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After a 30 hr bus ride we arrived in the desert oasis of San Pedro de Atacama, in what could go down as the worst arrival to a town ever. Not only did we manage to get lost in a town comprised of around five streets, but we managed to get lost in the pouring rain and mud, as night fell. When we finally found our hostel we were greeted with a bunch of dudes high on psychodelic drugs packing sandbags in the doorway to stop the floodwaters from turning their courtyard into a swimming pool. We probably should have taken this as a sign to run and not look back but as the small town was packed to the brim, we had no other option but to check-in. Not that it was actually possible for us to check-in as we soon discoverd amongst the chaos that they had given our room to an English and Dutch lad. After an hour of all four of us arguing to the staff via another guest who was acting as our translator, it turned out that (soley due to the F-up of the hostel) we rightfully had the booking and the two boys, who were now well into a 2 litre bottle of red wine each, were out on their arse. Being much more free-spirited/drunk travellers then us they agreed and we went about changing our bags around. In this process- halfway through them getting their s*** together and us having a shower- the power went out, making getting dressed a challenge. Not a total disaster until one of dudes collecting his possesions- rucksack in one hand and massive bottle of wine in the other- loses grip of the wine spreading liquid and glass all over the tiny 6 bed dorm with no light to see how far the damage had spread. At that stage me and Dan were so over caring, we left the drunks and other guests to clean up the mess, eager to head into the dark, slippery town full of watery potholes and find ourselves a beer.
In the light of day, with the sun shining we decided to stick out the 4 nights we had booked in hope that the weather would improve and we could see something of what is normally an amazing region. How naive we were! Our tours to the Geysers and the Valley of Moon were cancelled and with everyone trying to the get the hell out of this melting mud brick-town, most buses were full for days. We considered doing the Salt Flat tour to Uyuni in Boliva but decided against it as if the tours were even running, they were most likely going to be dodgey as hell: leaving late, not going to all the attractions promised, breaking down and everyone freezing to death. So what else was there to do but hang out with the other guys in the hostel drink beer and watch the staff trip out! Turns out this was a wise move as on the second afternoon whilst chatting to a bunch of new friends over beers, we watched the dreaded raincloud roll in and beat the hostel to a pulp. It was all hands on deck, with everyone grabbing a broom to sweep the water away from doorways, which ended up being fruitless because the roof of the rickety dorm rooms gave way to gush a water drenching everything inside including beds, bags and clothes. Needless to say we continued drinking well into the night laughing at the situation because what else is there to do! Later that evening one poor German fellow rocked up to the hostel with a reservation. The sight he would have seen would have been part shocking, part hilarious: The old hippy night watchmen off his bannana on god knows what drug dancing and singing; most of the patrons looking like drenched rats sinking 2 litre bottles of red wine or whiskey; cramped dorm rooms with puddles of water in the corners and soaking beds; and toilets that were covered in streams of red dirt which had run-off from the roof in through the window. He only stayed a night and managed to get whatever bus out he could.
So the rest of our time in San Pedro pretty much continued in this manner: drinking beer and trying to protect our beds and valuables when the rain came. We did however get to do sandboarding on Dans birthday and met a great bunch of people all joined in combat against the floods in the "driest desert in the world"!
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