I slept like the dead last night, although Silvio shifted around in the night. There was the noise from trucks and the gas station, but after we’d eaten I was so fried that I persevered. This morning we woke late, and had a leisurely breakfast with the treats Silvio had bought in preparation for my arrival. He laid out a meal of bread and dulce de leche and made ginger tea. It was closer to noon than dawn when we hit the road again, and with infrequent stops to pay less than the going rate for the tolls, for the truck’s wheels are hidden by the body so it can pass as a small truck, we wound towards the coast, through the unusually heavy rainfall north. We stopped a few times to eat and hang out, although the best spot was right beside the Pacific, and with the huge waves beating on the rocks, and horses resting on the shore, Silvio discussed our direction with an old working man who bicycled past us.
Silvio survives partly in his traveling by his show of respect for the people he meets. People immediately warm to him, and before long they are telling him what he should stop to see. In this case, the man explained that we should go to see the geyser in Mellos. It is an old volcano which left a lava tube through which the sea surges and sprays salt water into the air. Unfortunately as we went to see it, a rain started, and although we bought some food at a small shop and chatted up the proprietor to see where we might leave the truck, she explained that the weather was bad and getting worse and it would be dark soon, so it might not be worth our while.
We talked to another couple from San Pierdo de Camas who shared information with us about where we should go, and gave us their contact information in case we managed to come their way. They reminded us of the salt mine ghost towns that Felipe had told me about, and we determined that we should go there.
On the way north huge windmills began to dot the hills, as Chile harvests the energy off the winds from the ocean. We took some pictures that do little justice for the vista, for the throbbing of the ocean below, the dry hills around, and the monstrous masts hanging over the landscape made a majestic sight. This is how we could all live, using the wind so freely offered for fuel, and varying the landscape with our accomplishments rather than our trash.
It was dark by the time we approached Socos, and we stopped at a gas station where free bathrooms, trucker 1000 peso showers, and security cameras assured us of a good night’s sleep. True to form, Silvio and I approached a Volkswagen camper van and talked to the driver who proved to be a Brazilian traveling with her girlfriend. They are going to Machu Pichu, and we had a longer chat with them which ended in sharing details and debating traveling together.
They left for La Serena, but we found Socos more than serene enough for us so we settled in for the night.
