26 October, 2009—Arica, Chile

After 30 hours on a tour bus (in semi-cama seats, the most economical choice, with partially reclining seats and an abundant selection of bad movies), Catalina and I arrived yesterday afternoon at Sunny Days, which is quite possibly the cutest hostel in the Southern Hemisphere. The owner showed us to our room; we did some quick vegetable shopping, made dinner, and crashed into our beds. After 30 hours on a tour bus, though, I slept surprisingly restlessly and woke up feeling a little foggy.

This morning, we got out of bed around nine, donned some athletic gear and, barefooted, went to the beach for a jog. It wasn't the world's greatest jog, but sustained activity after so much time sitting so still felt wonderful. After, we went on a brief city tour.

Arica is the northernmost city in Chile, population ~185,000, and the site of an important Chilean victory in the War of the Pacific—the 1880 Chilean-Peruvian-Bolivian war in which Chile doubled its territory and cut off Bolivia's access to the sea. It's a small, semi-urban beach town that is loomed over by El Morro—the huge rock on which this huge battle was fought—and doesn't have an awful lot of sights to see. The sights it has, though, it has in spades: some of the world's oldest mummies live in a museum here, and a church and an old customhouse designed by Gustave Eiffel sit in the middle of downtown.

We didn't see everything. In Santiago's pre-colonial art museum, we'd already seen Chinchorro mummies (which are actually really cool: the Chinchorro people mummified everyone, from the youngest miscarried fetus to the oldest old man, regardless of gender and of social class, by taking out all of their organs, replacing them with plant matter, reattaching the skin, and covering their faces with ochre-painted masks and wigs), so we decided to skip the museum at the outskirts of town where they are the main showpiece. We also decided not to climb up on El Morro; it's a bit of a ride out there, and the thought of more car rides was sickening. Instead, we stuck to the city center.

We did see both Eiffel designs, the Iglesia San Marcos and the ex-Aduana (currently a cultural center). Both are pretty, if small and relatively unassuming. The church is constructed out of all metal, and covered with a thin layer of paint. The taller outside turret is rusting; it's a vague greenish color, while the rest of the building is painted white and copper. The inside looks oddly mechanical—the balustrades have flower details in them, and the roof arches up steeply and dramatically, but the lines are sort of too clean. Inside is the bell from the original church (Eiffel was brought in by the Peruvian Viceroy to design the new Church after a tsunami destroyed the old one), and one strange detail: the only part of the building NOT made of metal is the thick set of double doors that stand guard at the entrance—who knows why? (I don't. That's not a dare, but an open question.)

The second Eiffel construction is the former customhouse (aduana), which is made out of brick and currently houses pictures of Arica from its time as a Peruvian city to now, and also has art brought in from the school of fine art in Cuzco, Peru. Out front, there's an amphitheater, where we sat for a while and watched a kindergarten class practicing a dance for some kind of exhibition. Inside, there's also some cool history: a flirty (and therefore chatty) guide took us through the building. He showed us the original tiling where Peruvian workers, angry that they hadn't been paid for constructing the building, turned a patterned ceramic piece around 180 degrees to mess up the pattern, and expected nobody to notice. He showed us the original Peruvian coat of arms that adorned the outside of the building, but was taken down when Chile won the War of the Pacific. And he took us up a rickety, beautiful spiral staircase for an amazing view of El Morro. It's interesting how El Morro is a constant in the cityscape, sort of like the Cordillera in Santiago: always there as a reminder of some history or other.

A brief thought: Arican identity must be a little odd—at the same time that the city is Chilean and has been for 130 years, there seems to still be a lot of Peruvian influence/ pride/ memory. I wonder what the interaction is between ex-Peruvian and Chilean identities.

After our busy morning, we stopped off for some heladito (ice cream is always delicious) and decided to head to fisherman's wharf for some seafood (and to see the sea lions. As though we'd never seen them before.) We did see the sea lions, and at a surprisingly short distance: they were sleeping, fighting, chilling about five feet away from us, across a fence, totally indifferent to our presence. They were very stinky, and only a little cute—one animal that gains from distance in the bay. The rest of the plan got sidetracked when we met The Boxer.

The Boxer was a seventy-eight year old man who approached us with the normal series of questions—where are you from? What are you doing here? How long are you here for?--and made some uncomfortable insinuations—going into great detail about sea lion sex, and inviting us for some cartonet (boxed wine) and sandwiches in his apartment (we politely refused.) He thought Abraham Lincoln was black. Also, he was a former boxer; the country retired him at 21 and he's been living pensioned ever since. “I've never worked a day in my life,” he said, smiling yellowly, “because I was an athlete.” I told some convenient lies (“We're staying with a friend,” “I have a fiance,” and “I don't drink,” among others) to get us out of a tight spot or two, and we escaped unharmed, as politely as possible.

Another side note: I'm glad that I've learned to be appropriately wary here. Although I think I go overboard sometimes, I'm glad that the gypsies in the park this morning couldn't cajole us into getting our fortunes read (“they speak good Spanish, let's go”) and that we didn't go to have boxed wine with the ex-boxer. I'm glad to be a little bit jaded, even though I sometimes wish I would calm down and be open to more experiences. I guess the city has done some weird things to me. Or maybe, I've always been cautious and now am just savvier. Or maybe this is all part of that “growing up” thing—learning to say no when you don't want things.

Tomorrow, we're in for another long haul on a bus (although nowhere near as long as the last one—only seven hours this time!), scheduled to make it to Arequipa at 4:00 PM local time (that's 6:00 Chilean time, 2:00 California time). I'm excited for the canyons and the sparkling buildings! We'll be there a few days before we head off to Cuzco, to blaze the Inca Trail (or, more likely, an alternative) and see some seriously amazing ruins. I'm SO EXCITED!!

For now, though, I'm going to re-organize my pack, throw a couple of tarot cards, stretch thoroughly, and head to sleep. And remember to write down everything so as not to forget.