I Hear the Sound of Distant Drums!

SAN PEDRO DE ATACAMA.

Awaken in the night by what PG thought was his imagination. He could hear Native Indian drumming and chanting but later RJ confirmed that she heard it also. So no dream, then.

Breakfast is a buffet outside under an awning next to the plunge pool, idyllic. A Chilean woman sits at the next table. Her name is Janette. Although very young looking, she has a 22 year old daughter and a 17 year old son. They went to El Valle de la Luna, yesterday, somewhere we'd like to go to today. Janette's view on the crimewave is that it is down to civil unrest.

We walk into the village to get our bearings a little. We collect a map from the Tourist Information Office and the girl explains that we should take a snapshot of the attractions website addresses. RJ wants to book at the door but the girl explains that it might not always be possible.

Back at the accommodation, RJ makes sandwiches for the trip. I,m struggling to buy the tickets on line when Janette passes by. Explains that the attractions are only open to the public in the morning, the afternoons are reserved for tour groups. She also advises the should buy cocoa sweets to aid breathing. When asked for suggestions for this afternoon, she mentioned that her friend had been to Machuca and enjoyed it.

Fatally for the destination but not the journey, I decided to follow satnav. A s to the journey, we almost immediately encountered a herd of guanacos, the wild version of llamas. Naturally, we stopped for a photo:

The road got worse the more we progressed and we got some funny looks from road workers just before Santiago del Rio Grande.

This turned out to be a shantytown for the workers. Beyond the tin huts, the road reduced down to a single track until we were forced to stop by a river ford crossing. The road signs indicated that the road continues, a 4 × 4 yes, us no! Later, a look at the map showed that there is a way by taking a road nearer to town.

Back in town, we drive up and down the streets until we finally discovered the only petrol station for miles around, at least 50! £50 to half fill the tank, the attendant grateful for the £1 tip. RJ bought some of the recommended sweets and they taste foul, they must do you good.

Janette also told us that she'd been recommended a restaurant called La Casona in the main street, Calle Caracoles. So we try there and the bonus is that there is live music on.

Daniel is our waiter who wants to talk English. He is a Spanish teacher but can earn more money in the north waiting on tables. He reiterates the taxi driver's comments about immigrants particularly about Venezuelas. RJ chooses a potent cocktail and PG a beer, back to that in a minute. For food,we go for house specialities, RJ meat and egg in a baked dish, PG quinoa and vegetables in a risotto style dish. Halfway through the meal, a different waiter asks PG for identification!

He thinks that he's joking but he's not. And, he can't have another without it. He explains that it's the law in all of Chile but not everyone enforces it but they do here. In San Pedro recently three restaurants have been closed down. PG is tempted to leave but RJ wants to listen to the next act. So, a twenty minute round trip for a second beer. And, it wasn't worth it, his thirst had grown rather than being sated. And, the second act was that good either according to RJ.