Valley of the Moon

The Linger Loco!

Chapter 8: Valley of the Moon

‘Morning, fat boy,’ I sing, joining Chris at the breakfast

table. ‘How long have you been up?’

‘About an hour,’ he replies, buttering a roll. ‘I woke up

feeling really dehydrated, so I thought I might as well have

the free breaky. It’s a bloody good one, too. You get coffee

and orange juice. I mean, how cool is that?’

‘You need to get out more, my friend.’

A cute little woman with a hair net on her head walks over

and places a basket full of rolls and a hot pot of coffee on the

table.

Chris grins excitedly. ‘Right, then, so our next destination

is San Pedro de Atacama!’

‘Yeah, it sounds amazing,’ I reply, pouring some coffee

into a cup. ‘The night skies around San Pedro are supposed

to be incredible.’

‘Cool, I’m really in the mood for a bit of desert action.’

I nod vigorously. ‘Me too, there’s nothing like a load of

hot sand to help clear the cobwebs.’

‘Well, what are we waiting for…let’s get rocking!’

‘Today?’

‘Uh-huh, why not?’

‘But it’s Sunday – the Sabbath.’

Chris shrugs. ‘So?’

‘God made the world in six days and rested on the seventh.

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It’s a Christian tradition. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’

‘Listen here, numb-nuts! I couldn’t give a shit if it was

the day Jennifer Lopez first shook her bum-bum. I’m ready

to grab my rucksack and hit the road.’

Sat onboard an Andesmar bus, we soon find ourselves

weaving along mountain roads as we head into the harsh

terrain of the Andes Mountain Range. The rocking motion

of the bus sends me to sleep, and I awake some hours later

surrounded by dry desert and mountain peaks. We’re high

up now, and there is very little vegetation outside my window

apart from the odd cactus. The bus pulls into a rest

stop after a hard climb and everyone disappears into a

cafeteria. Nudging Chris awake we stumble off and stretch

our legs. Even though it’s clear sunny skies it’s surprisingly

cold outside. I pull on my fleece, and sneakily take a few

photographs of an old woman in a bowler hat and poncho

sat on a bench outside the restaurant. After a few minutes

the bus kicks into life and we continue our journey across

the mountains. Sitting very still I find it difficult to breathe

and I notice many of the other passengers seem unusually

quiet or are asleep. I begin to wonder if it’s the effects of

the altitude. Making our descent down the mountain, it

isn’t long before we pull off the road and park up next to a

small brick immigration building at the border with Chile.

The driver shouts out some instructions and everyone

onboard begins to gather their belongings from the luggage

compartment. We enter the brick building and wait inline

for the customs official to interrogate everyone’s passports

before waving us through.

Throughout the afternoon we continue our descent

down the Andes, passing more barren landscape and huge

bright white salt flats. Eventually, the bus pulls up at the

roadside in the middle of the desert. The driver calls out

“San Pedro” and much to our surprise we find we’re the

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only people getting off, apart from some backpacker with

a funny walk who’s wearing those trousers with a zip that

can be miraculously transformed into a pair of shorts. Now

that’s what I call real backpacker clothing! We stand at the

roadside scratching our heads as the bus disappears in a

cloud of dust.

Introducing ourselves, we discover Felipe is from the

small town of Dinant in Belgium. He is travelling around

South America for a month before he starts his new job

working for a car manufacturer based in Germany. He

seems like a nice guy, organized and a little serious, but

I’m sure after a few cheeky beers his true colours will

shine. We set off and wander in the direction of the town,

passing a graveyard and a row of tatty houses. We stumble

across a cash machine opposite a small museum and Chris

disappears inside.

He returns seconds later, and sighs. ‘Bollocks, it’s out of

cash.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I am! It says “no friggin dinero”. What are we

going do?’

Felipe looks genuinely concerned. ‘You do not have any

money with you?’

Chris taps his pockets and shakes his head. ‘Nope….’

‘You did not think to bring some from Argentina, or some

US dollars?’

‘We thought there’d be a cash machine here…there is a

cash machine here!’ he cries, pointing at it.

‘But there is no money inside.’

‘I know!’ Chris yells, pacing around in circles. ‘We

fucked up!’

‘This is very bad,’ Felipe frowns, rubbing his forehead.

‘What are you going to do? I would lend you some money,

but I have a very tight budget that is only sufficient for my

accommodation and leisure activities.’

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‘Please, don’t worry,’ I smile. ‘It’s not your problem.’

‘No, it’s ours!’ Chris sighs. ‘We’ll have to go to a more

expensive hostel and hope they take a credit card. Failing

that, we’ll have to sleep rough for one night.’

Felipe looks bemused and follows us into the tranquil

plaza. We find a hostel near to the San Pedro church and

head inside. A young Chilean guy greets us at reception,

and we explain our situation to him. He puts our minds at

rest, and informs us that if we have problems getting cash

out of the ATM we can pay with a credit card.

Unfortunately, the hostel is £15 per person. Felipe looks

extremely uncomfortable and quickly informs us he can’t

afford to stay here. We completely understand, and arrange

to meet him in the restaurant in a couple of hours. The

Chilean guy leads us through a rather rundown courtyard

and shows us to a large room at the back. It’s not worth £30

a night, but it has a bathroom and two comfy beds.

Dumping my bag on the floor, I take a quick shower and

discover that water in this town is a rare commodity. The

cold dribble from the shower is barely enough to wash my

pits, and returning to the courtyard outside we take a seat

and experience our first ever Pisco Sour. Mature couples

and a group of middle-aged men and women sit at tables

dotted around the courtyard, and seeing Felipe walking

awkwardly towards us I stand up and wave him over.

‘Halo,’ he waves back.

We shake hands and he takes a seat at our table, wincing

as he finds a comfortable position on the hard wooden

bench. He orders a Pisco Sour and we agree to chip in for

a home made pizza.

‘I have booked a tour,’ Felipe smiles excitedly.

‘That was quick,’ I laugh. ‘You’ve only been gone five

minutes.’

He whips off his glasses and rubs them on his T-shirt.

‘Yes, I have very little time in South America, so I want to

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see as much as possible.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To the Salt Lakes in Bolivia.’

‘Wow, sounds cool.’

‘It is a little expensive, but I think it will be an interesting

tour.’

‘Did you find somewhere to stay?’

‘Yes, I found a hostel on the other side of town. It is not

very clean, but it is a little cheaper.’ He frowns and folds

his arms. ‘I am feeling a little disappointed tonight.’

‘Why, what’s the matter?’ Chris asks.

‘I read in the guidebook that San Pedro is supposed to be

an incredible place to see the stars, but you cannot see

anything.’

We all look up at the night sky.

‘It’s the clouds,’ Chris grins, craning his neck.

I smirk. ‘No shit, Sherlock.’

‘This is very strange,’ Felipe sighs. ‘It has not rained here

for over a hundred years. How can there be clouds?’

‘A hundred years?’

‘Yes.’

‘But that’s ridiculous! It rains every friggin day in

England.’

Chris shakes his head. ‘This isn’t England, you dumb-ass.

This is a desert. I guess at the end of the day just because

there’s cloud it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s going to rain.’

‘Yeah, but imagine if it did?’ I laugh, sparking up a cigarette.

‘It hasn’t rained for over a hundred years and we just

happen to be here when it does. I mean, what would be the

chances of that? We should buy a lottery ticket immediately!’

The pizza arrives, and feeling ravenous after our long

journey across the Andes we all quickly grab a slice.

‘Are either of you interested in space?’ Felipe asks, pushing

his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

‘Yeah, it fascinates the fuck out of me,’ Chris beams. ‘I

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had a telescope in my bedroom when I was a kid, but I

spent more time watching the sexy neighbour getting

undressed than I did star gazing.’

‘Completely natural,’ I laugh, looking over at Felipe.

‘Hey, I read once there are between one and thirty billion

planets in our galaxy alone. We’re just one of a shit-load of

pieces of rock floating around in space.’

Chris looks amazed. ‘Is that just in our galaxy?’

‘Yep.’

‘That’s insane. Well, how many galaxies are there in the

universe, then?’

Felipe jumps into action. ‘There are approximately one

billion galaxies in the universe,’ he proudly replies.

‘One billion galaxies, now there’s a statistic! So, that

means if you conservatively estimate that there are about

one billion planets in each galaxy, there are potentially at

least a billion billion planets in the universe in total.’

‘Wow…now that is a shit load of rock!’ Chris laughs.

‘There has to be life out there, don’t you think?’

‘Well, I suppose if one of those billion billion planets had

similar conditions as earth, with water and an atmosphere,

it’s quite possible life could have evolved in the same way

as it has here.’

‘Ya, this is very true,’ Felipe agrees.

‘I mean, even if you said there was only a one in a billion

chance of life evolving on other planets, that would still

equal…’

We all sit around the table and rack our brains for the

answer.

‘…A billion planets!’ Felipe cries, jumping in there quick

and winning the prize.

‘Yes, a billion planets,’ I laugh. ‘There could be a billion

planets out there with life on them just like our own. I

want to visit them all!’

Chris nods. ‘Count me in! ‘Space’ the ultimate backpacker

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destination.’

Felipe raises his hand. ‘I’m not too sure if you will ever

get the chance to visit other distant galaxies, but we can go

to the Moon tomorrow if you like?’

We both look at him like he’s lost his mind.

‘Say that again.’

Felipe looks a little embarrassed and pushes his glasses

up the bridge of his nose. ‘Tomorrow I am going to rent a

mountain bike and cycle to the Moon.’

Deeply confused, we burst out laughing.

‘What are you talking about?’

He takes a sip of his Pisco Sour and nods his head with

a knowing grin. ‘Tomorrow I will show you!’

* * *

I’m disturbed from a deep sleep by a knock at the door.

‘Who is it?’ I mumble.

‘Felipe,’ a voice replies.

‘Hold on.’

With an enormous sigh I fall out of bed and swing open

the door. Felipe is stood outside with a baseball cap on his

head and sun cream plastered over his thin face. He peers

down at my love heart boxer shorts, a present from my exgirlfriend.

‘Are you ready to go to the Moon?’ he beams.

‘Two seconds,’ I smile.

I slam the door shut.

‘Hey, Si, wake up! Felipe’s here. He’s going take us to the

Moon!’

Si raises his head off the pillow and blinks at the glowing

curtains. ‘Cool, man, fire up the rocket.’

Within five minutes we’re up and in some kind of func-

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tioning state. Felipe is sitting beneath a large umbrella in

the courtyard. A brand new mountain bike leans against

the wall beside him with his rucksack hanging off the

handlebars.

‘Good morning, guys!’ he waves.

‘Hey, where did you get the bike?’ I ask, pointing at the

silver mountain bike with impressive suspension.

‘From a hire shop, there are more outside if you want

one.’

‘Yeah, it’s a beauty, I like it. Let’s get one before they all

disappear.’

‘Chris, we need to get some cash out of the ATM first.’

‘Oh yeah, bollocks, I forgot about that.’

‘OK, no problem,’ Felipe nods. ‘I need to send an email.

I’ll meet you back here in twenty minutes.’

‘Sounds like a plan. So, where are we going again?’

Straddling his bike, Felipe winces in pain and drops

down from his saddle. ‘I told you last night, we are going

to the Moon. The Valle de la Luna ‘Valley of the Moon’, it

is a national park in the desert not far from San Pedro. I’ll

see you in twenty minutes.’

Watching him roll awkwardly out of the courtyard, we

head for the cash machine and successfully withdraw a

hundred pounds in Chilean pesos before securing ourselves

a couple of fine looking mountain bikes. Felipe

passes us in the street. He swings his bike around and

winces in pain again as he skids to a halt next to us.

‘Are you OK?’ Si asks.

‘Yes, I am fine. It is just I have a problem at the moment.’

‘What kind of problem?’ I ask, intrigued.

‘I have, how do you say in English, Hemorrhoids?’

‘Hemorrhoids,’ I shout, narrowing my eyes. ‘What are

Hemorrhoids?’

A group of tourists walking down the street immediately

turn around and stare. Even a scruffy dog looks over its

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shoulder and squints.

Si nudges my arm and shakes his head. ‘Don’t go there.’

‘Why? Come on, tell me.’

Felipe looks a little embarrassed.

‘He’s got piles, you prick!’

‘Ooh,’ I gasp a little shocked. ‘That must really hurt riding

a bike.’

Felipe wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. ‘It is a little

uncomfortable, but I can cycle standing up or sit to the

side of the saddle.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Please, I will be fine in a minute. My Hemorrhoids are

not going to stop me from going to the Moon.’

‘This is going to be fun,’ I smile, leaping onto my mountain

bike. ‘I’ve never been to the Moon before. I wonder if

it’s actually made of cheese. I love cheese.’

‘No, it is not made of cheese,’ Felipe replies, ‘but they have

found a gas source on the moon’s surface called helium

three, which when combined with deuterium can produce

nuclear energy. The moon will save us in the future when

the earth’s fossil fuels run out.’

‘Oh right, I didn’t know that. OK, guys, let’s hit the road!’

We cycle in convoy through the deserted streets of San

Pedro, and pass the small dusty graveyard on the outskirts

of town. Boulders mark the colourless graves, and I wonder

if any of these people perished at the hands of the desert

itself. Finding our way onto a smooth empty tarmac highway,

we leave the oasis of San Pedro behind and enter the

barren landscape of the Atacama. We cycle for half an hour

before turning left onto a gravel road that disappears over

the horizon. Felipe furrows his brow as we bounce over

the bumpy surface, and I try not to laugh at his unfortunate

medical condition. We pull over and gulp down some

water.

‘Felipe, are you feeling OK?’ I ask.

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‘Yes, but it is very hot here.’

‘The desert is hardcore!’ Si cries, slapping sun cream on

his face.

‘What does “hardcore” mean?’

‘You don’t know?’

‘No.’

‘You must do, you’re from Belgium!’

‘No, I’m sorry I do not.’

‘It means extreme.’

‘It’s also a word used to describe X-rated pornography,’ I

smile, tipping water over my head. ‘You know, as in “hardcore

pornography”.’

He raises his eyebrows, and nods. ‘Hardcore. OK, I will

remember this word.’

Feeling re-energized we head off again along the bumpy

road. We take turns leading the way, and cycle side-byside

for a while laughing at each other and daring to see

who can take their hands off the handlebars for the

longest. Si wins, of course, the competitive freak. Felipe

cycles standing up for the majority of the bumpy section of

the road, and much to his relief we eventually arrive at the

entrance to the Valle de la Luna. At the side of the road we

can see big mountains of rock, heavily eroded by time. We

find a small hut at the side of the road in the shade and

pay the entrance fee to the chilled out dude sitting inside.

I’d totally forgotten how much fun it is to ride a bike. I

haven’t done it for ages, not since Si wrecked my mountain

bike by crashing it into a brick wall and buckling the

front wheel.

Downing a bottle of water, we saddle up and head off

into the national park. Before long, the glare from the

white sand and salt really starts to hurt my eyes. Why didn’t

I buy a pair of shades? My head is scorching hot, too. Why

the hell didn’t I buy a baseball cap? I look over at Si and

see that he hasn’t brought anything with him either, just a

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bottle of water and a packet of cigarettes. Felipe on the

other hand is fully equipped, and I get the distinct impression

he’s been planning this little trip for quite some time.

I feel amazingly free as we cycle towards the hazy horizon.

The landscape reminds me more of Mars than of the moon,

and we pull over along the way and take photographs of the

bizarre rock formations either side of the track.

‘Hey, here’s a question for you both,’ Si grins. ‘Why is a

desert a desert?’

Felipe thinks hard about this for a second. ‘Is it because

we are close to the equator?’

‘Nah, it can’t be?’ I chip in. ‘Not everywhere along the

equator is desert.’

‘I do not know, please tell us,’ Felipe mumbles, looking a

little hot and flustered.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t know the answer,’ Si replies. ‘I was

asking if you guys knew. OK, forget about that one, try this.

Why is a desert cold at night?’

Felipe looks stressed. ‘I do not know the answer to this

question, either!’

‘No…nor do I,’ Si laughs mischievously.

Felipe rams his bottle of water into his rucksack, and

sighs with frustration.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ I ask.

He wipes his face with a small towel. ‘It is just a little

uncomfortable, that’s all,’

‘Is it your…’

‘Ya.’

‘Maybe you should splash some water on them, you

know, cool things down a bit.’

Felipe looks at my bottle of water. ‘This is a good idea.’

We watch in amusement as he disappears behind a rock.

He reappears a few seconds later and walks with bowed

legs over to us, like he’s just been sitting on a horse for four

days straight. We hide our smiles.

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‘That’s better,’ he puffs, wiping more sweat from his forehead.

‘I could hear the sizzling from here,’ Si chuckles.

Felipe laughs too and we all slap our thighs and enjoy a

few minutes of joking around in the desert.

Sucking on sweets we cycle to an interesting rock formation,

which is supposed to resemble a mother and child,

before turning around and heading back. Along the way

we pass a couple of off-road vehicles and two European

tourists scrambling over rocks, but apart from that we’re

pleased to have the Moon pretty much to ourselves. The

journey back to San Pedro proves to be tougher in the

burning midday sun. My face begins to sting, and it doesn’t

seem to matter how much sun cream I slap on, my skin

continues to burn. I’m surprised by Felipe’s stamina as we

re-join the main road, but then I suspect he’s desperate to

get back to the town so he can submerge his ass in a bucket

of cold water, poor blighter. I keep myself occupied by

singing the song ‘A Horse with no Name’ by Dewey

Bunnell, as I cruise at the back of the pack.

‘“I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name it

felt good to be out of the rain. In the desert you can remember

your name cause there ain’t no one for to give you no

pain…la, la,”’

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