We arrived at the Caldera bus depot in the evening and grabbed a cab to our lodge (Ckamur Boutique Lodge), which we had booked that morning at a coffee shop in La Serena. After the cab left, we noticed that the lodge was in a somewhat isolated, very quiet part of town. In fact, the lodge itself was very quiet. Too quiet. Only the outside lights were on and it didn’t seem like anyone was around. We looked for a doorbell or speaker by the front door but couldn’t find either. We walked around the property looking for another way in, but the only other door was closed and locked and even more desolate-looking than the front door.
Let’s recap. We’re in the isolated, unlit middle of nowhere on the outskirts of town, the taxi has left, the lodge is closed, neither of us have phone service, and obviously there’s no WiFi on the deserted street that we now find ourselves on. We’re hungry and tired after being on a bus all day. At this point, neither of us are talking, but both our internal monologues are sounding something like this.
After we think things over a bit, we realized that, if nothing else, we can always get drunk by the side of the road on the Elqui Valley pisco we have with us, which didn’t seem too terrible of an idea at the time. A better idea popped into my head though. We had passed a few hotels on the drive over, so I suggested that we walk back towards them and ask someone to call our lodge and figure out what’s going on. In the worst case, we can get a room at the hotel, since they’re surely not fully booked mid-week during the off-season.
Becca agreed and we set off down the dark, shoulder-less road, heading back towards town. After a couple minutes, we heard a car approaching us from behind, but instead of hearing the usual whoosh of a car going by, we heard the sound of a car slowing down and pulling over. As we watched, a green SUV stopped next to us and the passenger-side window slowly rolled down.
No Kenny Loggins this time. What’s the music you play when you shit your pants?
The man in the driver’s seat spoke English and asked us if we were traveling and if we were staying at the lodge up the street. Initially we thought he was another stranded guest, but after a little bit of back and forth, we realized he ran the lodge. Because we had booked with so little notice and didn’t have WiFi or phone service all day, he had no way to contact us about what time we were arriving. There were no other guests staying at the lodge at the time (again, it being mid-week and off-season), so the place was going to stay closed until we arrived.
After breathing a collective sigh of relief, we introduced ourselves and the man introduced himself as Rodrigo. He was very friendly and extremely apologetic about the whole situation and offered to drive us back to the lodge (even though we hadn’t made it very far down the road). We threw our bags in and Becca had to actually climb into one of the two car seats in the back seat because there wasn’t enough room for everyone and all the stuff Rodrigo normally kept in his SUV. Luckily it was only a 30-second ride back to the lodge. Thinking back on the whole situation now, I’m not sure how Rodrigo knew to drive by the lodge at the exact moment we were locked outside. It’s like he just knew. Classic Rodrigo.
After getting the keys and a tour of the place, we asked Rodrigo if any restaurants were still open. We had also noticed a few barbecues on the patio, so we also asked about buying groceries. Rodrigo, the consummate gentleman, offered to drive us into town so we could go grocery shopping. We picked up some charcoal, fruits and veggies for grilling, bread and eggs for breakfast, instant mashed potatoes, and, of course, a bottle of wine.
Once we got back, Becca and I settled into our respective gender roles: she prepared food in the kitchen while I made fire outside. As a vegetarian, being the grillmaster is not something I do often (or ever), so this was a new experience for me. We didn’t have enough kindling to get the fire started, so I wandered around the property in the dark with my keychain flashlight looking for anything that would burn, managing to find some old newspaper. That wasn’t quite enough, so we resorted to burning some of the Spanish learning printouts Becca had brought with her. Sure, I’ll trade conversational ability for a hot meal! Game on.
After the coals were hot, we spent the next hour and a half grilling up onions, asparagus, red bell peppers, pineapple, and corn on the cob and eating all of it right off the grill (no silverware necessary or desired). The corn on the cob was a real treat, but I have to give it to Becca, the hot pineapple was eye-opening. We finished the wine (Bicicleta, my favorite word in Spanish) and started going to town on the pisco. In the span of about an hour, we had gone from homeless in the dark to grilling food on a patio by the water, so we felt like some celebratory refreshments were in order. We drank pisco neat, told stories, listened to music, and watched the water until about 3:30, when my phone (and therefore the music) died. It was probably a good thing that happened; otherwise, we would have stayed up until sunrise killing that bottle, as opposed to taking down only 90% of it. That night in Caldera was absolutely unplanned and, in some ways, was the most fun night of the trip.
Cue Hangover Day Number Three.
While dealing with a pretty rough start, Becca and I once again assumed our gender roles: she chopped up the rest of the bananas, kiwis, oranges, and pineapple and made a fruit salad, while I shaved. As she got ready, I made some scrambled eggs and toast and afterwards we had a nice, quiet breakfast on the patio, also partaking in the papaya nectar we had bought in Coquimbo a couple days before. It was one of those “breakfast and battleships” kind of mornings, you know? No, literally, a few battleships had shown up outside the lodge in the middle of the night.
After our late breakfast, we walked to nearby Bahía Inglesa, a beachy tourist destination a little more than three miles away. Though both towns are coastal and picturesque, the land in between is oddly alien: flat, barren, and occasionally rocky. We even passed a space-themed restaurant/club, which makes sense given that the surroundings are reminiscent of the moon.
Once we reached Bahía Inglesa, we spent an hour or two walking around, handing out treats to stray dogs, and quietly sitting on the rocks by the ocean. One particular dog, a white boxer with a docked tail and heterochromia, took a real liking to us, mainly because I gave him the shitty cheese sandwich we had gotten on the bus ride the day before.
We grabbed lunch at a “Thai” restaurant on the water (El Plateao) and while neither of us ordered traditional Thai dishes, the food was some of the best we had on the trip. I was quite happy with my heaping mounds of veggies and couscous and Becca’s creamy, cheesy scallops dish was phenomenal (I made sure to sop up some of the sauce with the ample amount of fresh bread we had). The meal was made even more entertaining by the presence of Jose (referred to as “Jose Loco” by us), the town’s resident crazy person. He’d hang out in front of the restaurant, sometimes yelling, sometimes preaching, sometimes just talking, but you were never sure who he was talking to, even when he was looking right at you.
After our meal, we took a cab back to the lodge, packed our things, and Becca took a power nap while I finished off the rest of the pisco. Rodrigo swung by to give us a ride down to the bus station, but there was some issue with the online payment I had made the day before, so he drove us to his house so we could use his laptop (since the lodge didn’t have an Internet connection). As we settled the bill, Becca and I were charmed to meet his wife Andrea, one of his sons, and all three of his dogs. As a token of appreciation for staying in their lodge, they gave us a copy of a book they had published together (Casitas De Fe). When someone dies in a traffic accident on a road in Chile, family and friends will sometimes build miniature houses or churches (casitas de fe, or “houses of faith”) and place them at the site of the accident, along with crosses and other decorations. Rodrigo and Andrea took photos of many of these memorials and compiled them into a book that is now sitting on my coffee table.
With our bill settled, Rodrigo drove us down to the bus station. We said our goodbyes, grabbed some fajitas and wine from a local cafe, watched a couple stray dogs wrestle for about ten minutes in the parking lot, and then boarded a coach for an 11-hour overnight drive north to the Atacama Desert. We weren’t crazy about spending half a day on a bus, but we upgraded to the first-class seats so that we’d be able to sleep most of the time. Next stop: San Pedro de Atacama!
Or so we thought.
Stay tuned for next week’s exciting conclusion!