The
next morning, Tuesday, I followed the same routine, finding it easy now to walk
directly to the sandy beach and boardwalk. The sky was overcast, not
sunny and blue as in Coquimbo, making it too chilly to sit for long. The waves
were good for surfing, and I saw young men and boys out there with their
surfboards. I spent a couple hours sightseeing around the park and beach area then returned to the hotel to work through the afternoon.
When
I got hungry, I ate bananas, peanut butter and mixed nuts which makes a filling
meal. In the evening, I watched Netflix until I was
tired enough to sleep.
Wednesday Forrest texted me that he wouldn’t arrive until that night, so could I go
buy our bus tickets for Thursday morning to Arica. We would spend the night in
Arica and on Friday, cross the border to Peru.
Before heading to the beach that day, I
walked to the bus depot and bought our tickets. That done, and with the
prospect of Forrest arriving tonight, I decided to celebrate somehow.
As I walked the now familiar route to the
beach area, I wondered about stopping at one of the many restaurants along the
promenade. They all seemed too social with crowds of people gathering
to enjoy dining with friends. That would make me feel lonely and sad,
sitting alone and friendless. I looked for something smaller and less social.
|
Fast pass on the Hell Cafe |
I
ended up going into an ice cream shop across from the ocean, where I could sit
at a table by the window and watch the surfers. It was delicious ice cream and
so inexpensive compared to what this quality would have cost in
the US.
Today marked our second full week in Chile, having flown into Santiago
two weeks ago. It felt like much longer since we had seen so much of the
country. My stay in Iquique felt the longest of all.
The ice cream did not satisfy as a mid-day
meal, and I didn’t want more bananas and peanut butter. I noticed a place near
the boardwalk that had tables outside and not many customers. I sat at a table
and ordered a mixto fajita and a cheese empanada. Turns out in Chile mixto
means hot dogs apparently. My “fajita” was cut up hot dogs in a slightly
grilled tortilla. It was barely edible and the empanada not much better. No
wonder there were no customers.
I had crossed a barrier and gone out to eat
by myself. I didn’t enjoy anything about it.
Forrest arrived that night around
nine, came into the room and said, “This hotel stinks! How did you stand it
for so long?”
“It’s not just the hotel. The
whole town smells like this. I have no idea why."
“It
smells like a cheap, dirty apartment.”
“I
know. It’s not an ocean or fishing smell, and it’s the whole town! At least this section of it. Sleep in your bag, Forrest, not on the sheets. The guy said they were clean but I don’t believe him. And
there's been no housekeeping in my room despite being out hours every day. I never
let the bedding touch my body. I even pull my hood up so I’m not touching the
pillow.”
“Why
didn’t you change hotels like you thought of doing?”
“Oh, I
don’t know. I had already paid and didn’t want to bother.”
Forrest laid his sleeping bag on top of
his bed and crawled inside. “How’s the WiFi?”
“Not
bad.” I gave him the three passwords for the three different floors. “Sign into
all of them. If one doesn’t work, another one usually will.”
I went
right to sleep, feeling happy to have my son again and knowing tomorrow we were
leaving Iquique.
In the morning, Forrest left to wander around town. I had my
usual morning routine of writing to get my head on straight for the day. I took
a long shower since this was one of the best ones we had so far, with water hot
enough even for me. I packed my things and worked on my computer until it was
time to go.
Forrest came back and said, “The bus depot is
close enough we can walk.”
I wasn’t interested. “I’ve walked enough
in this town. Let’s just get an Uber. It won’t cost much since it’s only a few
blocks.” I couldn’t wait to get on the bus and drive away from Iquique.
“It
could just be this neighborhood,” Forrest said. “I’ve been propositioned twice
already. Once last night and this morning in broad daylight.”
“You’re
not the only one! Some aging prostitute approached me the other
evening around six on my way back to the hotel. You can see why I want out and to just get an Uber.”
“Fair enough.” He picked up his cell phone
and put in the order.
Once
on the bus and out of town, I felt such a sense of relief. “That city
bothered me, Forrest. It didn’t have a good feeling about it. I’m glad to leave.”
“In retrospect, you should have just gone to Arica the next
day when you realized how sketchy the place was. We could have met there.
It really didn’t make sense for me to backtrack and meet you in Iquique.”
“I wish we’d have thought of that, except I already paid in cash and I don't think he would have refunded me anything."
"Yeah, there's that."
"Forrest, you
want to hear something weird? Up and down the promenade near the beach area, I
kept seeing middle-aged men with adolescent boys that didn’t look like
father-son relationships. One or two I wouldn’t have remarked on, thinking oh
it’s his dad who he never sees who came to town to take him out shopping,
buying him these new shoes he's so excited about or taking him out to lunch. At
first, that’s what I thought. But I saw this whenever I
went out. There couldn’t be that many rich, divorced dads coming to town to
spend time with the fourteen-year-old son he never sees and buying him stuff.” |
Promenade and park, Iquique |
“That is weird,” Forrest agreed.
“I wonder if Iquique is a center for sex
trafficking, or at least that part of it. Anyway, I don’t want to think anymore
about it. Tell me about your time in the Atacama Desert.”
“I was
able to get into a nice hostel full of Europeans. How the heck do they know so many
languages? Most of them are fluent in four or five. Their native language,
English of course, then usually Spanish, French and or Italian. It’s sickening.
They’re required to take English classes in school from like first grade up,
then they learn these other languages as they go.”
“I would love to be multi-lingual like
that. I took so much French in college and really took to it, but what good
does it do if you’re not traveling to the country? I’ve forgotten most of it. I can barely even speak Spanish anymore. Since Dad died, it's like my brain stopped working.”
“You
could travel all over the world, Mom, and learn other languages. It would come
back to you.”
“I’d like to! I want to go to Egypt while
my editor still lives there. Want to go to Egypt with me, Forrest?”
“That
would be cool, but once I graduate, I have to get an internship then find a
job. This trip is my time off from being responsible.”