3-16-10 Putre, Chile

I am propped up in my bed in a humble room in the town of Putre, just across the Chilean border at circa 11,500'. Yes, walking is difficult here, especially since we came directly from sea level, arriving here in only 90 minutes.

Today we packed things up and were ready to leave the hostel in Arequipa at 7:15 when we became aware of a slight problem. We'd jumped the bikes up over the curb then dropped down a large step into the hostel when we arrived two days ago. Upon looking at the step leading up to the curb, we realized that it was pretty tall. I asked the hostel clerk if he had a ramp which he clearly did not. I then pried up a man-hole cover to use as a ramp but was saddened to find it chained-down. I then went back to my room, grabbed a wool blanked and rolled it in a tight tube, about 4" in diameter. I then wrapped my blue sleeping pad around the blanked. I then placed this cushy mass in front of the step which made a tiny ramp for us, just enough to launch out of the hostel. I came close to drilling another Peruvian boy who didn't heed Mark's warning when I landed on the sidewalk.

Before riding out of town we walked over to a little market to buy some bottled water. On the way back a creatively-built trash truck pulled up next to us to pick up a pile of garbage on the corner. It smelled, well, like a garbage truck.  It was belching black smoke, honking for no reason and had some horrible music playing far too loudly.  We were happy to get passed the truck which then pulled up alongside us again, picking up more trash.  We hurried our pace though it was in vain. The trash truck followed us the rest of the block, Mark and I laughing as it seemed to be quite representative of our time here in Peru.
While zipping out of town I had a taxi try to cut in front of me which I did not approve of so I kicked his bumper. I looked back and he honked at me and was flapping his arms in anger. Mark then rode next to him and game him a good stomp as well, that's how we do things. We eventually made it to the main road, but there was no road leading to it so we jumped some curbs, cut down some sidewalks and hopped off another curb before we were on our way.

We were in need of gas so we stopped at the first gas station on the way out of town.  Almost every gas station south of the States is full service which seems to be quite a bit slower than self-serve.  We pulled in and asked the guys to fill us up with 90 octane.  He said he didn't know if he had any 90 octane.  There was a pause. I then asked him if he could...um...maybe go find out if there is any 90 octane.  The attendant chirped at two of other workers who went scurrying around the gas station, looking at pumps and darting in and out of the building.  He then told us he didn't think he had any 90. Fine, I said. I'll take 95 octane. Oh, we don't have any of that.  Do you have any gas at this gas station? I asked feeling somewhat frustrated but aslo seeing the humor in it.  "No, we have no gas".  

We were able to hit another station who managed to fill us up and we were on our way.
Breakfast consisted of loma saltado, basically fajita meat. It was edible, served on a bed of rice with a nice cup of hot water and some instant coffee. I asked the lady where the bathroom was and she just pointed towards the side of the restaurant/shack, so I went to exactly where she pointed and relieved myself in the dirt.

We were excited to hit Chile and just as excited to be out of Peru which was not what I expected.  I'd never heard anything bad about Peru in the past, however, most people who travel here to to Lima, Cuzco and Machu Picchu. To say that these three places represent the rest of Peru would be quite erroneous. Lima is alright, another big city and I'm sure Cuzco has it's highlights. But as far as I can tell, the rest of the country is a dump.  That being said, I'm guessing I'll be living here someday if I continue working in the mining industry as there are tons of mines throughout the country which employ a large number of Americans.
We hit the town of Tacna which is the last main town before the border. I asked somebody where the road to the Chilean border was and was told I had to go to some 'passport office' first which I thought was wrong so I asked another person who confirmed my suspision. He also told me that I was headed the wrong way to get to the border and that I had to turn around to take a road parallel to the road I was on, perhaps 50 feet away. "Can't I just turn at the next corner?" I asked and he mutterd then started smashing his fingers together. I repeated myself and he did more sign language, which I interpreted to mean 'one way road'. I rode off shaking my head and made it to the corner, took a right and was on my way to the border where we had one last ordeal with Peru.
We pulled up to some booth with a lazy eyed kid about my age go told me to go to the other side of his little guard shack. I did, he swivveled around in his chair and talked to me on that side instead. Whatever. He then told me to go inside to do my paperwork (no signs, of course). Upon getting inside we were told by some mumbling multi-chinned man to go outside to get some other piece of paper. We went outside, found the guy with the 'cafe' colored shirt and got our paperwork from him. I asked for a pen. He had one next to him, unused and said 'no'. So Mark and I took turns using his little aerospace pen. We were then allowed back into main office where fatso gave us a stamp. One last stop at a 'casita' where some guy reading the newspaper took my paperwork and passport and handed it to the guy next to him without glancing up. We got our last stamps, and rode off to the Chilean side smiling.

Chile was instantly different in a pleasant way, though their accents are difficult. Things work here as they should. We were given some paperwork to fill out. I asked for a pen, 'of course', the clerk said. 'In Peru they don't have pens' I said to the guy and he laughed.
I ran all my luggage through a metal detector while Mark had a dog sniff his. It only took an hour and we were on our way. The road was a steady climb except for little river-crossing dips which were fun, roller-coster like bumps that made my innards float a bit upon jumping into it as well as out of it.
This road was even more deserted. We passed maybe 3 cars in all 90 minutes of riding up to the town. We stopped for a few pictures, including some of wild llamas (please say with Spanish accent  'yamas').

We pulled in to the little town of Putre which is near the border of both Bolivia and Peru.  It was a small, unorganized town for the most part with cobblestone streets with a deep gutter running down the center which we were made sure to keep our tires out of.

We found a little hotel, dropped our things and walked to the nearest restaurant where we had some delicious alpaca pizza. Burrrrrrp! Very good.