trying to find some sign of civilization, some sign of help. There was none. I started looking around for anything that could be used as a weapon, and I chastised myself for jumping in the truck so quickly with out asking questions. Mike shifted uncomfortably, trying to see into the cabin of the truck for signs of a weapon. We had rounded a corner and started to slow down when I saw one of the men shift inside. "Mike, they have a gun." "Shit, shit." Mike's eyes darted around wildly. He was sitting on the passenger side, the same side as the man with the gun. They were obviously trying to keep everything hidden and we didn't want to react too soon. I made my backpack available to Mike and we each grabbed a hold of one of my trekking poles. Right now they were collapsed into the storage configuration and they were a fairly heavy, 2 foot length of metal. My other hand went to the knife at my side.

The truck started rolling to a stop in the middle of the road with cliffs to the left and salt flats to the right. There was no one else around. I looked a Mike with an intense expression. "We have to be quick," I said. There were three of them, but in true South American fashion, none were taller that 5'5". The truck came to a stop in a cloud of dust and I took a deep breath. Both doors opened at the same time. Mike was faster than I thought. The trekking pole made a sharp crack as it struck the gunman across the eye socket. One hand went to his eye and the other swung a small revolver into sight. Mike dropped the trekking pole and brought his full weight down on top of the man, bringing him to the ground and seizing the revolver, which was still in the Chilean's grasp. At the same I had brought my pole down on the drivers head with full force, causing him to stagger back into the open door. He had a knife in his hand and the next blow was directed there, connecting across his knuckles. The man screamed, dropped his knife and held his hand to his chest, clearly shocked at the brutal attack. On the other side of the truck I heard Mike shout some curses in Spanish and tell the man to get back. Mike had the revolver pointed at his head and was clearly shaken. The third man in the middle of the vehicle also had a knife but had been so shocked that he had not moved. Now all three looked at each other uncertainly. I had the trekking pole raised over my head and my pocket knife deployed in my left hand.

Alright, relax. None of that happened. Well the red truck did pick us up, and the man did say "you guys went the wrong way", and I did ask Mike if he was worried, and the truck did stop in the middle of no where. Mike and I were ready to pounce in the event of a weapon but there was none and the men were just driving further off road into the salt flats and were merely just dropping us off. Later we realized we should have been more careful but we walked the rest of the 10km to Julaca before sun down.

Julaca looked like a railroad town out of a Western. A large square water tower in the center of the city was the only source of water and was filled by train. Ninety percent of the buildings in the small town were abandoned and crumbling. From one end to the other, you could walk in 5 minutes. Five abandoned railroad cars sat near the tracks and proved to be a perfect shelter for the night. In the morning, we explored the abandoned factory and walked around the town. It was one of our favorite places so far, a ghost town situated in the middle of the desert. It was not until I tried to find our route that I realized a problem. There was no road to the border, just a train track, straight as an arrow, off to the horizon. Mike and I consulted our map. It looked like it was around 60km to the border, with one town halfway through. It was a walk-able distance for sure, but the sun was hot and we only had two and a half liters of water each. About this time a cargo train came through the station. We immediately tried to hop on but the cars were moving too fast. It is an intimidating thing, attempting to jump on to a hundred-ton chunk of metal, clanking along at 20 km/hr. We watching the train fade into the distance and set off walking after it. We had a long way ahead of us.

An hour later another train came up behind us. It was hot and the salt was crunchy under our shoes. The train let out a few horn blasts and we waved as we continued to walk on. That is when we heard the shriek of metal brakes slowing the mass of cargo. The conductor gesticulated wildly and Mike and I were elated. Seconds later we were riding in the back of the main engine, sitting in plush chairs, and ecstatic about our luck. It was actually 69km to the border and we made the trip in a little under two hours. The train let us out before the border checkpoint and we walked up from around the bend. Our next hurdle was ahead. Mike was confident that he could get through with his card from Chile so he walked into the immigration control building. An hour later, we were 20 dollars poorer and walking into Chile. Luckily, the border control agents understand the concept of bribes and we continued on with out a hitch.


The small border town of Ollague was over 200km from Calama via a salt paved road and it was not heavily traveled. It was getting late for hitch hiking but Mike and I didn't want to stay in the town that night. An easy solution was the train we were on previously. We asked the new Chilean conductors if they could give us a ride and they said the couldn't. The new engines had a GPS and the company could tell when they made an unscheduled stop. Instead, Mike and I hopped on the back when the train was leaving the station. We high-fived and enjoyed the most spectacular scenery so far. We were on the train for an hour before if got dark. It was a full moon and the volcanoes were brightly illuminated. The purple and pink hues of the waning sunset created a jaw dropping scene. From here we climbed to 4000m through the second highest railroad on the continent and third highest in the world. We sat on a 1 foot by 5 foot section of steel, with our feet resting on the car couplings. The temperature dropped and the clothes went on. It made little difference. Five hours into our journey we realized we might have made a mistake. We were riding on a train which was climbing a pass with the temperature well below freezing and the windchill was brutal. The train was moving to fast to egress and even if we could get off, we were in the middle of no where. There were one or two lights many kilometers away and nothing else but desert and mountains. The moon was bright enough to cast a shadow of the train on the rocky ground below us. By this time Mike had taken out his sleeping bag and was trying to stay warm. I had a few more warm clothes so I was just biding my time, waiting for the journey to end. At one point the train stopped on adjacent tracks to let another engine by. At this time Mike and I hopped off and looked for a campsite. It was not until I was off the train that I realized how cold I was. I started shaking uncontrollably and I did not stop until I was warm in my sleeping bag.

The next day we woke up in the middle of a sea of sand and rock. Rolling hills followed the valley up to the volcanoes we had ridden past the night before. We consulted the map and roughly determined our location. We set off towards where we thought the road might be and after an hour or so of walking reached the road. After a few more hours of walking we caught one of the sparse rides back to Calama. It was nice to be in civilization again and I continued on to Santiago with out Mike, who headed North to Arica.

Bolivia: Part 1

It is amazing how quickly plans can change. On the evening of the 28th of April, Mike and I hopped on a night-time bus headed towards Copiapo. It is so much easier to book an overnight bus than stay at a hostel. First of all, your bed is included in the price, and second when you wake up you are in a new and exotic place. Copiapo was not exactly exotic, but it was certainly new. Desert surrounded us, sucking the moisture from our skin. High mountains were visible far off through the dry blue sky and every step stirred up a small cloud of dust. We had planned to go hiking with some locals in the mountains east of Santiago but one thing led to another and we caught the last bus to this little desert town in the middle of nowhere. Our real destination was San Pedro de Atacama, a glorious little tourist trap nestled in the heart of the Atacama Desert, the driest desert in the world. Walking to the end of town we stuck out our thumbs and quickly found a ride.




Hitch hiking in the North is much easier than what we experienced in the South. There are a great deal more people, and most are happy to stop and give you a ride. Some drive by with apathetic faces looking forward, but most who are only going up the road or have a full car make some sort of sad face and gesture wildly. In only two days we make it almost 1000km to San Pedro de Atacama. The drive to this dusty little town builds excitment in itself. 6000m snow-capped volcanoes scrape the sky to the North and West, following us as we drive the last stretch of desert road. Closer to San Pedro we drive through some amazing desert terrain: massive sand dunes and colorful, convoluted canyons.

The town itself is a bit of a tourist trap. Tour operators pull you off the streets with promises of 4x4 adventure in the desert, bike rentals are in every internet cafe and hotel and local shops are filled with traditional clothes and postcards. Mike and I pick the tour operator´s brains for information and then head to the outskirts of town to set up the tent and get some weight off our backs. This is one of the reasons I like the smaller towns. You can walk until there are no more people, and then it is just you and the wilderness. Our wilderness this time was only a deserted road, but it did just fine.

Back in town Mike and I ran into two English friends that we shared a room with in Santiago. Ellie and Nikki were in San Pedro for a day before thier 4x4 trip to Bolivia. The 4x4 trip was something that Mike and I wanted to do so we signed on and made plans to rent bikes and go sandboarding on our day off. Sandboarding is kind of like snowboarding but slower, more difficult, and when you fall (and you will fall), you get sand everywhere (the most unpleasant places). Still, it was worth the experience and the scenery was stunning: hazy, snowy volcanoes made the perfect backdrop to the smooth dunes and red dirt.

The next day started early at the tour office. We all loaded up on a bus headed towards the Bolivian border which was nearly 5000m on the Altiplano. The Altiplano is a plateau in the Andes between 4000m and 5000m. It has wetlands, lakes and geo-thermal features as well as 6000m volcanoes that belch steam into the atmosphere. At the Bolivian border we changed into Toyota Land Crusiers and set off through the high desert. The distances we covered in the next few days were immense. Off road driving was combined with short, fast stretches on dusty gravel roads. Lakes and mountains were everywhere. The fauna was commanded by flamingos in the hundreds at certain lakes but we also saw a healthy amount of llamas once we descended a little bit into Bolivia. The entire area is a geo-thermal hotspot and the majority of the mountains are symetrical volcanoes. There are also gysers and steam vents with boiling mud and hot springs that smell of sulfur.

Even though the scenery was spectacular, it was not my favorite part of the trip. I had not realized how much I had missed meeting and talking to new people since we had been so isolated for so long. Many of my new friends were from England: Ellie and Nikki who we had met earlier, Sophie and Rosie who went to the same university as Ellie and Nikki in Bristol but who were traveling seperate, Dave and Bethan, Gareth and Tony who had been living in England for over a decade but was actually from Sweeden. Finally we had Errin, from Canada, and Kristian, from Norway. We were a jovial bunch, split up between two jeeps but often stops allowed a great deal of time to hang out. The first night almost everyone was feeling ill from having spent the day at altitude. We were sleeping at almost 4500m that night and even a short walk left you out of breath. Luckily, Mike and I were well acclimated from our time on Marmolejo so we did not feel ill. After that first night everyone felt much better and we really started to enjoy each others company. It was the great conversations and late night card games while consuming multiple bottles of Bolivian wine that made this trip so awesome.

After three days of amazing volcanoes, lakes and animals we were in Uyuni preparing to head out to the salt flats of Salar de Uyuni. We spent the morning at an incredible train graveyard but the real attraction of Uyuni is the salt. The salar is the largest salt flat in the world occupying over 12,000 sq km. When we arrived I immediately regretted not bringing my sunglasses. The never ending sea of salt was blinding, reflecting white light out to the far horizons. On some coasts, mountains were visible, but on others, the white expanse terminated at the bright blue horizon. The scale created a dizzying feeling of vertigo which soon passed once everyone had started taking perspective pictures. After a delicious lunch (all of the meals on the tour were amazing) we loaded back into the Land Crusiers to head back to Uyuni. In the city we all said our goodbyes, exchanged contact information, and just like that, Mike and I were alone again. It was Thursday and we soon learned that no buses to Chile left until Sunday and no passenger trains until Monday. This was too long for us to stay in Bolivia so we set out hitch hiking in the Bolivian desert.

The events that followed turned out to be some of the most exciting and epic times I have had in South America. They will be chronicled in Bolivia: Part 2