L´chaim... yes the hills are still alive

...with the sound of music, what else. After my trek past la Quebrada de San Lorenzo, I returned to town for a day before leaving for points further north, and wouldn´t you know it, the sinfonia in town had a open air concert in the plaza de 9 de julio. Of course I decided to attend, especially since the poster said comedias musicales. I looked at the program and was disappointed for a second. I read ¨La Novicia Rebelde¨ ¨Mi Bella Dama¨ Ël Violonista en el Tejado¨ and ¨West Side Story.¨ It took a minute to sink in that these weren´t just some local Spanish language musical comedies and that I knew more than just West Side Story. The Rebel Noviate... wait a minute - that must be my good friend Maria von Trapp. And Mi Bella Dama and El Violnista en el Tejado tranlate easily to old favorites My Fair Lady and Fiddler (ok techniquement Violinist on the Roof, but I got the picture). So the Saltenos and I enjoyed a night under the stars with some real classics. The concert, with the locals humming along to the music, drove hum how similar South America is to the US, especially compared with India. But ok enough about the post-trek music... here´s a bit on La Quebrada hike.

Climbing up out of the quebrada, or gorge, I moved from wet jungle to clear views of the valley. Overlooking the flat city with shiny buildings in the distance reminded me of the hikes I took while studying abroad in Granada. Then, as in now, I was thrilled to be up in the mountains, looking down. There is no better place. After the 2 hour climb out of the valley I made my way just below the ridgeline, with ups and downs, and views of the valley on one side and rolling hillsides stretching out on the other. As the wind picked up and clouds threatened me with rained, I sat down by Lago Bravo (or something) for a rest. I renamed it Tapps that 2 / Sludge Lake in honor of the nice layer of green sludge that covered most of the surface of the lake. I watched the leaves on the lake that left tracks of clear water in their wake after being blown by the wind. It was loud by the lake, like the sound of generators at an overused campsite, but it was nothing man-made: the ranas (frogs) were just announcing their presence. The intermittent drops of rain on the little bit of lake that wasn´t covered reminded me of my visit to the Pitti Palace gardens in Florence, the rain drops breaking up the reflection I would have seen otherwise.

I enjoyed splashing through little streams as the trail wound its way upwards through another quebrada. I sampled a local plant, a kirusilla. It was about 3ft tall, with a single curling leaf on top. The stalk, or stem really, was over an inch thick and covered with little spikes that looked like they would hurt but were actual pliable to the touch. Manuel ripped out a stalk from the root and peeled out the outer layer, handing me the white flesh of the center. It was sugary sweet, juicy, and wonderfully cool after the long walk.

This ¨hut¨ was a building by a farm that the farmers offered out to hikers. There was no idllyic Swiss countryside living--with no other buildings in site and a 5-7 hour walk to town, this was real mountain (dare I say wilderness?) living. Life was rough there--the faces of the farmers reflected that. Their role as hosts was a mere economic exchange. I got a handshake and then they went back to work. The older couple merely offered a cot in a mud brick hut--the room across from their own room, in fact. Tiny windows with misshapen wooden shutters offered light by day but the warped boards promised to let in the cool air at night. Down the path 200 meters were other farm buildings, the musty cooking hut and buildings that offered protection to the animals. This was just a place to sleep. There was no hot meal at the end of the day made with fresh milk or meat. Just the crackers and cheese we brought from below (of course that is fine for me for one night--it is more the difference with other lodgings for trekkers that families offer that I am highlighting here). There were lots of dogs around - at least six - and I was surprised by the fact that they didn´t try to snatch my food away even though it was on a stool at their level. I only learned the name of one of the dogs. The senora of the farm kept yelling ¨Willy¨ ¨Willy¨ as if that was the only dog that was being mischevious (kind of like our neighbors do with one of their triplets).

I watched the goats and sheep come down the hill for milking near sunset. Most of the cows made it back too, but we could see the outline of a couple cows way up on the hillside, sillouetted in the fading light. The men ran up the hill to round up the cows. I went to bed early, spreading the puma skin over my sleeping back in case I got cold. I made sure that the head was facing toward my feet, so I wouldn´t wake up with a snarling animal in my face.

As it turned out, the night was so warm, I threw of my puma skin during the night. I hung him up properly in the morning, though. Before I left, I watched a calf being lassoed. The usual.

I collected more kirusillas, even better on this day since it was warmer and sunnier. I strapped them to the back of my pack, thinking that was a pretty good look for me (maybe it was, but it wasn´t the best place for the kirusillas--they ended up falling off during my descent in the jungle. oops). We stopped in the afternoon at Manuel´s abuela´s farm. She was a real abuelita-- referring to everything in the diminuitive form. Manuel brought her kirusillas - Ay las kirusillitas! We should sit in the shade (sombra)? La sombrita! She was impressed with out (not so big) packs and the fact that we carried them all this way. I think she takes a horse to go into town. I bid goodbye to the sombrita and the comfortable breeze of the mountainside and descended the rest of the way back to the start of the San Lorenzo reserve. Coming back to civilization meant luxuries like fresh alfajores oozing dulce de leche. Well, that AND musical comedies under the stars. A good day.

I took a long bus ride over the mountains, stopping in Calama for a wonderful peek into Chilean family life. My couchsurfing host Pablo brought me to his house in time for his tia´s birthday fiesta. There were all kinds of sweet goodies on the table, not to mention bottomless cups of rich hot chocolate and birthday cake. Despite all the food, however, what caught my attention was the way the family gathering was not about the food-it was about conversation and just being together. I saw a procession in the streets of the Calama, accompanied by dancers in the flashiest costumes I have ever seen.

Another long bus ride, this time overnight, to Arica and I was much closer to the park I was aiming for. I left my big pack in the bus station luggage storage so I could get around the city easily. I hopped in a colectivo to the center of town and walked around inquiring about trails and transportation in Lauca National Park. Another new CS friend, Christian, made my life so much easier by meeting me (and my bag) at the station and later taking me to the big store to stock up for the trip inland. This morning, he even dropped by La Paloma bus to Putre. I slept the whole way up - 3 hours and almost 3500 meters up. That is as high as Leh in Ladakh. I feel better then when I landed in Leh way back in September, perhaps because I didn´t fly here. But I still decided to take the day slowly in order to get accustomed to the high altitude. I made more inquiries about the trails I can take. I will start by staying in Parinacota and go from there to the refugio by Lake Chungara. This is a parched landscape, dry and dusty, despite the promises of summer rains every afternoon. This is a small city, one story buildings and dirt roads, with no gas station or big grocery store. During the afternoon, the roads were eerily quiet. took a short walk along a dusty trail, passing a kids´ futbol game on the return. It will be an early night then I am off, making my way to Parinacota for a few days.

Happy 24th to Becca! (wow)