The Atacama desert has been on my wish list since Robyn and I visited Patagonia in 2007. Explora hotel blew our minds with amazing guides and love of nature. They have another hotel in the Atacama desert, the driest place on the planet. There will be mountain bike riding, nature walks to see things my city eyes will miss and a nighttime sky that is supposed to leave you awestruck. From the a flight to Central America to check out a few more of the countries between Guatemala and Panama. Yes more of the unknown to me. This will be with intrepid tours in a region where getting about needs small cans and knowledge on the ground in a timely manner. What can go wrong ?
Since returning from my cycling trip in Europe last September I have struggled with a persistent swollen ankle. I have tipped buckets of money into the pockets of various medical persuasions in a bid to overcome this painful, injury with no luck… so far. I was sure I would overcome it before heading to my next adventure in the Atacama desert, Northern Chile.The dream of exploring the Atacama desert, the world’s driest destination started in 2007 when I visited Patagonia in Southern Chile with my late wife, Robyn. It was a unique experience at a lodge I had read about called Explora Patagonia. It’s actually set inside the Torres del Paine National Park which didn’t enthrall me as parks should be free of commercial ventures in my eyes. Anyway it was absolutely amazing. They showed us photos of their sister lodge in San Pedro Atacama. It immediately went onto my ever growing wishlist.
So fast forward five months and the ankle is still giving me grief. I had well and truly expected it to be fully operational by the time I flew to Santiago, Chile but no, I’m still hobbling and in some pain. Pigheaded ? Yes, should I have stayed at home ? Probably. Anyway I still left home.
From Santiago you fly North to Calama, a small town on the edge of the desert. The region is full of mines, the world’s biggest copper mines and the current favourite, lithium which is extracted from the salt flats and used to make the batteries for all the world’s electric cars. At the airport you are met by equal numbers of trekkers and hard hats. Soon enough I am being driven South East towards the lodge through huge expanses of lunar landscape, eerie craters, windswept plains and beyond the towering snow capped Andes mountains.
The lodge is luxe in an understated way. It is certainly outside of my normal affordability but it includes everything including enthusiastic guides who showcase everything the surrounding desert has to offer. I eased into it with a half day tour to soak in small thermal pools surrounded by bending bullrushes (feeling a little like Moses) in a narrow gully. Tiny birds flit about this tiny green oasis looking for food. A couple of non poisoned snakes glide through the warm waters searching for insects or small animals. There is not one brave soul amongst us, we slip and slide on the mossy steps, frantic to get away.
Another time I venture out to a broad expanse of inhospitable salt flats in the heat of the afternoon. The white, salty surface is unlike other salt flats I have seen in that it has a very rough surface. There are no rains here to dissolve and therefore flatten down the salt to a mirror surface. The blinding light off the salt, the moisture sucking wind and the brittle crunch under foot is all in contrast to the rather silent, majestic snow capped Andes mountains hovering in the distance.
I plucked up enough courage to head out on an E mountain bike to a nearby canyon and test my ankle. How hard can it be I thought ? Power assisted, three speeds but when the canyon narrowed, when the gravel became loose and steep, where recent rains had gouged the surface I was pushing that bloody bike and swearing under my breathe. When it flattened out back towards the lodge the guide wanted to fist pump in celebration. But that’s only because earlier we had doubled back repeatedly and I knew him to be lost. The route was unknown to him. He was constantly checking his phone. At first I thought texting some far away girl but no, it was local maps he was feverishly googling. His early bubbly conversation of being a sea kayaker only recently arrived from distant Patagonia now explained quite a bit. I lived to tell the tale and he now knows the route. Was it good for my ankle ? Nah.
The explorations as Explora call their tours are half day or full day. The unexpected highlight is just how much survives out here. Not just lizards, snakes,cactus and salt loving plants but birds, llamas, alpacas, vicuñas and many nomad indigenous groups who somehow sustain themselves living a simply life with a zealous connection to the sky, desert and mountains.
A visit to the geysers was another contrasting vista. Along the way we bumped over hard rock and rippling sand before arriving at a tiny pocket of wetlands surrounded by a salty fringe and hundreds of flamingos feverishly eating the tiny shrimp. They took no notice of us, too busy getting their fill of the shrimp which give them that showgirl lush pink tinge. Other smaller birds flitted about some of our group got excited. I was more interested by the viscacha which looks like a rabbit but with a much longer tail and bounce about at speed.
The geysers sit in a long grey barren valley. There was a thread of burping belching geysers. Steam regularly escaped and there was a slight hint of sulphuric in the air. In amongst all of this was an abandoned geothermal power station which was closed after a massive eruption in 2009. They tried to tap into the earths anger and lost. In my head I see images of the molten centre of the earth unhappy and letting off its pent up anger with a bit of steam. Far better than a full on volcano shaking the earth and spewing molten lava everywhere, which also happens around here.
Another activity I had been told was worth joining was the evening stargazing. We are at an altitude of around 3000m, the clear desert skies are due to minimal cloud and minimal industrial air pollution. It’s become world renown as one of the best places on the planet to communicate with Martians.
The lodge has a dedicated observation building complete with rotating dome roof and a 600 X magnification telescope. Yes my eyes rolled back in my head with technology overload too until I put my eye to the lens and the moon’s surface leapt at me. So clear although no American flag was fluttering. We saw three of the moons of Jupiter and a star cluster which is evidently a mass of stars formed around the same time one hell of a long, long time ago. The astronomy lesson finished just before midnight and I stumbled back to my room. It had been a long day.
And just like that my explorations, fine dining and soft bed were over and I was being transported back to Calama and a short flight back to Santiago for the second half of my trip. Central America, starting in Guatemala and heading South through a ribbon of questionable countries to Costa Rica. Fingers crossed my ankle holds out.
I spend a day in Santiago then fly North to San Jose, Costa Rica. I’ve only heard good of Costa Rica so I am looking forward to seeing it. My initial perception is mixed. I think it’s a two speed country, the lush, easy paced countryside full of nature leaning heavily on International tourism.
And then there is the capital, San Jose, bustling, dirty and struggling under high inflation and thousands of illegal immigrants Im told. I found the price of most things comparable or higher than home yet the locals earn a pittance in comparison. Poverty appeared everywhere in the capital with exhausted bodies lying under dirty blankets in many parts of the city.
At dusk as the shops closed the staff dropped their garbage bags out in the street for pick up. Homeless men in nothing more than a pair of grubby shorts were sitting amongst this sea of black garbage bags. I watched as they tore the bags apart searching for food before stuffing it into their mouths. Commuters scurried past, heads turned to a long line of buses. I’d seen nothing like it and the image stayed with me for days. I hope this is not my only perception of Costa Rica ?
I then fly further North to Antigua, Guatemala, the old capital moved due to a nearby volcano eruption. It’s now a quaint tourist town. I had visited here ten years ago whilst travelling through Mexico and remembered a few things. The old lavish cathedral with its adjacent square, the ankle breaking cobblestone streets and the surrounding ring of mountains and volcanos. I sit and take it all in my surroundings from a park bench. I hear the tingle of a shrill bell on a rickety ice cream cart. It calls children, come, come and bring your parents to treat you. He is doing a good trade in the hottest part of the day.
I’m sitting up on the roof of my Antigua hotel drinking a beer, waiting for dinner and admiring the street light glow of the church nearby. Suddenly the sky erupted into a bright red and a fireball of red glowed like the sun on a nearby mountain. “Volcano de Fuego” announced the waitress and then casually turns away. Leaving me unsure whether I’d like to live this close to an active, playful volcano. “It erupted last year” she offers, handing me a second beer. I eat staring skywards sure it is going to erupt before I finish my meal.
It’s time to meet my tour group and we quickly move from Antigua to the Mayan ruins in nearby Copan, Honduras. Our local guide has a terrific grasp of the English language and paints a graphic picture of the ancient Mayan history. We clamber over the ruins stopping regularly to be fed information on life here before the Spanish came preaching Catholicism and plundered the country of its gold. As interesting as the ruins are it’s the technicolor macaws swooping through the tree tops that has our heads regularly swivelling, they are so big and colourful. We wonder why these large birds, so prominent aren’t on every predators menu but they work as a protective flock whenever danger is about. That’s when the twitchers in our group first show their faces.
The beautiful and colourful macaws.
We bounce around for a day in the bus, the rhythmic motion sending half the bus to sleep only to be rudely woken to rush into another border crossing. More passports stamping by government workers all wearing blank faces. We move between three countries in as many hours before a final hour of hills brings us to El Salvador. A country with a rather chequered recent history. Until 2019 El Salvador was run by two major gangs with combined numbers rumoured to be around 53,000, sounds more like an army to me. Few tourists dared come here for fear of being kidnapped or murdered. A new President, Nayib Bukele was elected and he took on the gangs throwing thousands into prison. He boasted statistics of having more prisoners per capita than any other country in the world. Crime and homicide numbers plummeted but like all people who come to power he took a liking to it. He appointed the judges that changed the constitution allowing him to continue for a previous illegal consecutive second term. Sound familiar ? But…. currently the people are safer and the country has some tourists venturing about. The local people appear happy or are they scared to talk ?
Some of us spend a morning kayaking on lake Cerron Grande at dawn. The plan is to glide about the lake in the early morning whilst observing local and migrating birds. There are nearly 400 varieties to be seen in this region. Ignoring the birds and the blurry dawn for a minute, the lake is truly magical as the sun climbs from behind distant hills. Our guide is in an open Canadian canoe with self appointed primadonna Lin perched on the bow. She gets the full commentary and never intended to paddle, the only satisfied customer. The others with minimal experience churn water and are generally just out of earshot of the guide who is pointing enthusiastically and waving his arms at new sightings. Early I figured it was simply better to enjoy the lake, see what I could of the birds but forget about trying to photograph anything in a rocking kayak. The others became progressively more frustrated, either missing the bird with their provided binoculars or having insufficient zoom on their camera. By the time they looked up our guide had glided effortlessly on another few hundred metres. And that’s how the morning wore on. Frustration built for most but the birds were magnificent and in large migrating numbers. The lake was mirror flat, peaceful with a symphony of all types of birdcall.
A friend had mentioned that crossing between El Salvador, Honduras and Nicaragua by bus can be dangerous and tricky. Part of the reason I chose a tour instead of travelling solo. My tour had recently short circuited this dubious route by using a small boat holding up to twenty persons to ferry them directly from El Salvador to Nicaragua. This avoided a long drawn out drive through Honduras. It also meant a 4am departure so as to hopefully enjoy the early morning calm of the Pacific ocean. We are told that often the ocean chops up as the day progresses. It worked a treat and although sleepy we disembark from our boat and wade ashore in knee deep water to an isolated government building. Our passports are stamped and we board a new bus for Leon, Nicaragua. The most novel border crossings I’ve experienced.
Our free day in Leon was a circuit of the Catholic churches, of which there are many, some art galleries and a French bakery. I will own up to visiting the bakery twice and the art galleries once. Many of our group spent the afternoon tobogganing down the side of the nearby live Cerro Negro volcano. I chose not do it for two reasons, firstly it is 35c in the town and god knows how hot on the black gravel of the volcano ?
Secondly my eye had become infected, I’m falling apart. I spend the morning moving from pharmacy to pharmacy trying to get ointment until one lady has her daughter walk me to an eye specialist. He was a gentle old doctor, an ophthalmologist who tested, prodded, poked and then gave me a tube of eye ointment. He’d spent forty-five minutes with me and yet refused payment, waving me away. I handed him U.S$30 or $2/per letter for being an ophthalmologist. As I left he mentioned he was 85, retiring at 88 ! I shook my head in disbelief and moved towards the exit. His waiting room was full to overflowing. You meet some truly kind and caring people along the way.
There has been a nice mix of busy and relaxing days. Today in Granada, Nicaragua is a busy one. We breakfast at a small cafe which employs and supports deaf people as waiters. The owner, a Spanish guy began helping the deaf here twenty years ago by chance or was it some form of calling ? Others here are taught skills that enable them to support themselves in a country with no safety net for the disabled. He tells his story as we wait for our breakfast, an inspiring and humbling human being who has done so much for the local deaf. You could give his organisation money but his preference was to buy materials which the workers could value add to become items to sell in their small shop.
Then motoring around nearby lake Cocibolca spotting some of the many exotic birds that this region is famous and viewing the mix of small islands dotted with both locals and the super rich. My interest in birds has progressively risen during this trip. There are so many exotic varieties you find your head swivelling unprovoked. I’m not concerned though, evidently some intense time with a psychologist or a week on the beers after returning home will purge this new found interest.
Between these early morning activities and waiting for dusk and the volcano we are shuffled to a mini resort. An American guy looking for his own slice of paradise had carved a terrace including a restaurant, cabins and some picnic tables just above the waters edge. We settled in for a few hours eating and swimming in the warm water of this extinct volcano. Two pontoons bobbed just offshore with families climbing the rickety ladders then diving back in. All normal stuff except the owner has a rather special chocolate brown Labrador. Ball in mouth he swims to the ladder, climbs the ladder but will accept a shoulder up if you are nearby, then drops the ball waiting for someone to throw it so he can dive again. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.
As dusk approached we were driven into the Vo,Canó National Park and the rim of the active volcano Masaya. Darkness near the Equator comes quickly as we jockey for a good position. We are soon peering into the bowels of the volcano with smoke and ash pluming into the air. As darkness arrives the orange and red glow from the earth’s rumbling stomach spews molten rock into the air. It’s my second live volcano experience and both have left me in awe of the power and make up of planet Earth.
The next morning we are on the go again. Our final border crossing into Costa Rica. The border crossing says it all. The Nicaragua border is dilapidated buildings and little pride. The Costa Rica border is glitz and glamor. Tourism is their number one industry. They have been drawing Americans here for years with promises of pure nature and a stable government. It is quite a heavily taxed country with no army. Instead the Government spends their money on health and free schooling. They match many Western countries in both fields. But this comes at a cost that mostly only Westerners can pay with few locals able to afford a fast escalating cost of living.
I’m thinking more about survival than any cost of living issues when I sign up to Adventur Park, Monteverde. They attempt to put the fear of life through me in a series of zip lines amongst the trees and a 50m Tarzan swing to literally finish you off. The zip lines get progressively longer and hairier until you are harnessed up like superman and sent flying for 1.6km over a ravine. I managed all of the zip lines and got caught up in the euphoria of the moment.
Go for the Tarzan swing I thought… stupidly. So there I was standing behind one of our group ready to swing, except you don’t swing first, you drop. I stepped out ready to become Tarzan, vine in hand, ok it’s a shackled cable. As I stood waiting I hear the blood curdling scream of tour comrade, Dena plummeting downwards in front of me. It sent immediate survival messages to my brain. “Not today” I thought, even though the guys had already opened the gate and was asking me “are you jumping ?” With Dena’s screams still echoing in my head I walked back a little, then a lot, disappointed but the straight drop I had witnessed will stay with me for some time. Others in my group who had already jumped were below in various stages of uncertainty as to the experience. Some grinning happy to have survived. Adventure junkie, Claire from Ireland was buzzing and laughing… just like the Irish do after a big night on the Guinness.
Our last morning in La Fortuna is watching sloths in their natural environment. Our guide this morning doesn’t stop talking until a quick glance around the group confirms that everyone’s eyes have glazed over. My only previous knowledge is that there are both two and three toed sloths and they remind me of a teenager who has avoided the hairdresser. I’ve stayed alert as I am being bitten all over by an army of determined mosquitoes. That would be because this place is equal parts forest and swamp. The other red alert is that whenever anyone goes into great detail about a subject the less likely the chances of seeing the chosen subject. And this was the case for the first hour as we photographed the backend of numerous sloths doing what they do hiding from predators and sleeping.
Then just when we could spy the coffee / souvenir shop someone spotted a sloth actually moving. They rarely move at any speed but this one was racing down a tree towards the ground. Then one of the hundreds of facts we had been bombarded with came back. The sloth goes to the toilet once a week and when you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go.
Our group move to our final hotel in San Jose. It’s lavish, a bid to have us forget the last two on busy roads, gasping air conditioners and beds that groaned but thankfully couldn’t talk. But the lavish setting doesn’t hide the fact that we are a few kms from the centre of town. Most just hole up in the luxury of a modern room with barely a murmur coming from the air conditioner and think about their journey home. We have a farewell dinner, our guide, young Maya has navigated a tricky path with some of my fellow travellers. We are a motley crew but somehow we have stayed civil and managed a laugh or two. Yes at times our poor guide was more like a babysitter for unaware, inattentive and unworldly travellers.
Central America is not for everyone and the poor living standards can at times be confronting. I was hoping to find more difference between the countries but for me Honduras, El Salvador and Nicaragua were very similar with only a different gang leader or dictator wielding power over their patch of tropical jungle and volcanoes. Costa Rica has certainly worked hard to be different but the heavy taxing of a tropical paradise has left many locals struggling as I saw on the streets. Evidently there has also been a big migration of refugees from Venezuela which has added to the chaos. The world and its people are struggling. I’ve seen it and I don’t have the answers.
The fact that I must fly home via Chile not taking the risk of refusal of entry through the U.S.A highlights the times we live in.