Brazil and Chile — or how things change in a mere four decades

Thou shalt not spend more than eight years without visiting the holy land that witnessed thy birth. Not sure if that’s one of the commandments, but if it is, I was about to become a sinner (notwithstanding extenuating circumstances in the form of a global pandemic). So, I went ahead and bought us about six tons of CO₂ worth of airline tickets (sorry, Earth).

Now, since there’s a very nice country between California and Chile where
my childhood friend and his lovely Brazilian wife happen to live, we made a stop in Brasilia, Brazil’s capital. (I know, I know, Brazil is not exactly on the way, but it’s not in the opposite direction either, okay?).

Brazil: Minas Gerais and Bahia

Sensibly, we were all tempted to drive to the beach to escape dull Brasilia. Problem was, Brasilia is pretty much in the geographical center of the fifth largest country in the world. In other words, fricking far from the ocean. Fortunately, my friend, who’s as smart as he is crazy, anticipated that there would be some doubts about the practicality of such endeavor, and had the foresight of proving that it was doable… by doing it. Singlehandedly. So, just a couple of weeks earlier he took his car and drove 18 hours non-stop to Ilhéus, Bahia, spent a few days at the beach, and drove back.

Since he could do it by himself, we thought, if it’s four of us who can drive, then why not add a 6-hour southward detour in order to go to Ouro Preto, a colonial town I’ve always wanted to visit. And why go to the closest beach when we could drive 50 more miles (80 km) on a horrendous dirt road to go to a secluded one. And since at that point we were only four hours from Trancoso, which called me back ever since I came in the eighties, then why not go there as well. And why not add a 6-hour northward detour on the way back for a stop at the Chapada Diamantina, always listed among the top national parks to visit in Brazil. Yeah, why not.

Chapada Diamantina

The good, the bad and the ugly of Brazil

The good: its joyful, affectionate people. The immense variety of exotic fruits. The comida à quilo: it’s like a buffet meal, except that your plate is weighed at the end of the line and you pay for what you put on your plate. I like the system.

The bad: sugar in your coffee! You have to specifically request no sugar, and even then, some places just don’t have it: coffee simply comes prepared with sugar… how outrageous! Also, the speed bumps. They are not built to slow you down, they are built so that you have to come to an almost complete stop if you don’t want to destroy your car (and your brain against your skull). They call them quebramolas, or strut wreckers, for a reason, but since some are in the most unexpected places and barely marked, they should be called heart attack makers.

The ugly: Bolsonaristas’ utter disregard for democracy with their banners calling for the army to stage a coup to “save the country”.

Trancoso then and now

I came to the idyllic town of Trancoso some 38 years ago. My then-girlfriend and a friend were camping in Porto Seguro, Bahia, in what was the peak of an extremely low-budget hitchhiking trip we took across Argentina, Uruguay, and Brazil. That’s when we heard for the first time about Trancoso, a small, remote, free-spirit community about 30 km to the south, and decided to go on a day trip to check it out. And that’s how one morning we took the ferry to Arraial d’Ajuda, the town across the Buranhém River from Porto Seguro, and from there we walked and hitchhiked the rest of the way, along an unfrequented dirt road that ran more or less parallel to the coastline. A discarded coconut we found on the way, its water already consumed but still with a fairly thick layer of meat inside, became our meal for the rest of the day.

We fell in love with Trancoso: the laid-back atmosphere, the people’s friendliness, the sense of community, and last but not least, the nudist beach. We felt we had barely gotten a taste of the place when it came time to head back if we wanted to have any chance of riding the day’s last ferry back to Puerto Seguro. “Screw the ferry”, we said and stayed until dusk. The night — a warm, stormy, moonless one — fell on us when we were tracing our steps back along the same road we came in. We had dense jungle on both sides of the road, and the noise from all sorts of critters was deafening. Magically so. It was amazing for me, although not so much for my girlfriend, who was terrified.

Some good soul took us in his car part of the way back to Arraial d’Ajuda, where we spent the rest of the night wandering along the town’s streets and enjoying the live music some bars offered (all from the outside, as we had no budget to consume anything). We then killed a few more hours just sitting there, exhausted, until the ferry resumed its service in the morning.

Today, 38 years later, Trancoso is an entirely different village. It became a chic place for the rich and famous who fool themselves into buying a piece of authentic life. It’s full of boutique pousadas, the tranquility ruined by traffic that does not fit its narrow streets, the beaches blocked by clubs and restaurants and big houses. As BrazilBeyondRio.com states, “this elegant little beachside town didn’t even have electricity until 1986, not that you’d ever know it today. Trancoso was once so isolated that Brazil changed its currency and the locals didn’t even realise. […] Beyoncé, Leonardo di Caprio, Gisele Bündchen and Naomi Campbell have all spent time holidaying here, and CNN journalist Anderson Cooper is one of Trancoso’s best known residents.” Yikes! I should have read that before coming!

Chile: Atacama

After getting ourselves reacquainted with loved ones in Santiago, we took a six-day trip to San Pedro de Atacama, an intriguing little town at the foot of the Andes Mountains that serves as a gateway to explore the breathtaking region. The Atacama Desert is known as the driest place on earth, so much so that some weather stations have never registered rainfall at all.

When it comes to conveying magnificence I’m better behind my camera than my keyboard, so I’ll shut up and leave you with the following pictures.

The good, the bad and the ugly of Chile

The good: Santiago’s extensive subway network. Modern, clean, fast, convenient. I’ve always been a fan of it.

The bad: Santiago’s air quality. I’m not used to not seeing the mountains in December, hidden behind a thick layer of smog.

The ugly: Santiago’s aggressive drivers. In this part of the world the turn signal is taken as a declaration of war: “you want to cut me off… over my dead body!”. You’ll be more successful if you merge without announcing it (and then optionally you can use the turn signal once you have control of your new position, so that no one can fault you for not signaling).

El Tatio then and now

Almost forty years ago I traveled to the Norte Grande, or Great North, for a second summer in a row because a malfunctioning camera ruined most of my pictures the year before. I was so mad I wanted a re-do. Or an out-do, since this second time I was determined to visit El Tatio, which wasn’t as easy as it is today, particularly with the budget of a college student.

El Tatio, as I now know, is the third largest geyser field in the world, with almost 10% of the planet’s thousand or so geysers. The largest is Yellowstone with about a half, and second is the Valley of Geysers in Russia’s Kamchatka Peninsula, with roughly 10%.

So, not yet twenty years old and fixated with seeing a geyser for the first time in my short life, I got as close as I could by public transportation and found myself in the tiny highland village of Caspana, 3300m (10800ft) above sea level, and just a couple hundred inhabitants.

I got some fruit at a modest stand and asked the owner if he knew the way to El Tatio. It turns out that he did, and he even graciously drew me a map with the trails I had to take before connecting with the truck road at the very end. I never knew if I just lucked out or it was common for Caspanians to both have that knowledge and be so patient with complete strangers.

I put my freshly acquired apples in my backpack and off I went, mostly along a riverbed, to meet those mysterious geological contraptions, still a good thousand meters higher. It took me two days, during which I didn’t see another soul.

Once there I was warmly received by the solitary guard looking after the dorms and machinery left after various failed attempts to harvest geothermal energy. A friendly nortino craving for companionship, he let me use the facilities, including a bed and a marvelous pool that fed from a hot spring. I spent two or three days there, with all the geysers just for my eyes only, immersed in a fascinating experience that marked me deeply. Had I known back then that I had before me, and all for myself, one tenth of all the geysers in the world I would have been even more mesmerized.

Sadly, I don’t remember the guard’s name, but in spite of him being twice my age we kept in touch for years by mail. Real, actual, slow, pen-and-paper mail, if you are old enough to remember it. He always addressed his letters to “amigo caminante”.

Unlike Trancoso, El Tatio hasn’t changed much in 40 years. It’s the same playful geysers with the same solemn backdrop of mountains that go 6000m high, the unflappable adults looking after the boisterous kids. But the experience feels very different as it lacks that spiritual, transformative power. And that’s because there’s no sense of accomplishment when you get there in an “adventure” truck with reclining seats, there’s no peace when the delicate music of the geysers is distorted by the noise of a thousand-strong crowd, there’s no timelessness if they tell you that you have 30 minutes to enjoy the place.

Instead of taking it as a loss, I just feel even more fortunate of having lived that once-in-a-lifetime experience which is now simply unrepeatable. If my memory allows, I will treasure it for another 40 years.