The Crystal Girls
The Linger Loco!
Chapter 9: The Crystal Girls
With rucksacks over our shoulders we wave goodbye to
Felipe and his hemorrhoids.
‘Maybe see you in Cusco!’ Si shouts. ‘Stay in touch!’
Apart from having a face that’s as red as a slapped arse
and eyelashes that have been slightly singed by the hot
burning sun, it’s been a great morning – a very hot, crazy
morning. Who’d have thought you could go to the Moon
and back before lunchtime. I’m glad Felipe woke us up
early, because we can now set off to the town of Calama in
good time and catch a connecting night bus to Arica.
The journey to Calama is relaxing, and I do little except
admire the rocky landscape and wave at a cute cross-eyed
baby girl peering over the seat in front. At Calama we jump
in a taxi and head for a huge modern shopping centre
where we’ve been told we can catch the night bus to Arica.
The bus doesn’t leave for a few hours, so we dump our
bags at the bus office and have a wander around. Inside the
shopping centre we’re surprised by how much attention
we receive from the local Chilean girls working in the
shops and hanging out with their friends. They smile and
giggle as we pass by, and reaching the top of an escalator I
catch my reflection in a glass panel screwed to the wall.
I’m shocked to see a bright red face looking back at me, and
I suddenly realise the girls are probably laughing at us
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rather than admiring our chiseled features and Adonis
physiques. Feeling self-conscious, we decide to bury our
sorrows in comfort food and find the nearest KFC. We
order a bargain bucket of crispy fried chicken and feast
like a pair of male lions.
‘Hey, Si, is my face really bright red or was that mirror
back there seriously taking the piss?’
‘Is mine?’ he cries, darting paranoid glances around the
food hall.
‘A little.’
‘Fuck, I knew we should’ve worn baseball caps on that
bike ride. I’m never going to get laid again looking like a
friggin tomato head. How long does it take for the skin to
turn brown?’
I shrug. ‘A few days, either that or you’ll peel. I can’t
stand everyone staring at me.’
‘Me neither. This is what it must be like to be famous
with everyone invading your privacy.’
‘Horrible isn’t it. I can’t relax.’
Si dunks a chicken wing into a pot of mayonnaise. ‘It
makes you laugh when you think how many people out
there are desperate to appear on one of those reality
shows. What is it that makes these people want to go on
them?’
‘Fame and recognition,’ I reply, ‘to be seen above the
crowd. Don’t get me wrong some make it big time, the talented
ones, the singers and the dancers, but at the end of
the day ninety-nine percent are little more than eccentric
show-offs who quickly disappear from the limelight.
People are lazy at the end of the day. They want an easy
ride, quick easy money.’
‘Are you talking about yourself?’
‘You know what I mean. They think becoming famous
through these reality shows will solve all of their problems
and get them in the magazines or on TV, and make them
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rich and successful.’
‘How sad is that,’ Si laughs, wiping his greasy fingers on
a paper napkin, ‘when all the media do is build them up
and then knock them down. It’s public humiliation with
little reward if you ask me. I think it’s hilarious! Nothing
but a bunch of circus monkeys with zero talent, a laughing
stock. I certainly wouldn’t want to go back to my little
supermarket job after being publicly humiliated in front of
millions of people, would you?’
‘Fuck that, and I’m sure it would take a while for people
to forget about you, too. Everyday you’d have to walk to
your crappy job that probably pays peanuts, while people
heckle you in the street and laugh at you behind your back
in the pub – then the depression would set in. Every night
you’d cry yourself to sleep and stare up at the poster on
your bedroom wall of the beautiful Cat Deeley, the funny
Jennifer Aniston or the troubled Robbie Williams – dreaming
of what could’ve been.’
‘It might get you laid for a bit, though,’ Si winks.
‘Yeah, that’s true.’
There’s a telly above our heads, and I double take when
I see the really, really nice English TV presenter Carol
Smiley standing in a house next to a couple of guys in
overalls. It’s none other than the popular UK lifestyle show
‘Changing Rooms’ on the People & Arts satellite channel. I
nearly spit my chicken across the table. Who would have
thought it, here we are sitting in a small town in the
Chilean desert and Carol Smiley pops up on the screen.
We both laugh and raise our cokes in disbelief.
With bellies bursting, we waddle out of the shopping centre
and over to the bus office. It’s dark outside now and the
Milky Way twinkles brightly in the clear night sky. A huge
double-decker bus with Arica displayed on the front window
screen waits for its passengers. Collecting our bags we
climb aboard the bus and sink into our seats. I’m asleep
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within seconds, and suffer a torturous dream about being
a minor celebrity on the run from the paparazzi. I end up
naked and pleading with Carol Smiley live on TV to make
it all stop.
Arriving in Arica at the crack of dawn, we catch a taxi
from the central bus station to the Hotel Las Palmas on a
street comically named ‘A Prat’. We zip past the beautiful
blue Pacific Ocean and arrive in the centre of Arica, an
international drug-trading town 12 miles south of Peru.
The bus journey from Calama was as smooth as a baby’s
bottom, and we feel wide-awake and ready to hit the golden
beaches of northern Chile. Skipping inside the hotel we
hand over our passports to a sweet woman with a winning
smile and make our way down the corridor to our room.
It’s a pokey hole on the ground floor with bars on the window,
and is positioned right next to a busy road. It’s anything
but ideal, but the price is right and we’re in too much of a
good mood to go hunting around in the heat for somewhere
else. After freshening up, we slip on our swimming shorts
and flip-flops and go in search of the sights of the city.
We find our way to Plaza Colon at the foot of The Morro,
a hill with a historic monument on the summit in memory
of The Battle of Arica in 1880, which took place between
Chile and Peru. To our right the beautiful Pacific Ocean
shimmers in the distance and a huge luxury cruise liner is
anchored in the harbour. White stalls fill the Plaza selling
everything from handicrafts to knitted jumpers made from
llama wool, and hoards of American tourists mill around
the plaza in their Hawaiian shirts and baseball caps, flashing
their camcorders and wads of cash. Looping around the
plaza we find ourselves next to the San Marcos, an impressive
white and brown rustic church made from iron. We
discover it was built by Alexandre Gustave Eiffel, the dude
who also built the ‘Eiffel Tower’, and tapping the structure
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it sounds hollow like an oil drum. The church looks cartoon
in appearance and I could easily imagine seeing it in
one of Tim Burton’s dark surreal movies.
Slapping sun cream on our faces, we decide to move on
from the plaza and test our fitness by walking up to the top
of The Morro. We find the path leading to the foot of the
hill, and begin the steep climb to the summit with the rest
of the fools. I’m surprised how fit I am, despite an army of
soldiers in gym gear racing past us at incredible speed. We
make it to the top only slightly out of breath and without
a sweat mark in sight. A huge Chilean flag with a cannon
positioned beneath it flaps in the hot wind, and a statue of
Jesus with his arms outstretched towers above us on the
far side of the hill. The views are stunning. You can see the
whole of Arica down below and the huge sand dunes
behind the city. People look like ants and we scan the
rooftops for our hotel. Walking around to the front of the
hill there’s a panoramic view of the beautiful ocean, and
peering over the railings we look down the cliff face that
drops sharply below. Large black vultures circle on the air
currents, and to the right we can see the port where the
huge white cruise liner called ‘The Millennium’ is
anchored next to hundreds of freight containers piled up
on the dock. I whip out my camera and snap away.
Hearing an American couple with a tour guide beside us,
we stand very still and try and listen in for free. The couple
are in their late seventies and have big fanny packs
strapped around their waists and are wearing huge sunglasses.
They look over the city as the enthusiastic tour
guide bombards them with information, and we listen with
intrigue as she tells the story of how a huge tidal wave
destroyed the town and all of its churches in 1705. The
San Marcos church, built by Eiffel, was immediately dismantled
in Peru and transported to Arica to help give the
people faith to rebuild their lives. From high up on top of
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The Morro, I look down and try to visualize huge waves
crashing onto the beach and rushing through the town
destroying everything in its path. We move on and walk
over to the statue of Jesus.
Si stands with his arms behind his back and admires the
impressive monument. ‘Is it just me or does Jesus look like
a great big long-haired hippie?’
‘You don’t model your appearance on Jesus, do you?’
‘Of course I don’t. Jesus just happens to have long hair
like me. He was probably in a band.’
‘Yeah, The Young Disciples.’
‘Ha-ha, very funny. Hey, Chris, do you believe in God?’
‘In what way?’
‘What do you mean “in what way?” there is only one
way. You either believe or you don’t.’
‘OK, I don’t. Why, do you?’
‘Well, in the past I always considered myself to be an
agnostic.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘An agnostic, you know, believing there can be no proof
God exists, but staying open minded and not ruling anything
out.’
‘Just in case, you mean?’
‘Yeah, I suppose in a way, although, I’ve never thought of
it like that before.’
‘So what’s changed?’
‘Oh, nothing, it’s just something Martina said the other
day that made me think. I mean, how ultimately did we get
here? What created the big bang? What came before the
before? Would it be so bad to call that unknown element
God, and embrace the communal celebration of that ideology
with others?’
I frown. ‘You what?’
‘People worship and go to church. A large percentage of
the world is religious. They believe in God. Why don’t we?’
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‘I can’t go down that road of religion, Si. Why should one
religion be anymore correct than another? Humans have
killed each other over difference in faith for millenniums,
when ultimately they’ve been following oversized cults and
practicing ideologies conjured up by a string of dreamers
with overactive imaginations and ulterior motives. At the
end of the day you can guarantee half of it is made up, and
is all a load of bollocks!’
‘You could be right, but I’m determined to get to the bottom
of all this. I’ve been living my life with that little bit of
doubt in my mind for way too long. Do we believe in God
or not? It’s time to decide once and for all.’
‘Si, I’d be careful saying shit like that when you’re stood
beneath a thirty foot high statue of the Lord Jesus Christ,
he might stamp on your head.’
‘You see, at the end of the day you’re God fearing. Do you
really think I will be struck by lightening or punished by
God for my relatively harmless words?’
I look up at the bearded figure standing above us. ‘You
would sincerely hope not.’
* * *
Noticing a number of sandy beaches around the far side of
the cliff, we decide to spend the rest of the day chilling by
the ocean before we head for Peru tomorrow. I follow Chris
back down the hill, and we soon find ourselves sipping an
ice-cold beer in a café overlooking the beach. Devouring a
plate of chips, the cheapest food we can find on the menu,
we watch the tide gently lapping against the golden sand.
All of a sudden, I blink in disbelief and rub my eyes when
I see eight absolutely stunning girls in matching yellow
bikinis walking towards us across the beach.
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‘Holy Mother of God,’ Chris cries, leaping to his feet and
knocking his beer off the table. ‘Is this a dream?’
‘It’s not a dream, Crissy boy,’ I sing, dusting down my Tshirt.
‘It’s one hundred percent reality!’
The beautiful girls dance around at the edge of the ocean,
and pose for a greasy overweight photographer. With
Barbie doll proportions and ‘Crystal Beer’ written across
their backsides, the girls giggle and shake their sun-kissed
hair. Five out of the eight girls are blonde and the other
three have dark hair and Latin curves. We try to look cool,
but it’s physically impossible as we sit here wide-eyed and
panting like two excited puppy dogs. I find it necessary to
order two more beers. The waiter skips over.
‘La Crystal Girls!’ he points excitedly, with a huge grin
across his face.
We both smile back and watch as a group of hopeful guys
wait to have their photo taken with these Chilean beauties.
‘Shall we join the fun and get in line?’ Chris suggests.
‘No way, I’m too skinny. I’ll admire them from afar.’
Sitting in stunned silence, we watch as the photographer
lowers his camera and leads the group of girls directly
over to where we’re sitting. They dance up the steps in
their tiny bikinis and crowd around a plastic table right in
front of us. I can feel our table wobbling and realise its
Chris’s nervous leg jumping up and down. They chatter
excitedly and reapply lip-gloss, and I’m stunned into
silence when one of the girls with brown hair and a cute
fringe, catwalks by our table and flashes me a smile. I
instantly feel butterflies in my stomach, and can see Chris
is also getting the eye off a blonde with a healthy bust.
Feeling quite stressed to be in such close proximity to so
many beautiful half-naked girls, I begin to sweat in the
heat and feel the need to press my cold beer bottle against
my temple in a bid to cool myself down.
‘Do you think we should talk to them?’ I whisper.
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Chris shakes his head vigorously from side-to-side. ‘Fuck
that! Are you mad, have you lost your friggin mind? We
can’t speak Spanish, remember! We’ll just end up making
complete fools out of ourselves.’
‘Sometimes in life you just have to be brave and grab the
bull by the horns.’
‘So, you’re going to chat to them?’
‘No way!’
Feeling quite frustrated I settle for the occasional smile
and try desperately not to perv too much. Dying inside, I
watch as the photographer signals to the girls that it’s time
to leave and, making eye contact with the girl with the
fringe one last time, we watch helplessly as they disappear
down the beach. Finishing our beers we pay the waiter
and prepare to head off ourselves. Chris wanders over to
the table where the girls were sitting. I’m half expecting
him to caress their empty glasses of juice or sniff the
chairs, but he doesn’t, he just picks up a leaflet.
‘Hey, Si, look at this!’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a flyer for a club. Fucking hell, the Crystal Girls are
performing live in Arica tonight.’
‘We have to go!’
Heading out of the restaurant, we scurry along the bright
sand and jump onto the main coastal road that leads back
to the hotel. I’m just about to slip on my flip-flops, when
an enormous luxury coach pulls up at the junction next to
us. It has a huge picture of the Crystal Girls down the side.
Looking up at the tinted windows I can just make out a
group of girls waving frantically at us.
‘They’re waving at us!’ I cry. ‘The fucking Crystal Girls
are waving at us!’
Chris smiles and looks slightly dazed. ‘Awesome.’
We wait for the sun to go down before heading into town
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in search of something to eat. There’s a party atmosphere
in the air as we cruise down a pedestrian high street, and
finding a cheap pavement restaurant we watch a Carnival
parade pass by. Led by a band of musicians with drums
and trumpets, colourful clowns dance down the street
with a twelve-foot guy on stilts stumbling behind. People
stand either side and clap their hands, while a dwarf collects
money in a top hat from the hoards of smiling faces. We
watch as they disappear into the distance and the street
returns to normal once more. Ordering a mixed platter of
barbecued beef, chicken and shrimps we notice people filling
their glasses with beer from a tall glass tube on their table.
We find out how much it costs and decide to push the boat
out and order ourselves a ‘Rocket’. The four-litre tube
arrives on our table, and we take turns filling up our glasses
with the handy little tap. We sit back and watch with
satisfaction as the level slowly begins to fall.
Chris gets chatting to a cool backpacker couple from
French Quebec sat on the table next to us, and they tell us
all about their lives in Canada. The girl works in a clothes
shop in Montreal and her boyfriend owns a small motorbike
company. They seem to be very much in love and
hold hands at the table. We merrily share our Rocket, and
tell them about our journey across South America to Brazil
and how we’re catching a bus to Arequipa in Peru tomorrow.
They inform us there isn’t a direct bus to Arequipa, and
that you have to first travel to the border town of Tacna
and change there. Otherwise, it’s a nightmare train journey.
Finishing the Rocket we make our excuses and leave,
and with a skip in our step we go in search of the Crystal
Girls!
Deciding to catch a taxi to the nightclub, we jump in the
back and hand the flyer to the friendly driver. He grins at
the sight of the eight beautiful girls in bikinis, and speeds
in the fast lane to a huge mega club a short distance out-
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side the city centre. The car park is heaving with excited
clubbers enjoying a pre-party outside, and passing a stall
selling enormous sausages on sticks we’re unable to resist
the temptation and purchase one each. I’m about to take a
huge bite, when I suddenly see the Crystal Girls’ tour bus
skid into the car park and race towards us. I manage to
nudge Chris just in the nick of time and we whip the
sausages behind our backs. It’s too dark to see inside the
windows, but I imagine the girl with the fringe has seen
me already and is screaming with excitement. Wiping the
grease from around my mouth, I cup my hand and smell
my breath. It stinks of garlic from the sausage. We quickly
purchase some chewing gum and down a beer to try and
hide the smell.
‘Hey Si, this is going to be amazing! I mean, can you
believe it? We’re minutes away from kissing the Crystal
Girls!’
‘I wonder if they’ll recognise us straight away, or if we’ll
have to go over and chat to them first?’
Chris shrugs. ‘Fuck knows. I’ll probably just ask mine if
she wants to come back to my hotel room for a shower and
some heavy petting.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘You’re taking the piss, right?’
‘Course I am, you fuck wit.’
We arrive at the entrance to the club and stand in the
queue. We eventually pay the overpriced cover charge and
pass through a turnstile where we’re frisked by a couple of
meathead bouncers. The atmosphere inside the club is
electric with crowds of young people milling around. We
head upstairs and look over a balcony at an ocean of people
on the dance floor. At the far side of the club there’s a
stage.
‘This place is massive! How on earth are we going to be
able to find the girls?’
‘Leave it to fate,’ I reply, ‘I’m sure we’re meant to be with
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the Crystal Girls tonight. It’s our destiny!’
‘I friggin hope so,’ Chris smiles. ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t
sneak backstage and surprise them?’
‘Nooo, not a good idea at all, mate. Girls of this standard
hate surprises. Don’t worry, when they walk out onto the
stage we’ll wave at them and arrange to meet them after the
show. It’ll be as easy as blowing bubbles.’
Fighting our way to the bar, we manage to purchase a
couple of Cuba Libres. We stand close to the balcony and
create a pocket of space. All of a sudden the music changes
in tempo and a spotlight hits the stage. A rapid succession
of colourful flashing lights follows, and then the stage goes
black and the music goes dead. The crowd goes wild, as
thousands of people begin cheering and whistling in the
darkness. I can feel my heart beating faster in anticipation
of what might come next – then bang! There’s an explosion
of fireworks and loud dance music fills the nightclub, as
the Crystal Girls catwalk across the stage one-by-one and
to do a little sexy twirl at the front.
‘There she is!’ Chris laughs. ‘There’s my girl!’
‘And there’s mine!’ I scream pathetically. ‘Hello, it’s me!
It’s the guy with long hair from the beach?’ She doesn’t
look up, and I assume it’s because she can’t hear me.
The girls break into a complicated dance routine, and I’m
amazed how flexible they are. They looked stunning on
the beach today, but with the glitter and stage lighting they
look superhuman. In a sad groupie kind of way, I feel a
sense of pride that a few hours ago one of them waved at
me.
‘Let’s try and get closer!’ Chris yells over the music.
Pushing through the crowd, we manage to find the stairs
and follow a corridor that runs around the edge of the
club. Exiting a doorway close to the side of the stage, we
slip through the crowd and stand behind a wire fence. We
watch the girls taking turns entering and exiting the stage.
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They keep disappearing for costume changes, and then
reappear again looking even more incredible in a new
style. Hearing the screams of the desperate guys all around
me, it feels like we’re locked up in a cage of wild animals.
Chris sees his dream girl and desperately waves in a bid to
catch her attention. She doesn’t see him; he’s invisible
amongst the crowd of faces. Feeling disheartened we move
to the side.
‘We should’ve spoken to them on the beach when we had
the chance,’ I sigh, feeling incredibly frustrated.
‘I know, I’m sorry,’ Chris replies, furiously biting his
nails.
‘That was our one chance…our one chance to be with the
Crystal Girls!’
Seeing that the stage show is about to end, we decide to
cut our losses and head back to the hotel. We had seen
enough glamour for one night. Tomorrow will be a new
day with new opportunities, and we have learnt the hard
way not to let them pass us by.
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