Mote con Huesillo 

Arica – Cuya, Chile

The sun and I are not really friends. I mean, we tolerate each other, to a point. But, really, if I had to choose I would definitely take eternal cloudiness over eternal sun. 

So this foray through the desert is going to be interesting for me. It’s just so darn bright. And relentless.

And the middle of the day? When the sun is at its peak . . . oh, the desert is just brutal then. We’re not talking some namby pamby California or Arizona desert either – with some happy-sounding name like Joshua Tree. Those deserts have picturesque cacti growing; cacti that at least you can hide under if you are desperate for shade. 

No, the Atacama is the King of deserts. It takes desert-ness – the platonic form of deserts – to its absolute pinnacle. Sand as far as the eye can see. And that’s it. No plants. No cactus. No tumbleweeds. Just the sand. And the sun. And the wind. 

Diana and John of Arabia, with our trustee camels Old Dan and Little Ann. But that doesn’t exactly roll off of the tongue, now does it? How about The Mungers of Minnesota? But now we’ve lost the desert flare. Oh, well. I don’t think we’re moving here or anything . . . And definitely not leading the Atacam people to freedom or something (I don’t really know the Lawrence of Arabia story because Diana doesn’t think it will be good so we’ve never seen it. We’re too busy watching great films like Dune . . .)

We didn’t see any movies, but we did enjoy Arica. Lots of good energy. I guess it’s a copper mining town. We didn’t see the copper mines, but the place seems to be prospering. 

Apparently the beach is the big thing in Arica. The water is cool – but when you live in the desert I guess you want a cool beach. Lots of beaches – and they all seemed really crowded. Little kids. Big kids. Families. Old people. Everyone was at the beach. Even late at night the beach was crowded. Families picnicking. People swimming. Vendors selling their wares. And, really, early morning or later evening are, by far, the best times around here . . . No beating sun. Cool breezes. The civilized time of the day . . .

Yesterday was a big shopping day for us. New plug-ins because Chile uses a different electric outlet. Bunjee cords to hold more water on the bikes. Peanut butter – Chile actually has peanut butter. And stuff for dinner – really nice to make our own dinner these last two days. 

All this shopping brought us to the Mall, where we met another Manuel. This one does not appear to be a heavy metal guy. He’s an older guy who had, like everyone else in Arica, just come from the beach. We were looking for a place to change our Peruvian soles into Chilean pesos – and Manuel was so helpful in telling us exactly where to go.

Today’s ride? You mean other than the sun? Yes, if you discount the sun it was really pretty nice. (Of course, that’s a pretty big discount since the sun dominates everything around here.) Desert statues. Mini Grand Canyon type things. Two giant ascents, and two giant descents. The wind generally at our backs. And two stops. Exactly two. Because that’s all there is out here . . . Otherwise, sand. Always sand.

The first stop was fun. We had just finished climbing the first big ascent when we met a biker from Arica: Juan Sala (spelling?). Juan Sala pointed a few miles up the road where there was a little shack – because around here you can point a few miles up the road and people can see exactly what you’re pointing at – and he told us that we should order Mote con Huesillo. We didn’t know what it was, but we followed his advice:

”Dos Motes,” we said.

The proprietor smiled and brought us each an A&W root beer type mug – full of a root beer colored liquid, with some corn-like things floating in it.

Upon closer examination there were two big chunks of something in there as well. Very black. Looked like maybe some type of animal organs?

No. Tasting a little, they were sweet and had a pit in the middle. Diana concluded that they must be stewed prunes. And the other floaties? Maybe oats? 

Bottom line – Motes con Huesillo is an excellent drink. Maybe the perfect mid-ride drink. Hydrating, but with some fruit and carbs and just yummy. Hopefully we’ll find more of those in our future . . .

Next stop? A “posada” – whatever that is – at the top of the 3,400’+ second climb of the day. Maybe posada means something like the Okay Corral in Chile. Dusty parking area that looks like it should have some horses tied up to a wooden post. Rusty door that shuts automatically behind you because there’s a hanging bottle of water tied to a string that pulls the door closed. A bunch of empty tables – but everyone in the place looks up at you when you enter. Kind of felt like you should order something like a shot of tequila with a wom at te bottom of e glass or maybe a Mexican jumping bean – but I was so decimated from the sun on that climb that I settled for a liter of Sprite instead. 

And now we’re in Cuya. A little town with a few restaurants that’s deep in a desert canyon carved by a little river. What’s cool about these canyons is that they’re actually green. The rivers obviously come from the Andes – where it actually rains. There’s not much to the rivers by the time they reach these towns – but a little water is A LOT more than absolutely zero water – which is the rest of this desert area. Apparently the rivers flood every so often and that makes the whole valleys pretty green. I mean, it’s no paradise or anything – but I’m guessing if there were indigenous people living around the desert years ago they were living in these valleys. 

More on that in the days ahead. Here in the middle of nowhere I have no internet access of any kind – so no looking things up . . .

One other thing. As soon as we pulled up to Cuya we were greeted by Rheinhert, a German guy who is a very veteran rider. I guess he’s been taking trips like this for twenty years now. Rheinhert is heading the opposite direction from us so we compared notes on what lies ahead.

Tomorrow? Rheinhert says there’s another posada – think lonely Okay Corral – about 100 kilometers (62 miles) up the road. Sounds like we’ll have whatever they’re serving for dinner and then we’ll camp across the highway or something . . .

Send sunscreen . . .