
Sara Wheeler looks back on her time in the Atacama, a trip full of adventure and romance.
Through an open tent flap, I watched the sun rise over the Andes. Light cascaded down the slopes and across caramel sands, drawing tall shadows out of cacti and elongating the waxy fruits that bubbled from the tips. I heard José striking a match and making a fire.
The Atacama Desert – the driest on the planet – unfurls for 600 miles down the north of Chile, extending from the Peruvian border to thirty degrees of latitude. Widthwise, it stretches from the Pacific coast through mineral-rich desert flatlands up into the foothills of the Andes and the abbreviated volcanic landscape beyond. José and I were taking a road trip. I had met him on the road: literally. My Jeep got a puncture, I cut my thumb on the jack and he came to the rescue. He had a tent but no vehicle. I had a vehicle but no tent. One thing led to another. It was 1990, and I was 29…
Read more...