I bought a USA Today, dated Feb. 28, and the current issue of Newsweek and caught up on my current events. The English newspapers are generally taken off the arriving airplanes, and you could clearly see where the "Complimentary Copy" sticker had been on mine. The headline was about the death of Deng in China.
I looked around the Old City and Miraflores some more, but for the most part was content to take it easy, do some reading, and write a few email messages to be sent out tomorrow.
While sitting in Plaza de Aramas, a family sat down on the bench next to mine and we spoke for a while. One woman was originally from near Lake Titicaca in Bolivia, and spoke Ketchwa (sp?), the local Indian language, in addition to Spanish. The man knew several phrases in English. As they left they handed me a wallet-size card, with a '97 calendar on one side and some scriptures on the other side. I believe they were Evangelicals, of which there seems to be quite a few in Lima. Last night on the bus, a woman saw me carrying my guidebook, which I keep in a zippered book cover, and asked if it was a "Biblia" (Bible). As she got off the bus she handed me a copy of a religious poem.
Ron, from Littlerock in Southern California, had been down here a month in Lima, visiting his girlfriend. He had met her when she was vacationing in the States. At one point, after I commented that I was only "two years behind" his 40 years, Ron replied something like, "Geez, here I'm 40, divorced, with two teenage kids, and a mortgage, and you're travelling around South America for a year." True, but he has the kids and they are now "out of the way" so to speak, allowing him to travel if he so wishes. He did comment, that, depending on how things went with his new girlfriend, and he said things were going well and she may visit him in the States in October, that he may find himself in the same position as I do, deciding if he wanted to have kids again (for me, not again) at 40.
Lisa, one of the women working at the clubhouse commented she'd be really glad when February/Carnaval was over because she was really getting tired of being the target of water balloons. She said at times it seemed like she was the only target. Just yesterday I saw a female tourist get doused with a bucket of water. She definitely was not ammused, and turned to go after her assailant, before having second thoughts.
I sent out a slew of email, mostly trip reports for January and February, which basically gets me caught up to date through February 15. Actually I haven't sent December's weekly reports yet, but have sent the December Summary. I still have to send most of the GPS data since Costa Rica, and hope to do that in Northern Chile, where I hope to stay at the home of the woman I met in Popayan, Colombia. It took 20 minutes to send 207K bytes at 14400 baud. Does that add up? I'm not sure I want to see that Sprint bill.
I started getting behind in my journal in San Jose, Costa, Rica at the time of the robbery, just jotting notes to myself, and haven't been caught up since. Obviously, having lost my modem cable, I couldn't send any email until I got a new cable in Quito, and that diminished my incentive to write complete trip reports. Once I had the cable back, I had a lot of catching up to do to have email-ready trip reports, and only now, here in Lima, feel caught up, more or less. Remembering this is a good incentive not to get behind again in the future. It's a real pain-in-the-ass.
I didn't get away from the clubhouse until 1:30, and then drove the short distance to Miraflores, where I found an ATM machine and grabbed lunch at a Burger King, my stomach still not fully recovered, and I wanted some familiar food. On the outskirts of Miraflores I gassed up. It was now 3pm, but I still had 3 hours of light and I hoped to get as far as Ica.
Once out of Lima, the terrain was desert. The first hundred kilometers had quite a few small beach resorts, and one, with a natural rock archway on the beach in a small semicircular cove was particularly pretty.
As had been the case along the PanAm Highway north of Lima, there were numerous sites with large battery chicken coops alongside the road. These consisted of row after row of long, low chicken coops, out in the middle of the desert.
I arrived in Ica about 6pm, but at the last traffic circle in town, turned west and drove the 3 km or so to the oasis village of Huacachina. Huacachina is a small village of only 100 or so people, built around an oasis nestled between two giant sand dunes. At the center of the oasis is a small lake, around which all the homes and 2 or 3 hotels are built. A Malecon is built around 3 sides of the lake, and when I arrived at dusk, numerous couples were strolling along it hand-in-hand, or sitting on the numerous benches along it, watching the fading light play off the lake surface.
What makes it even neater is that I'm sleeping at the bay used by the ancient Incas as a port for their capital city, Cusco, in the Andes. This cove, 10 km north of Chala, is known as Puerto Inca. There are ruins here of an Inca city built to support the activities of a port city. The ruins were only discovered in the 1950s.
The surrounding landscape looks more like a lunar landscape with wierd rock formations and jagged, craggy hills rising up from the north side of the bay. Set back from the beach, against some low rocky hills on the southeast side of the bay are the ruins. A stone storehouse with a long row of small 2 foot square doorways into the individual rooms. Numerous underground, stone-lined, domed circular chambers, resembling igloos or beehives in shape, are found throughout the site. Some are almost completely buried, except for a small hole in the top of the dome. Others are more exposed and tend to have more of their walls crumbling and falling apart. Many of these have bone fragments at the bottom. One area is a maze of rooms, some of the walls as high as 6-8 feet. From the hill behind, looking down on these ruins, with the bay in the background, it's a thought provoking sight. To picture the activities that must have been going on here, where I'm now walking, how many hundreds of years ago.
The south side of the bay, out to the point, is a rocky promenatory, interspersed with well-trod paths. Throughout the area one finds the remains of walls and buildings of unknown purpose.
My day started in Huacachina by being awoken by an earthquake about 5am. It was big enough to shake the bed and the building a bit. Tonight, a couple, from Arequipa, 100 miles south of here, and staying in one of the cabanas, said 'quakes are common in this area.
I slept for another hour after the 'quake and then got up and climbed the huge sand dune rising from across the street behind the hotel. It took me about 25 minutes with numerous stops to rest. It was a good workout as the sand would continually give way from beneath your feet. The result was your effective mileage was probably twice that actually walked.
I had thought about carrying my GPS with me as I climbed the dune, just for the novelty of having my track as I traipsed around on the dune. Also to get an idea of how tall it was. In the end I forgot to take it with me.
The views from top were spectacular, both of the oasis below, nestled between two huge sand dunes, and of the dunes and desert stretching off into the distance. At the center of the oasis is a good size lake surrounded by palm trees. A wide, concrete walkway goes around 3 sides of the lake and homes and 3 hotels line the sidewalk. Between the walkway and the lake itself was a narrow strip of beach and grass. Hotel Mossone at the east end of the lake was quite ritzy and looked very nice. Of course I had checked into the cheapest hotel, the Salvatierra (S12 with private bath). Around the outside of these hotels and homes, but only on the north, and east sides, ran a palm-lined street. There were a handful of other buildings further back from the lake on the east end, but that was it. The waiter at the restaurant last night said only a 100 people live in the village itself.
While sitting on top of the dune enjoying the view, I could see someone climbing up the dune way to the east. Eventually he walked out along the crest to where I was, continued on past me to the west to where the dune fell away, descended the dune almost to the western lakeshore, then climbed the dune on the south side of the lake. Do that everyday and you'll get your leg muscles in shape.
Descending the dune was easy. Take one step and slide down 2 more. Once down on pavement, walking felt abnormally harsh after the cushion-like feeling of walking down the dune. It's possible to rent sand-boards from the local food stands, They're basically the same thing as snow-boards. Not knowing how to snow-board, plus carrying a camara, I decided to stick with walking.
On the way out of Ica I stopped at the Regional Museum which has good displays of artifacts from the Paracas, Nazca, and Inca cultures found in this area. They had quite a few mummies, including several in which they were able to determine the cause of death as tuberculosous, trichonosis, and several other diseases. On mummy was of a child, in a sitting position, only about a foot tall, with all it's hair, and fingers and toes clearly distinguishable. Kind of creepy. Another display was of trepanned skulls. Trepanning is the practice of cutting or drilling holes in the skull, while the person is alive, for various medical treatments. There were mummified limbs with elaborate tattoos still visible on the now, gaunt, taught skin.
But the real reason I went to the museum was that, behind the museum, was a scale model of the Nazca lines and an observation platform to view it from. I thought it would give me a good orientation and help me decide whether to take a plane flight to view the lines. Inside the museum there was also additional information on the lines. In the gift shop I bought a small book describing the latest theories on the lines and showing photos and drawings of the designs. I basically decided not to pay the US$30-50 for a plane flight, but to observe the 2-3 figures visible from an observation platform built along the PanAm Highway.
Several miles south of Ica I passed a motorcycle traveler heading north. I turned around, shortly caught up with him, and we both pulled over to the roadside. Gunther was a German riding a Honda 650 NTV. It looked sort of like the Honda Hawk imported into the States for several years. It was very muddy, he said, from the road from Santa Lucia to Arequipa, a road I won't take until possibly on my way north. He had shipped his bike to Buenos Aires, Argentina in October, had gone south to Tierra del Fuego, and was now working his way north. It was kind of funny, because the name "Tierra del Fuego" meant nothing to him. and drew a blank look when I asked him about it. He simply talked about the town of Ushuaia, which is the southern-most town on Tierra Del Fuego. He hoped to be in California in April, then continue on north to Alaska, getting there in July or August. He had had no mechanical problems so far. His main difficulty was getting new tires for his bike. The rear was a particularly large tire and the alloy rim was of a design that he said required a machine to change the tire. He asked about the places I had bought tires and if they had tire changing machines. I haven't been following sport bikes closely in a number of years, but the rims on his wheels had very little, if any lip, and seemed to blend right into the tire. I can see where these would get screwed up quickly with a set of tire irons. Since they were tubeless, I guess he didn't plan to change any tires alongside the road. He had met Roger and Gordon, the two New Mexico bikers I had flown to Bogota with, many weeks before, farther south, but couldn't remember exactly where or when. They were still headed south at the time. We compared notes, and he showed me his route and gave me tips on which roads were good and which were bad. I answered some of his questions about the trip north, both in South and Central America, though the latter strained my memory a bit. He pretty much camped the whole way. His bike had a large, tall, German-made tankbag, two leather saddlebags and a huge bundle bungied on the back of the seat which he said was his tent. A pot handle stuck out of one saddlebag. We shook hands, wished each other luck, and headed off in our separate directions. In this area an irrigation viaduct paralleled the road and I saw about every use one can imagine, including women washing clothes, people sitting in it taking a bath, and people washing their cars and bicycles alongside it. The road continued southeast to Nazca. The area was desert, but at an elevation just high enough to be above the coastal fog and clouds which predominate near the coast. Small oasis were occasionally passed, but they were generally small. There was a region between Ica and Nazca where cotton was grown and the town of Palpa had numerous orange groves in the vicinity.
About 20km north of the city of Nazca I stopped at the small Maria Reiche Museum alongside the PanAm Highway. It had interesting displays about the Nazca Lines and the work of Maria Reich, the German researcher who devoted more than 30 years of her life to studying the lines. The site was located at the small one room house she lived in for most of those years, and it was open for viewing. She is now 93, and lives in Lima.
The Nazca Lines are etched into the desert floor over an immense area. There are both figures of animals, such as a monkey, spider, heron, hummingbird, lizard, a spaceman, and numerous straight lines which run, in various directions, for miles as far as the eye can see. The straight lines frequently end at small hills, some of which are thought to have been burial sites. Noone is really sure what the purpose of the figures or lines were, though there are many theories, some of them quite far out in left field. Those of Maria Reiche are given most credence. She claims they form a large astronomical calendar, and gives numerous calculations to support her claims.
A couple of miles south was the viewing platform, built and financed by Maria Reich, on the right side of the road. It was maybe 30 feet high and offered slightly oblique views of 3 of the nearby figures, a tree, a deformed human, and the lizard. The lizard, which the PanAm Highway split in two, was far enough off, that it was difficult to make out, and if I hadn't known that it was there, wouldn't have been able to pick it out.
About a mile farther south was a group of 3 small hills with trails to the top. Numerous straight lines, radiating in various directions, aligned with various points on the hills, and by walking around you could line up with them and see them stretch away to the horizon.
Both the figures and lines are called geoglyphs and are cut into the desert floor, exposing the lighter colored earth and rock beneath the desert surface..
As I passed through Nazca there were numerous small charter air companies offering flights over the Lines. But having seen what I had, at the museums, the observation points, and with the small book I had bought, decided my time and money would be better spent elsewhere.
South of Nazca the road turned south, continuing through scenic desert and eventually regained the coast at Lomas. It had left the coast back at Pisco the previous day. At one point the road went right along the beach, with strong gusty winds, and low overhanging clouds, and it was quite cool. Drifting sand was blown across the road in several spots. The road then switchbacked up to a low plateau a couple hundred feet above sealevel and more-or-less would follow the coast 350 km south to Camana, my intended destination for tonight.
The plateau was relatively flat and one could see the road stretching away, straight, in the distance. But it was deceiving, as numerous gullies with dry streambeds cut through the plateau down to the sea, and the road would suddenly make a 90 degree turn inland to climb down into and then back out of these ravines. One had to be careful to watch the road and not the scenery. More than one corner caught me by surprise going a bit too fast.
Passing Puerto Inca, it was already 5pm, and while I could have pushed on to Camana and made it by 6:30 I decided to stop and camp at the bay at Puerto Inca. Maybe it was talking with Gunther today that triggered it, I don't know.
After exploring the Inca ruins I had dinner at the restaurant just off the beach. I had a covina fillet, which is fish with white meat. The couple from Arequipa, dining at the table next to mine, offered me a ride south in their pickup, loading the bike in the back, to which he quickly added, unless I preferred riding. I thanked him for the offer, but said I did prefer riding, and besides I wasn't sure we could get my bike in the bed of his pickup, even if I had wanted to. It was a brand-new pickup, but had one of those short beds.
Just as I was getting my riding gear on, the locals were mounting a major fishing operation, and I had never quite seen it done this way, so I stuck around a few minutes to watch. A small motor boat dropped off the line attached to one end of the net near shore, where a boy waded out and pulled the line ashore. The boat then went in a huge semicircular arc, out into the bay and then returned to shore some 100-200 yards up the beach. He just ran the boat up onto the beach, raising the motor and prop at the last minute. Then ten men grabbed the line at each end and began pulling it ashore. The boat had gone 300 yards or so out into the bay, so it took 10 minutes of pulling before any net was even seen. Finally the net and it's contents was pulled ashore. They landed a good number of different type of fish, most about 12-16 inches long, but some bigger.
I left around 10:30; so much for an early start. 10 km south was the fishing village of Chala. From there the next 220 km south to Camana, the road more or less followed the coast, and the terrain was desert interspersed with a few small oasis. Sometimes the road would run ontop the coastal hills, other times right down on the beach. I spotted numerous condors wheeling and circling on the thermals and currents off the coastal slopes.
Surprisingly, I had rain on this stretch of road, something I wasn't expecting here, because every guidebook I read said it rarely rained along the coastal desert. It wasn't heavy rain, but enough that I stopped and put my Aerostich pants on. It made the road slippery in places, from accumulated road grime and oil, and after the bike got squirrelly in one corner, I slowed my pace down even more.
Several people asked if I write entries in my journal during the day, or just at night, and how I remember things that happened during the day. I only write entries at night, occasionally a day or two later, and during the day I pick a keyword for every topic I want to write about, then try to arrange the keywords into a phrase which I then remember. For example, today while riding, over a short period, I remembered I wanted to write about my speeds yesterday (80 mph), the condors, and the man who offered to transport my bike in the pickup truck. That became "80 condors and a pickup truck", which in my mind I thought of as the name of some punk rock group. I know, kind of stupid, but it works for me. Occasionally at the end of the day, I'll remember the keyword, but not the details.
Curves are very inconsistantly signed, or not signed at all. You have to really stay alert or one sneaks up on you going a bit too fast.
There were several places between Chala and Camana, at Atico and Ocona, where large rivers emptied into the Pacific, and the road took a big, looping route inland a ways to cross the rivers by bridge, before returning to the coast. Both rivers were churning, brown, muddy torrents, and I wondered if they were always like that, or if it was a result of recent rain in the mountains. At the first of these, at one spot the road was covered by about 50 yards of foot-deep water. The road, approaching Ocona from the north, had been on top of the high coastal plateau. It turned inland and dropped down to sea level to cross the Rio Ocona. The entire flat-bottommed river valley was covered in bright green rice paddies, from the beach where the river emptied into the Pacific and for quite some distance upstream. Quite a beautiful sight against the backdrop of barren, sand-covered hills and dunes. Across the river valley, looking south, the PanAm Highway followed the base of the hills on the far side of the river valley, before again climbing up to the high coastal plateau and disappearing in the desert over the horizon.
At Camana the PanAm turned inland and climbed up onto a 3000+ foot plateau, still barren desert, but with some interesting sand dunes at several places. The last 5-10 miles before Camana, the narrow strip of land between the PanAm and the beach was irrigated and a resembled a patchwork quilt of various shades of green. Once up on the plateau, the cross-wind picked up, and it was interesting to see a huge bus approach from the other direction, also noticably heeled over, but with the wind, not into it. I'm not sure I'd want to ride on that bus.
The road continued inland for 134 km to the turnoff for Arequipa and the road east to Puno and Cuzco. I'd be picking those areas up on my return north. At the intersection, I stopped to gas up, having put 340 miles on this tank. I had S50 left to get me across the border tomorrow. Between Camana and the junction had been the Siguas and Vitor river valleys, each with beautiful descents down into and climbs back out of them.
The hills and mountains in this region had a redish, pinkish tint, and much of the sand in the surrounding desert was reddish also. However there was also white sand, and against the pink hills and mountains, it resembled snow.
At one point I encountered some road warning signs saying "TREN". My guess was confirmed when I crossed the railroad tracks. It was the first time I had seen signage with that word. Most other countries had seemed to use ferrocarril (railroad).
From the junction, the PanAm headed south and I encountered some more rain, and the thickest fog of the trip so far. I had to slow to 25-30 mph. I hoped I didn't encounter any unsigned 90 degree turns. Eventually the road dropped down off the plateau and below the level of the clouds and visibility improved. A little while later the road climbed up to a 4000+ foot plateau, but there was no problem with fog, and once on top the road was straight as an arrow, in great condition, with great visibility, and I cruised at 90 mph for a while. However, I found the wind more tiring at that speed and dropped down to the 75-80 mph, which I had been doing most of the day when the road and conditions permitted.
I stopped for the night in Moquegua, a small city of 110,000, and got a room at the Hotel Limoneros for S20 (US$8), with sink, but shared bath. I had had a late lunch at 3:30 back at the junction, and wasn't hungry, and after a shower and washing some clothes, fell asleep at 9pm.
Before leaving Tacna I bought the required "Relaciones de Pasajeros" document from a local bookstore, in preparation for the border crossing. Four copies are required, three turned in on the Peruvian side, and the final turned in on the Chilean side. My guidebook said they cost US$0.45, though it didn't say if that was for one or four forms. The clerk charged me S1.8 (US$0.72) but insisted I take the whole pad of forms, probably more than 30. I said I only needed four forms, which she acknowledged was true, but still insisted that the S1.80 bought the whole pad. I still can't figure that one out.
Back at the bike, there was a disabled man in a wheelchair who watched the vehicles parked in that area, and even though I had taken all my usual security precautions of locking and covering the bike, and wasn't really worried about it's security, I gave him a buck when I left.
Peruvian drivers like to flash their lights at you when they pass you coming the other direction. As far as I can tell it's just to say hi, given the relative infrequency of traffic on the PanAm Highway in most places.
Riddle: How do you know when it's time to trim or pluck your nose hairs? Answer: When they tickle when you go 80mph on a motorcycle. There is no truth whatsoever to the rumor that that is based on actual experience. It's just a riddle!
While today I had sun the whole day, yesterday I only saw the sun for maybe a half hour the whole day. Interesting contrast.
I arrived at the border about 2pm. This was the first border so far this trip where I had to open my saddlebags and topcase for inspection; on both sides of the border too! Supposedly this is primarily to check for fruit and vegetables to combat cholera. The Peruvian side was not entirely straight forward. The quadruple copies of the "Relaciones de Pasajeros" ensured this. I first went it Immigration where I got the exit stamp in my passport. However he also wanted one of the copies, but after it was stamped by a customs official, and he wouldn't return my passport until I returned with that document. I found the needed customs official, wearing the official black customs uniform, wandering around in the parking lot. After he inspected the contents of my motorcycle he stamped one of the copies, and also filled out the exit portion of my Libreta for Peru. Fortunately I didn't have to completely unload everything, just open the lids, explain what was in each saddlebag and topcase, and let them look into a couple random bags in each. I returned to immigration, gave him the copy the customs official had stamped, and the official in Immigration added a stamp of his own, handed it back to me along with my passport and said to go to the Customs window. There, I handed all four copies, my Libreta, and my passport to the official. He looked through everything and said I needed another stamp on one of the as yet unstamped copies of the "Relaciones" document. He indicated the official was out in the parking area. So I traipsed back out there and eventually found this official, not wearing any kind of uniform, and who simply stamped the copy I handed him, without looking at the bike or any other document. Why the official inside couldn't have just as easily done this is beyond me. Armed with this final piece of the puzzle I returned to the Customs window. They kept this copy and a third, as yet unstamped, copy, added a third stamp to the first copy and returned it to me, and filled out the Libreta and returned it to me after removing the exit section. I was almost done on the Peruviana side. All I had to do was go to the Peruvian National Police window and get a final, fourth stamp on the first copy, then ride to the final booth along the road and show my passport and turn in the first copy of the "Relaciones" document. With that, 4 km later and I was in Chile. It had taken about an hour on the Peruvian side. Chilean Customs and Immigration was several miles south of the border, but was more straight forward. It doesn't pay to try to anticipate. When I had first arrived at Peruvian border control I had parked in a regular spot for cars. A guard came up an told me to move the bike and park it at the side along the traffic lane. No problem. When I arrive at the Chilean border control area, I decide not to take a car parking space, but to park along the side, out of the way. You guessed it, a guard came over and told me I should park in a parking space.
Procedures were straight-forward. One window where I got a tourist card, filled out for me by the official no less, and an entry stamp in my passport. A second window, where I showed my motorcycle title and got issued a document for my motorcycle. They also stamped the fourth and final copy of the "Relaciones" document. Then I rode 40-50 yards to a checkpoint where I had to open my luggage for inspection and they added another stamp to the fourth copy, which the guard at the final checkpoint collected as I rode past. Then I was in Chile officially and heading south to Arica. It was 3:45 Peruvian time, but 5:45 Chilean time since there is a one hour difference normally, plus an extra hour during daylight savings time, which ends Saturday, March 8.
Arica is only 20 km south of the border and I went into the center to find an ATM machine to get Chilean Pesos. Many banks have ATMs labeled "Redbank" and these supposedly all work with System Plus ATM cards. The one I tried one half block away from the San Marcos church worked. Exchange rate for the Chilean Peso is about 425 P/US$.
The San Marcos church, in Plaza Colon, was built in iron by Eiffel, and was brought to Arica from Ilo Peru in the 19th century, while Arica was still part of Peru. It was brought as an emergency measure after a tidal wave had swept over Arica, destroying all its churches. The church is small, with a bell tower on one side, and is beautifully painted.
Since it was 6pm, local time, the next major town/city was Iquique (derived from the Aymara Indian word meaning place of rest and tranquility), 304 km south, and in between was the Atacama desert subject to camanchaca, sea mist, at night, I decided to get a hotel here in Arica. Easier said than done. I went to 4-5 cheap Residencias before I found one, Residencial Valencia on Gral Velasquez, which had enclosed parking out back. It was a very nice hotel, run by a friendly lady, and the price was cheaper, P3500 (US$8.00), than at several of the others. The price included breakfast the next morning. Bathroom was shared.
After a shower, I walked several blocks to an area where several streets had been converted into a pedestrian mall, and had dinner. The area was crowded with people shopping and strolling around looking at the crafts for sale in the artesans booths which lined several blocks. After dinner I tracked down the source of the music I had heard. The street in front of the harbor, Maximo Lira, was blocked off, large bleachers were set up along it, and a parade was in progress. Several groups, with dancers and musical instruments, performed. Some of the groups were dressed in what looked like traditional costumes, while one group seemed to be in Egyptian motif costumes. Vendors were throughout the area selling food and trinkets.
As a backdrop for the parade was the towering headland of El Morro, not a half block away. The whole face of the masif is lit at night, and on top, where the Museo Historico y de Armas is located, a Chilean flag flies, visible from below. When viewed from Plaza Colon, with its towering palm trees, it's an impressive sight.
Today was just a long blast south through the Atacama desert, 466 miles, from Arica to AAntofagasta, Chile. For the most part the desert is on a high plateau, between 3500 and 4000 feet, and is completely devoid of vegetation. Most places have had no recorded rainfall since records have been kept.
The road cut straight across the desert, interrupted only about four times between Arica and Iquique, by deep canyons where rivers had cut down through the high plateau on their way to the sea. Here the road would make an abrupt turn to begin its descent down along the sides of these canyons to the river, frequently dropping down to as low as 300 feet before climbing up the other side to the plateau once again. At the second such of these the road dropped down the side of one canyon to the river, where a second canyon and river intersected it, and the road followed the bottom of the second canyon for a while before climbing back up to the plateau and turning to resume its way south. The rivers at the bottoms of these canyons were more like small streams, but the canyon bottoms were generally irrigated and offered the only greenery to be seen.
I stopped at the Geoglifas de Chiza, right along the roadside. The geoglyphs are geometric shapes as well as figures of humans, birds and animals made by ancient Indian cultures, by placing dark stones on the lighter sand background of the hillsides. Some are quite large, as high as 400 feet.
At Pozo Almonte the PanAm continued south, but I turned west to Iquique on the coast. There was a coastal road south, which runs at the foot of the 1600 foot cliffs which line most of the coast in this region, rejoining the PanAm at Antofagasta. This route was about 100 km shorter than the PanAm and offered views of the rugged coastline and small fishing communities along the way. All my maps showed part of it as being dirt, but my guidebook said paving was in progress in '95, and the German biker I met near Nazca said the road was in good condition.
The road was in excellant condition, and I continued cruising at 80-85 mph, interrupted only to slow down for the intermittant corners. Just north of the port of Tocopilla, there was a customs post where they checked for duty-free goods, Iquique having a duty free shopping area, and I had to get my bike documents stamped.
I arrived in Antofagasta at 6pm and decided to call it a day, although I probably had a couple of hours of light left. Once again, I had problems finding a cheap hotel with parking, trying four with no luck. One, where I could have got the bike through the front door into their courtyard, claimed they were full, but by the reaction of the man, I got the feeling he didn't want my bike parked in his courtyard. There haven't been many incidents like that on this trip. People usually go out of their way to help me park the bike. I finally took a room at the expensive Hotel San Marcos, where a room cost P14500 (US$34). Ouch!! But I had exceeded my hassle threshhold in looking for a hotel, and decided to pay (through the nose). The room was nice, but not exceptional, but definitely a class above the usual hotels I stay in. But it had nice, strong, hot water, and a large, soft, fluffy towell, and I guess that was what I was paying for. It also had a secure parking garage for the bike.
But the hotel bill, combined with my gas bill of P22714 (US$53) really shot my budget. In fairness, I had gassed up first thing this morning, and also just before stopping for the day. Gas (93 octane, not the more expensive 97 octane) cost about US$2.27 per gallon. These long distances rewally blow the budget quickly. I might have to camp more just to keep expenses down. My mileage for the day, having cruised at 80-90 mph for much of the distance, was 30.5 mpg.
I stopped for gas and a late afternoon lunch in Chanaral. From Chanaral, 55 miles south to Caldera, the road followed the rugged coastline. Whereas along the coast yesterday, north of Antofagasta, the road ran at the foot of immense cliffs, here the mountains were set farther back from the coast.
Having cruised at 85 mph for most of the way, and having faced a headwind for large stretches, my mileage for the day was 28.8 mpg.
In Caldera, I hoped to look up Margaret Mercado, who I had met in Popayan, Colombia, and who had given me her address here in Caldera. She hadn't left a phone number, and after finding the address she gave me, noone was home, so I returned to the main plaza in town and got a room at the Residencia Millaray for P4000 (US$9). That was more my price than last nights room.