My original intention had been to continue heading east, through Bolivia and into Paraguay, but I was getting a bit tired of the altitude – it left me out of breath all the time, and so I couldn’t really be as active as I wanted to be. Also the intermittent cold and rain was a bit of a drag too. So I’ve headed south and west instead, and now here I am, renewing my acquaintance with the Pacific, after a scenic ride from La Paz (see pictures).
Yesterday and today I went sunbathing, for the very first time in my entire adult life. I mean I literally went down to the beach and lay down with the specific intention of getting a suntan, as opposed to just meandering around outdoors on a day that happened to be sunny. Normally I scoff at men who covet suntans, but I claim justification for myself in that my forearms and head and neck have unavoidably gone brown already, and my milky white torso is thus presenting an ever more ridiculous contrast. There’s one T-shirt in my bag which I can’t really wear right now, because it’s a bit looser around the neck than the others and it leaves my appallingly vivid tan lines on open display. Fingers crossed a few sessions on the beach should even things up a bit.
Arica reminds me of Huanchaco in Peru: it's clearly a popular tourist destination for locals, and it's starting to attract a little bit of gringo attention too, but it would take huge investment and co-ordination to turn it into a major international draw. One problem is that, despite the two nice beaches to the north and south of the town respectively, the coastline of the town centre itself is occupied by a large and not especially pretty cargo port - 40-foot Maersk containers and cranes everywhere. I dare say the port is good for the local economy, so maybe on the whole the place is best left as it is.
Admittedly, apart from sunbathing, I haven’t really done much else here other than have an embarrassing encounter at the lavanderia (launderette), where the woman on the counter sifted all the way through my dirty clothes piece by piece - sand-encrusted socks, sweat-sodden underpants, the works - right in front of me. The price she eventually quoted for this single load of washing was 8500 Chilean pesos, about £11. At first I thought she'd gotten her maths wrong; then I wondered if maybe she was just overcome with disgust at my underwear and wanted rid of me. I eventually twigged, after having excused myself and gone elsewhere, that the sign on that first shop had actually said lavaseco - meaning dry cleaners. Live and learn.
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| The desert and the mountain |
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| Near the Bolivia / Chile border |
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| Arica town centre, complete with rocking-horse and rocking-elephant, for reasons unknown |
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| Arica |
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| The south beach at Arica, as recently graced by Edd 'Mitch Buchanan' Major |
