
Roaming Through Chile: Five Impressions
By: Miguel Lasala and Mark Diehnel
(page 1 of 5)
Arica Bound in the Atacama Desert: Northern Chile
Barreling down the Andes onboard an Arica bound bus then cutting through the vast Mars-like Atacama Desert in Northern Chile has a strange way of setting all things man-made into the foreground.
When a large rock is moved, or a ditch is dug, the almost non-existent rain here allows scars of human activity to remain on the surface indefinitely, at least until the next earthquake.
The Atacama’s dry and brutal landscape, 50 times drier than California’s Death Valley, is a scene of more than a hundred and fifty ghost towns, scattered and defunct nitrate mines, and very little in the way of life except for the occasional bundle of shrubs;
(or someone growing roses and geraniums in the lee of singular mud-brick house surrounded by sea of tumbling bone-dry soil.)
To experience this place for the 8 to 10 hour bus ride from La Paz is in many ways a perfect palate cleanser for a long sought out introduction to the rich Chilean Seafood that awaits in the costal city of Arica.
Related Articles
A look beyond the political, health and economic hardships that so often bring Africa to media attention reveals a burgeoning continent teaming with potential in the economic, professional and natural resource sectors. This emerging Africa is further fortified by its rich cultural heritage rooted in regional diversity, tradition and collective history. Scanning Africa’s western coast a country stands out as the poster child for everything the New Africa has to offer.
I arrived in Morocco on an April morning after a long but pleasant flight from Qatar. As the terminal in Casablanca filled with the morning’s soft golden haze I felt as if I had traveled back in time. To be precise it felt like I had traveled back to the 1960s (or at least the version of the 1960s that existed in my mind after years of absorbing several archived portraits of pop culture, both conscious and unconsciously). The set up was compact and minimal with long hallways and low ceilings.
We slip back into the Southwest quietly, going exactly the speed limit after having just gotten our second speeding ticket in a month in Colorado, where cops don’t appreciate our California plates. My wife and I are on a two-month long road trip, a delayed honeymoon—the honeymoon we would’ve started the day after our wedding if I hadn’t wrecked my car a week before on the Bay Bridge coming out of Oakland. All that stands between us, and our home in Long Beach, is the red cliffs and flat desert of the Southwest.











Comments
Post new comment