We spent two weeks in Santiago looking for, buying and fixing our 1993 Ford Aerostar Van, otherwise referred to as Frank. The point was to find an affordable vehicle that would carry the four of us, our luggage (and potentially a pair of friends that might join us along the way) around Latin America.
We were super lucky to have been invited to stay with Nicolas, a friend I’d met in India in 2006. Experiencing Santiago with Nico and his local and foreign housemates made made for a super-fantastic authentic experience. We got the insider’s perspective on what fun goes down in urban Santiago. Football parties at the apartment, folk music concerts and Mapoche marches down O’Higgins Avenue. Magic. Somewhere in the middle of all this we all caught a bad strain of flu and took turns recovering at the apartment while the fitter of us would head out on the van hunt. I was got some catch-up time with Nic who works as an architect and Alejandro who had recently moved over from Barcelona to study.
Frank was the first Van we’d looked at. Compared to the other vans that were available at the ridiculously cheap price we intended to pay, this little Aerostar was a gem. Franco, the car’s owner, mentioned that he was selling it bcause he needed to pay for an eye operation. This became evident when he took us on the first test drive. Fortunately Franco fell in love with the dream we were planning to realize with this van and he helped us make the sale as smooth(ish) as possible. We took the car to Ford for a full check-up, took it to a mechanic, sorted through the paperwork and signed things at the local notary. We didn’t want to waste time traveling around the country in search of a better car and as far as we could see from combing we had done through websites, newspapers and dealers, Frank was the best thing we were going to find.
My car/ motor knowledge is right up there with my knitting skills. Non existent. In the past three weeks I have learned a spectrum of Spanish words for things that make other things do things that I don’t even understand in English. Between mechanics, wheel alignments and oil changes, I think I’d be able to string something toegther in the middle of the Atacama. At least I hope so.
Car sorted, Santiago visited and bronchitis/ sinusitis semi-under control, we hit route 5 like there was no tomorrow. Santiago surrounded by mountain ranges. So very VERY little fresh air gets in and not much smog gets out. Not ideal for the bronchitis we had picked up along the way. We went in search of fresh air and lots of green.
Our first destination the chained gate of some CONAF National Park with ancient, tall old palm trees and super beautiful vegetation, apparently. Very unfortunately the employees from all the National Parks in Chile had decided that this was the day they were going on striking. Maybe we should have left a day earlier… We hunted down the local bar, spoke with the bar lady who looked like she might know something about everyone. She hopped in the van and lead us to the park manager’s house and had us speak with his wife. The wife called her hubbie and told him we were desperately trying to get in. Hubby told us to wait for him to get out of the park at closing time (19:00) and we did. But strike it was and Ivan wasn’t going to make any exceptions for an eager bunch of gringos.
The sun was slowly approaching the horizon and this was not the kind of town that welcomed travelers with open arms. No B&Bs, no Backpackers and no camping. We eventually begged our way in to an odd resort. A massive park-like family holiday camping resort with 4 swimming pools. It was in its last week of preparation for the November summer holidays. The friendly man who seemed to be in charge of the gardens and things gave us five “NO”s before he saw the desperation in our eyes and folded with a “I’m only doing this because I traveled Europe when I was your age and I know what it’s like not to have a place to sleep for the night”. Thank you Mr.
We hit the road early the following day. Maitencillo is a tiny town on a hill overlooking the sea. It obviously booms in summer because the town consists mainly of cabañas up for rent. We soaked up the sunshine and the fresh sea air and the cheap ‘n cosy little cabaña we’d landed in. A sweet old couple from next door had opened up for us in exchange for petty-cash. The sunsets were rediculously beautiful and the “emapanadas marisco”s were filled with all sorts of strange and delicious shellfish. This was our first real encounter with the local pelicans. Super beautiful birds with orange and royal blue on their beaks.
Route five has taken us to an ensalada mixta of locations. Our first hair-raising adventure was yet another disappointing National Park. We’d rushed the car in on a 27km dirt road off the Panamerican Highway to make it in before closing time for camping only to find that the map we were given in the National Parks office was two years old and they haven’t had camping there since. On our way out in the middle of nowhere Frank broke down. He was out of steam. The sunset was an hour and a half away and route five was about 24km away. Middle of nowhere was to be our camp site for the night. We made peace with our location, cooked up a storm with Garth’s super boy-scout fire-building technique, watched a magnificent sunset and enjoyed the silence.
The following morning brought us a string of interesting people that led us to a seaweed plant (as in factory, not flora) where the tatt-sporting man in charge, Jose Luis, and his 4 sidekicks helped us load the van onto their massive truck, drove us in to town a two-hour drive away. They had tried to fix Frank but accidentally poured the transmission fluid into the oil tank…
With an army of angels looking over our shoulders a trucker called Miguel Angel pointed us in the direction of two mechanic twin brothers. They replaced the oil, put the right fluid in the right place and Frank was driving again. Since then we have come to realize that our van is no fan of dirt roads, up-hills and heat. This combo is relatively common in the driest desert in the world. Our long-distance drives are slow and gentle. So far so good.
We’ve had the freedom to free-camp along the coast and to discover distant neighbourhoods and forgotten towns. Camping is an activity I used to save for dusty summer music festivals but I think we’re becoming professionals. There is a lot to be said for the freedom of seeing a beautiful spot in a foreign land and having the means to make it your home for the night.
We’re currently in Iquique on the Northern NORTHERN coast of Chile waiting for Frank to heal. The plan is to head out and cross the Peruvian border tomorrow some time. I’ll keep you posted after that. For now we’re having a lot of fun. A lot. We spent two nights in the most beautiful place ever on the beach. We were the only people camping at the site for the first night. We saw a new animal; the Guanaco, and took too many pictures of desert cacti and strange mountains.