In gorgeous sunshine I put my foot on the pedal and zoomed off out of Tupiza. The fantastic sandstone formations, including one that looked like a giant penis, kept me amused as I pressed on along a progressivly worsening road. Then, behind me, I spotted an enormous black cloud. That's ok, I thought, the wind is blowing the other way. Well, it turns out my meteorology skills are about as good as my spelling and the downpour hit. Rather soggy, I sheltered under an overhanging rock and started making some jam sarnies. Just then, a big lorry turned up and offered me a lift. Seemed like a good idea so I jumped in.
The truck was carrying some kind of mineral that my spanish is not good enough to work out. To me it looked like a big pile of mud. My bike was slung on top. As we drove along the driver and his mate were constantly chewing on handfulls of coca leaves which made understanding what they were saying difficult. The torrential downpour lessened a bit as we climbed up a steep hill and turned ot mist. Driver's mate brought out some tequilla and fanta. Driver knocked back quite a few of these and his voice became very slurry. He'd be driving us around a blind corner on a narrow road into mist with a precipitous drop and leaning over his shoulder slurrily telling me about how pretty the girls are in La Paz...From now on I will treat trucks with extreme caution. We reached the mine they were heading to and I got chucked out.
A bit woosy from the tequilla, I pedalled on and soon enough the rain returned. Then, I colided with a pot hole and heard the rear tyre go "pop". I fixed it up in the chilly hail storm and whizzed off downhill. On the way down I hit a big patch of mud and skidded all over the place barely managing to stay upright. Then, at the bottom of the hill, I had to pedal up through another patch of mud. I had no traction and the mud clogged up everything. I had to get off and push which only served to get my feet and legs covered with mud as well and we made little uphill progress. If at first you don't suceed and all that. Eventually, I gave up.
Camping in a muddy patch, with a muddy set of panniers, muddy bike and a muddy me, soon everything else got muddy too. Great. But the good thing about mud is that in the morning it will dry out and turn to dust, right? Not this mud. This mud bakes in the sun and turns as hard as a clay pot. Even more difficult to remove from the vital moving parts of my push bike.
Well, mustn't grumble. Got the thing going and headed back onto the mud-bath, sorry, road. Made the top of the hill and had a nice long free-wheel section. Got to Atochi, a nice basic town nestled in the hills, and bought some bread, empanadas and 2 litres of Fanta as couldn't find bottled water. Reached a nice little desert like stretch about 25km from Uyuni and camped for the night under a full moon. Pasta boiled in fanta with a can of condensed tomato was the supper of the evening and rather good it was too.
The truck was carrying some kind of mineral that my spanish is not good enough to work out. To me it looked like a big pile of mud. My bike was slung on top. As we drove along the driver and his mate were constantly chewing on handfulls of coca leaves which made understanding what they were saying difficult. The torrential downpour lessened a bit as we climbed up a steep hill and turned ot mist. Driver's mate brought out some tequilla and fanta. Driver knocked back quite a few of these and his voice became very slurry. He'd be driving us around a blind corner on a narrow road into mist with a precipitous drop and leaning over his shoulder slurrily telling me about how pretty the girls are in La Paz...From now on I will treat trucks with extreme caution. We reached the mine they were heading to and I got chucked out.
A bit woosy from the tequilla, I pedalled on and soon enough the rain returned. Then, I colided with a pot hole and heard the rear tyre go "pop". I fixed it up in the chilly hail storm and whizzed off downhill. On the way down I hit a big patch of mud and skidded all over the place barely managing to stay upright. Then, at the bottom of the hill, I had to pedal up through another patch of mud. I had no traction and the mud clogged up everything. I had to get off and push which only served to get my feet and legs covered with mud as well and we made little uphill progress. If at first you don't suceed and all that. Eventually, I gave up.
Camping in a muddy patch, with a muddy set of panniers, muddy bike and a muddy me, soon everything else got muddy too. Great. But the good thing about mud is that in the morning it will dry out and turn to dust, right? Not this mud. This mud bakes in the sun and turns as hard as a clay pot. Even more difficult to remove from the vital moving parts of my push bike.
Well, mustn't grumble. Got the thing going and headed back onto the mud-bath, sorry, road. Made the top of the hill and had a nice long free-wheel section. Got to Atochi, a nice basic town nestled in the hills, and bought some bread, empanadas and 2 litres of Fanta as couldn't find bottled water. Reached a nice little desert like stretch about 25km from Uyuni and camped for the night under a full moon. Pasta boiled in fanta with a can of condensed tomato was the supper of the evening and rather good it was too.
My first impressions of Bolivia are very positive. The road from Villazón to Tupiza was pretty good really. They are in the process of asphalting it so from time to time you get to ride on a fresh new road. Otherwise you are on a bumpy diversion. I picked up a few punctures. Bit of a pain as my pump is not working very well. The scenery is fantastic. Especially the last 20km coming in to Tupiza with dramatic red sandstone formations.
I like Tupiza. As did Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Although, the Bolivian Army killed them near here.
In Tupiza, I installed myself in a hostel for 2 pounds a night and got an enormous pizza for a pound. Then I fixed a few inner tubes I have lying about and got an early night.
In the morning I set out to climb one of the great looking red mountains behind the town. I'm not sure what it was called (maybe Torre Wayhko). I am not sure how high it was (but I'd guess at least 4000m, the town is at 3160m) and I didn't take a map because it is impossible to find one.
So this was sort of visual-flight-rules type hill-walking. The first obstacle was getting out of town. After scurrying past an army base on a track, I headed up a small but steep ridge barring me from the bigger ridge behind with my hill on it. This was a helpful vantage point for figuring out the topography, which was a complex series of ridges.
I had to decend a steeper slope the other side which brought me out in a canyon. From here I took a gentle slope up to another ridge, avoiding the odd cactus as I went. The ridge at the top became at times rather exposed and narrow. It was made up of a combination of loose sand, red sandstone gravel and soil like stuff. Teetering along that I ended up at a big sandstone vertical wall. From my point of veiw unclimbable. I scuffled around a bit and found a way around the side and followed up a slot like gully. From there I was on another ridge, reasonably wide but very loose and with precipitous drops on both sides. And to make matters worse, thorn bushes and cacti in the way.
As I progressed, the ridge widened out, but as I looked up things did not look good. There were a whole series of huge vertical sandstone fins. Each one streching about 200m long and with infinite drops between them. I couldn't see these from the town as they were in profile, but now they presented a real bar to any progress to the summit. Nevertheless, I continued along my ridge untill I reached the start of the "ridge of fins". Luckily, there was an easier way up round the back.
That is, up to about 150m from the summit when my pleasant ridge walk turned into an engaging scramble. Then with the summit 20m above me, the engaging scramble became a desperate rock climb on loose sandstone. In fact the summit was formed of a series of these sandstone fins which have slots between them dropping hundreds of metres and present vertical faces with no disernable hand- or foot-holds. Much to my disappointment, without climbing gear and a partner, it just wasn't a goer. It is often the case with hill walking or mountaineering. You keep going while it is viable but when it is not you have to make the sage decision. I down climbed the scramble and found a flattish place to sit and eat some biscuits and, desponantly, guzzle down water.
To make things interesting, I decided to take a different way down. It was a good choice. This time there was a broad ridge to follow before I had to head down the bottom of one of those slots. The scenery on this side of the hill was amazing. Creeping down on loose lumps of sandstone, I eventually came down to the flat bottom of a narrow canyon. This opened out into a larger canyon with great views of the sandstone fins and pinicles on both sides. The canyon opened wider and eventually I found myself on a huge wide dried up river bed. I followed this back to civilization.
Just as I came in this internet café a huge thunderstorm began. Phew, just in the nick of time. Apparently, those slot canyons are prone to flash floods.
I like Tupiza. As did Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Although, the Bolivian Army killed them near here.
In Tupiza, I installed myself in a hostel for 2 pounds a night and got an enormous pizza for a pound. Then I fixed a few inner tubes I have lying about and got an early night.
In the morning I set out to climb one of the great looking red mountains behind the town. I'm not sure what it was called (maybe Torre Wayhko). I am not sure how high it was (but I'd guess at least 4000m, the town is at 3160m) and I didn't take a map because it is impossible to find one.
So this was sort of visual-flight-rules type hill-walking. The first obstacle was getting out of town. After scurrying past an army base on a track, I headed up a small but steep ridge barring me from the bigger ridge behind with my hill on it. This was a helpful vantage point for figuring out the topography, which was a complex series of ridges.
I had to decend a steeper slope the other side which brought me out in a canyon. From here I took a gentle slope up to another ridge, avoiding the odd cactus as I went. The ridge at the top became at times rather exposed and narrow. It was made up of a combination of loose sand, red sandstone gravel and soil like stuff. Teetering along that I ended up at a big sandstone vertical wall. From my point of veiw unclimbable. I scuffled around a bit and found a way around the side and followed up a slot like gully. From there I was on another ridge, reasonably wide but very loose and with precipitous drops on both sides. And to make matters worse, thorn bushes and cacti in the way.
As I progressed, the ridge widened out, but as I looked up things did not look good. There were a whole series of huge vertical sandstone fins. Each one streching about 200m long and with infinite drops between them. I couldn't see these from the town as they were in profile, but now they presented a real bar to any progress to the summit. Nevertheless, I continued along my ridge untill I reached the start of the "ridge of fins". Luckily, there was an easier way up round the back.
That is, up to about 150m from the summit when my pleasant ridge walk turned into an engaging scramble. Then with the summit 20m above me, the engaging scramble became a desperate rock climb on loose sandstone. In fact the summit was formed of a series of these sandstone fins which have slots between them dropping hundreds of metres and present vertical faces with no disernable hand- or foot-holds. Much to my disappointment, without climbing gear and a partner, it just wasn't a goer. It is often the case with hill walking or mountaineering. You keep going while it is viable but when it is not you have to make the sage decision. I down climbed the scramble and found a flattish place to sit and eat some biscuits and, desponantly, guzzle down water.
To make things interesting, I decided to take a different way down. It was a good choice. This time there was a broad ridge to follow before I had to head down the bottom of one of those slots. The scenery on this side of the hill was amazing. Creeping down on loose lumps of sandstone, I eventually came down to the flat bottom of a narrow canyon. This opened out into a larger canyon with great views of the sandstone fins and pinicles on both sides. The canyon opened wider and eventually I found myself on a huge wide dried up river bed. I followed this back to civilization.
Just as I came in this internet café a huge thunderstorm began. Phew, just in the nick of time. Apparently, those slot canyons are prone to flash floods.
Check out my article for Adventure Travel magazine's website.
Where I discuss the merits of some of the of luxury items some cycle tourists carry...
1. Computer
2. Normal Clothes
3. Bigger Stuff
4. Playing Cards
5. Foldable Stool/Thermarest Gizmo
Where I discuss the merits of some of the of luxury items some cycle tourists carry...
1. Computer
2. Normal Clothes
3. Bigger Stuff
4. Playing Cards
5. Foldable Stool/Thermarest Gizmo
It just seems to me so ridiculous that such a good way of getting about is seen to be "uncool". I posted on cyclechat about this and there were some interesting replies.
"They aren't keen on exercise full stop (apart from walking around shops)."
"Add into the mix the current obsession with *celebrity* where female rolemodels are not exactly fit & healthy, but anorexically skinny, so it's much cooler to smoke and not eat as any fule noes that if you're above a size 6, you're a fat slob who doesn't deserve to be acknowleged as a human being. Besides which, once you've starved yourself to a socially suitable size, one doesn't actually have any energy left for exercise... and as any fule noes once more, exercise plays havoc with the carefully applied make-up and ruins the hair..."
"The Kid does have an ancient bike that she gets to school on, but it's only since she's aquired a boyfriend with a bike that she's been interested in getting something decent."
"My kids had little interest in bikes, walking for pleasure, mountains etc but they now do all of these things. The trick is not to force it and they'll grow up to appreciate them and you've just led by example and osmosis."
"As for it not being cool, it could be
(a) not wanting to get all sweaty and put the boys off
(b) it being seen as a male thing to do not a female"
"Don't let them use other forms of transport too readily. Or, perhaps, ban cycling."
"My daughter won't ride because the lid messes her hair and all the other girls think shes uncool. Bizarrely those same girls think her mums cool because she cycles/runs/etc.etc - go figure!"
"The UK just gives way too little prestige to sportspeople (except footballers!) and also money for sport in schools has been removed in favour of... well, I'm not sure where the money's gone, but to other stuff. Hence the 'it's not cool' tag for cycling. When I was doing GCSEs I cycled to school and the girls thought I was mad, but the boys thought I was cool cos I had a Saracen (which I now wouldn't be seen dead on ha ha ha ha ha!!!)"
"Firstly, don't try and market the cycling thing as what's cool. Market the idea of free transport long before they're able to drive angle. Market the idea that instead of begging you for lifts they can just take themselves shopping or to meet friends whenever they want.
Sadly, as they're teenage girls, you could probably also market the weight thing.
Then market this cyclechic site:
http://www.cyclechic.co.uk/index.htm
I have often been asked where I got my 'handbag' from when it's a pannier off this site. Plus if they really hate standard helmets and you want them to wear one there are some great cool ones on there."
"I've seen a marked increase in teenage girls in my area recently and I reckon it's because of the current trend for leggings and long t-shirts/jumpers. Sounds ridiculous but an outfit combining the two is totally practical for cycling without resorting to lycra.
The numbers are still depressingly low though."
"Much is down to how it is portrayed in film. How are adults portrayed in film on bikes?
Only two adult film characters I can think who rode bikes are Pee Wee and the 40 Year old Virgin. Other than that it is just kids.
How could you ever expect them to buy into that club?"
"Cycling being cool !!! I don't think it's cool, it's just a form of transport.
From a very early age, as most people, i've had a bike. Not to be cool, but just to get around, as you don't need a licence and you can ride the thing anywhere, whether you were allowed to or not."
"There's another film as well.. the one with the famous scene where a woman who dances takes her bra off in front of her boss while she's talking. URRGGHHHHHHHH Flashdance! There we go. She cycles everywhere and is portrayed as cool doing it. Pity about the 80s hair do though..."
"The 10 year old loves it, the 13 year old won't cycle, period. I don't think it's a 'cool' thing, I think it's more a pig-idle thing."
"The imprtant thing for teenagers and teenage girls in particular is to give the impression you never try hard for anything."
"We need Hello and OK (or what ever the correct mags are - I don't read them so don't know), to run a regular feature on which celeb was seen on their bike that week with photos to start to influence some of the girls."
The Guardain has also picked up on this issue. Also you can read the entire thread on cyclechat.
Northwest Argentina has been a great ride. Since rolling down off Paso Agua Negra, Russ and I have cycled through some incredible scenery, camped in some strange spots and eaten many hundreds of ice creams. Chocolate con Almendra is my favorite flavour now...
Some of the highlights of the last few weeks were (in no kind of cronological order):
Camping in a field and drinking homebrew mead
Cactus strewn deserts
Sergio teaching us how to make an asado in Las Flores
Camping in the plazas of little villages
Panchos (hotdogs)
Push starting a broken down German motorbiker with horrible moles on her back
Quilmes beer
Christoph - a preposterous Frenchman
Huge wide views with mountains in the distance
Sandstone formations between Cafayate and Salta
Buying knifes
Screeching parakeets
Stars
Mountain pass between Villa Union and Nonogasta
Milenesa (steak, egg and tomato sandwich)
Condors
Meeting a family who gave us heaps of ice cold water in Pituil
Spending the night by the velodrome in Belén and watching a race through the town.
Watching a cycle race for 5 year olds. There was a false start and they all burst into tears...
Back on my own again, I left Salta acompanied by a marching police band and some men dressed in big hats on horseback. You think I could make this stuff up?! Between Salta and Jujuy the scenery is very lush. A world away from the semi-desert of the last few weeks. At one stage I wound my way through some forested hills that seemed almost like rainforest... Checked into a very sparse "Residential" in Jujuy. Cheaper than a hostal and will serve as penance for the debauchery of my last night in Salta (my second visit to a nightclub on the trip).
In other news... I am still not an uncle but my sister is 2 days overdue and enormous (saw her bump on a skype video call).
Some of the highlights of the last few weeks were (in no kind of cronological order):
Camping in a field and drinking homebrew mead
Cactus strewn deserts
Sergio teaching us how to make an asado in Las Flores
Camping in the plazas of little villages
Panchos (hotdogs)
Push starting a broken down German motorbiker with horrible moles on her back
Quilmes beer
Christoph - a preposterous Frenchman
Huge wide views with mountains in the distance
Sandstone formations between Cafayate and Salta
Buying knifes
Screeching parakeets
Stars
Mountain pass between Villa Union and Nonogasta
Milenesa (steak, egg and tomato sandwich)
Condors
Meeting a family who gave us heaps of ice cold water in Pituil
Spending the night by the velodrome in Belén and watching a race through the town.
Watching a cycle race for 5 year olds. There was a false start and they all burst into tears...
Back on my own again, I left Salta acompanied by a marching police band and some men dressed in big hats on horseback. You think I could make this stuff up?! Between Salta and Jujuy the scenery is very lush. A world away from the semi-desert of the last few weeks. At one stage I wound my way through some forested hills that seemed almost like rainforest... Checked into a very sparse "Residential" in Jujuy. Cheaper than a hostal and will serve as penance for the debauchery of my last night in Salta (my second visit to a nightclub on the trip).
In other news... I am still not an uncle but my sister is 2 days overdue and enormous (saw her bump on a skype video call).
Just recently, Russ and I drank a litre and a half of homebrew mead. I will have to abandon modesty here because it was delicious! I brewed it in a bottle cage and it has been fizzing away since I left Santiago. We drank it in a field with cows, chickens and dogs pestering us. It didn't seem too strong but we were a bit wobbly by the end of the night...
The history of this drink is extraordinary. It is the first alcoholic drink ever made. It predates agriculture and has been discovered independently across Asia, Europe and Africa. The oldest archaeological evidence dates to about 7000BC. Modern civilisation might well have started with this drink! In Spanish it is called aguamiel which is a good name as it sums up the ingredients.
Here is how I made mine. I've tried to write the recipe in the style of Sir Kenelm Digby.
1. Taketh a bowl of water and, when it be warm, put some honey in it.
2. In a cup, poureth a little hot water. When the mercury doeth drop under 30 degrees, put to it a spoonful of yeast and one of sugar. Then sealeth the cup with clingfilm.
3. In the bowl of water and honey, skim off the scum. Continue to skim until all the scum be skimmed and no skimming of scum can skim any more scum as the scum no longer will rise.
4. After the cup has been left aside for an hour, add it to the bowl of water and honey. When it is worked up, put it into a vessel of fit size (an old 1.5 litre coke bottle perhaps).
5. Leave it in a bottle cage on your bike, cycle over the Andes, and drink it, in a field maybe, in about 10 days time or when the fizzing has stopped.
For more mead advice see the Mead Maker's Page.
The history of this drink is extraordinary. It is the first alcoholic drink ever made. It predates agriculture and has been discovered independently across Asia, Europe and Africa. The oldest archaeological evidence dates to about 7000BC. Modern civilisation might well have started with this drink! In Spanish it is called aguamiel which is a good name as it sums up the ingredients.
Here is how I made mine. I've tried to write the recipe in the style of Sir Kenelm Digby.
1. Taketh a bowl of water and, when it be warm, put some honey in it.
2. In a cup, poureth a little hot water. When the mercury doeth drop under 30 degrees, put to it a spoonful of yeast and one of sugar. Then sealeth the cup with clingfilm.
3. In the bowl of water and honey, skim off the scum. Continue to skim until all the scum be skimmed and no skimming of scum can skim any more scum as the scum no longer will rise.
4. After the cup has been left aside for an hour, add it to the bowl of water and honey. When it is worked up, put it into a vessel of fit size (an old 1.5 litre coke bottle perhaps).
5. Leave it in a bottle cage on your bike, cycle over the Andes, and drink it, in a field maybe, in about 10 days time or when the fizzing has stopped.
For more mead advice see the Mead Maker's Page.
Kitted out with a bike called "Scorpion" and some supermarket camping kit, Russ joined me on this fantastic cycling adventure. We shaked a bit in Santiago and then bussed to La Serena and set off to cross the Andes. You can see some of Russ' photos here.
The first stop was Vicuña. We'd cycled up a gentle slope all day and reached this pleasant little town. The campsite we found offered a pool, kitchen and ripe grapes for the princely sum of three pounds fifty. We chilled out.
The high mountains surrounding us grew closer the next day. Soon we found ourselves winding our way up a tight valley, almost a canyon. By the side of the road there were some stone shacks. We suspected these were used by goat hearders as there was a fair amount of goat excrement about. Russ got out his kite and I built a fire. We slept under the brightest set of stars I have ever seen.
The next day we continued on up the valley with dramatic scenery around us. In the afternoon we passed a "campamiento" and I enquired if we could buy bread. We were given a large roll free. Later, at another campamiento where some roadworkers stayed, I asked if we could camp. The man said no. There was a couple of beds we could have in an old shed. The room was plastered with posters of semi-clad women. Then, as I got out my stove on the front porch, the kind gent called us over and invited us for dinner too. Barbequed beef and empanadas. In the courtyard there was a fountain with a plastic barbie doll on the top. The water squirted out of her nipples. Quite a water feature. One suspects that these lads don't see too many girls up this way.
Passing the stunning, if not origionally named, La Laguna, we anticipated reaching the top of the pass. However, the tough gravel road, incline and fatigue got the better of us and we camped at around 4500m. We had just enough energy to wolf down some pasta and flake out. In the night I noted the temerature drop to -3C, not so cold really.
We woke. Both of us feeling well and with no signs of altitude sickness. After scoffing the remainder of our bread and jam and brewing tea with the last tea bags, we put in the last 10km to the summit.
We celebrated reaching the 4780m pass with some photos. Then we enjoyed 100km of free-wheeling downhill.
On our way down we stopped to make some rice for lunch. We were joined by a french cyclist, Christof, who looked as if he were a scubadiver. His cycling outfit consisted of a lot of black lycra. He sat down with us and told us the story of his life, his cycling and rather more about his recent sexual conquests than you would expect from a stranger.
Our freewheel ride continued on a tar road and we headed across a huge plain surrounded by mountian ranges. Then we arrived in Las Flores.
I asked Sergio if there was a campsite and he said we could camp in his garden for 2 pounds. Then he invited us to drink mate. After a bit of a chat he decided to show us how to make an asado, the classic argentinian barbeque. We bought a mountain of meat and local wine and he showed us the tradditional method to get the fire going. The wood is placed on top of the grill and as the embers fall through they are pushed under the meat and sausages. We ate, drank, chatted and it felt like a wonderful welcome back to Argentina.
This post relates to my bike trip in South America in 2010.
I now offer guided walks and walking holidays in the UK in Northumberland, the Pennines, the Lake District, Scotland and further afield.
I'm always keen for outdoor adventures to help people learn the skills to explore! My particular focus is mountain skills such as navigating with a map and compass and wild camping for expeditions.
It would be remiss of me, I think, not to mention something about the earthquake in Chile. I was asleep on the top bunk in a hostal in Santiago. At about 3:30am, so I am told, the earthquake hit. I woke up and the whole building was shaking. This lasted for a few minutes and was not unpleasant. When it stopped I rolled over and went back to sleep. A while later I was woken up by one of the hostal's staff and we were all asked to go outside, like a fire drill. After half an hour or so people went back to bed. It was apparent that the building wasn't falling down and there was little to be achieved by standing around outside. During the remainder of the night there were several aftershocks which felt like being in a gently vibrating bed.
In the morning more of the consequences became apparent. There was a power cut which lasted most of the day and most of the shops and resturants were shut. Russ and I wandered around the town in a search to buy him a bike. Several buildings were quite severely damaged. A few water mains had burst. Generally the damage didn't seem too bad.
On returning to the hostal the power was back on. 20 odd travellers were queueing to use the internet to let thier loved ones know they were ok. The BBC News website had the earthquake as the top news story and the photos were horrific.
The epicentre of the quake was off the coast of Curanipe, about 100km north of Concepción, a city where I had stayed in January. I was offered generous hospitality there by the owner of a bike shop. I am glad that he and his family are ok. Also, as I cycled along the coast from Conception, I met 3 lads from the area out on bikes and we cycled together for a few days. It was great fun, we crossed a river in a fishing boat, we sang songs by a fire and we went to see a chilean band perform in a small beach town, Cobquecura. These guys are also fine. Matias wrote to me and said:
"Nuestra ciudad se encuentra muy dañada y es una pena verla asÃ... sin embargo ya comienza a mejorar todo por aquÃ... espero que pronto llegue la normalidad...Y todas las playas que recorrimos hoy ya no existen... es una pena pensar que esos lugares tan bonitos desaparecieron..."
"Our city finds itself very damaged and it is a shame to see it like this...however already everything has started to improve around here...I hope that things will be back to normal soon... and all the beaches we visited no longer exist...it is a shame to think that such beautifull places have disappeared"
Many of the small villages I passed along the coast were on gravel roads. These are easily damaged and make them hard to reach. To make matters worse many of the houses are made from adobe bricks that I imagine probably shake to peices fairly easily.
Perhaps worse even than the initial quakes, fires and tsunamis are the human chaos of prison breakouts, looting, riots, arson, vandalism, sexual assults, vigilantism. Intense grief, fear, confusion and panic drive people to extreme actions.
Chile is badly located when it comes to earthquakes. 6 of the 20 strongest recorded have been in Chile including the strongest ever (9.5 in 1960). This quake was 8.8 and the 7th strongest ever. Boffins think it has shortened the length of a day by a microsecond!
So far this year there have been earthquakes in Haiti, Chile, Venezuela, Solomon Islands, California, Hawaii, Japan, Argentina, Taiwan, Sumatra and Turkey. 2010 seems to be a year with bite.