Hosteland

* this entry from 3/28 *
Hosteland, San Pedro de Atacama

It's evening, I've come from eating dinner with two travellers I met in town. We part ways -- ciao. A walk back to the Hostel, down the dusty dirt road, past pisco sour happy hours, past a guard, past wooden arches and the gravel ground of the atrium. A pull on the knob and the door opens to the cramped dorm room.



A dormmate is seated cross-legged on his bed, his back facing the door.

"How was your day?" I ask while putting a bag of toiletries away.

A brief response, his head hunkered down, newspaper crumpled to his side.

"What are you working on?" Perhaps he's a chisler or sculptor of some sort. "May I have a look?" I move towards him.

In his lap, a white tray with a zucchini looking thing. He's busy carving it with a pocket knife. Dark green slivers and a jelly substance. After a number of questions including what are you making for dinner?, he finally reveals the nature of his activity.

In his lap was not a zucchini, cucumber, or long green vegetable, but rather a San Pedro Cactus, a plant known to have hallucinogenic properties. Apparently a conversation with a Shaman led him to where this cactus could be found -- a bike ride to someone's backyard.

I leave the dormie to his cactus carving and head to the showers. The desert evening chilly (night temperatures in the Atacama commonly drop below zero). The bathroom, an outdoor one. The flame that heats the water, unlit. I ask the Hostel attendant if she could relight it and how long it will take for the water to heat.

"Listo, listo (ready, ready)", she says.

I hop into the wood paneled stall. The water is cold. Cursing, I briskly rub soap. A moment later, soapsuddy(new word), the water sputters and stops. I retire the shower attempt and brush my teeth instead using bottled water (water in this region is scarce and not potable due to its high mineral content).



Back in the room, a knock on the door. A fourth dormmate enters. He apologizes if his feet smell, he's just come off a 24hour bus ride. Introductions and re-introductions, the monotony of hello-goodbye.


*


sidebar: a unique song was playing at the hostel. The Hostel attendant kindly gave a copy (added to playlist). The artist -- Beatriz Pichi Malen of Mapuche ancestry, the indigenous people of North and Central Chile, known to have successfully resisted many of the Incas' and Spain's attempts to subjugate them.



...at the moment, Inka Andina Hotel
Still here with the caffeine buzz :)