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THE BATTLE FOR MOQUEGUA
After our attempts to get to Bolivia had been thwarted, we didn't expect to encounter any trouble in crossing the border to Chile. We had a pretty tight schedule to keep to as we had to be in San Pedro de Atacama (hundreds of miles south) a few days later for the first of the hotels we're reviewing, and had revised our route to go overland through the south of Peru to get to northern Chile. However, again, it didn't prove to be as straightforward as we had hoped.
We arrived bright and early at Arequipa bus station only to find that no buses were going south due to, yes, you guessed it, protesters on the road again., this time between Arequipa and the Peruvian border town of Tacna. So the tickets we had booked were useless and the best that we could do was book ourselves onto a bus later in the week (a day later than when we were supposed to be in San Pedro de Atacama) by which time the protests might have cleared. We knew we had to act quickly to find alternative routes south so raced over to the airport hopeful that we could throw some money at the problem and buy ourselves a flight to somewhere like Tacna, or Arica, across the border in Chile. Sadly, we realised that things weren't going our way when we arrived to find that the airport wasn't exactly a hive of activity. Two slumbering security guards, a woman from the local airline doing her nails and virtually no passengers in sight indicated that there wouldn't be many planes leaving Arequipa that day. In fact, there was a grand total of three departures to Lima and three arrivals from Lima. We discovered that there was a flight south to Santiago via Arica leaving the next day but this was fully booked. However we were advised to go to the airline's offices in town as they might have some cancellations.
This was looking like the best (i.e. only) course of action available to us as we got in another taxi back into Arequipa - that was until our taxi driver floated the idea that he could drive us to Tacna as, he claimed, it was only large vehicles like coaches that couldn't get round the roadblocks. Our driver, Oscar, seemed like a friendly chap, and although we were reluctant to spend way over our daily budget on a journey through the desert of over four hours, it seemed like a more realistic way of actually getting to Chile, and we figured that flights, if indeed we were even lucky enough to get them, would end up costing us a lot more. We set off on our way along the Pan-American Highway and, for the first couple of hours, all went well - good road, comfortable car, some easy listening on the stereo, and some fantastic desert scenery en route. That was until we got to Moquegua…. The Peruvian Congress has passed a new law redistributing mining profits which the people of Moquegua, an important mining town, have been protesting against. Hundreds of locals were blocking a bridge which forms part of the main road south, and were involved in a stand-off with the police. At first, it all seemed quite peaceful and, although no vehicles were being allowed to cross the bridge, our taxi driver was confident that we could walk across with our bags without any problems. The Peruvian people really respect tourists, he argued, and there would be no danger whatsoever from trudging through crowds of furious protesters with our heavy bags - we wouldn't be sitting duck targets at all.
We were naturally very reluctant to do anything too hasty and preferred to bide our time from the safety of higher ground. The prospect of crossing a line of protesters and running the gauntlet didn't really appeal despite many local people seemingly crossing the bridge in both directions without any trouble. We were right to wait a while because things suddenly got a bit more heated as rocks started to be thrown at the police and reinforcements were called in. We retreated further and watched things develop as hundreds more riot police arrived, tear gas was let off and the occasional Molotov cocktail was thrown in for good measure as trees around the bridge burned. Dazed and wounded police were ferried back from the frontline as we and other waiting passengers watched the action unfold. This went on for several hours until the police, who were being constantly pelted by rocks and frequently had to cower under the minimal protection of their riot shields, finally regained control of the bridge and the surrounding hills.
We waited a while longer to make sure that things really had calmed down then plucked up the courage to cross the bridge on foot. The police had taken control of the bridge by this time and were recovering from the battle by the side of the road. It was still impassable for traffic as it was strewn with rocks and boulders left by the protesters, who were to resume their positions the next morning. We made it to the other side and Oscar helped us find a car that would take us to Tacna which was still over two hours away. We squeezed into the back seat with a fellow stranded traveller, Will from California, and our adventure across the desert continued.
The crucial verb used by the guidebook to describe the next part of the journey was 'hustle' and they were absolutely right about that. As soon as we had been dropped off at Tacna bus station some bloke, clearly whose job it is to encourage tourists like us to use his services, introduced himself to us and before we knew it we were being 'hustled' through the first process of immigration and getting across the border to Chile. It all happened in a bit of blur as forms were filled out, money changed between various hands, women typed frantically at typewriters and we were bundled into another car to take us across the border. Chile is very strict about not allowing fruit, meat or vegetables into the country to prevent diseases or insects spreading so we had to eat our fruit and dispose of our remaining useless coca leaves before we got to customs. In the end, immigration was very straightforward and we duly got two more stamps in our passports to add to the growing collection. We made it into Chile as the sun was setting and immediately lost two hours as the two countries are in different time zones. We have since learned (from the safety of Pucon, hundreds of miles away) that a state of emergency has been declared in Tacna after three people were killed as the demonstrations spread so we were lucky to have managed to cross the border when we did, despite the delays and dangers entailed. We were obviously very glad to finally make it to Arica, the first city across the border. We were hours later than we should have been but at times it felt like we were not going to make it with another night in Arequipa looking more likely than one in Arica. But, we had made it to Chile somehow.
Next morning we explored Arica which is a relatively large modern port city surrounded by desert with good beaches, a church designed by Gustav Eiffel, great views across the bay from the headland and a massive statue of Christ. We came across a small fair in the main square organised by local schools to demonstrate the English ability (or, in some cases, lack thereof) of their pupils and, as soon as they realised that we were English, we became the star attraction with each class wanting to talk to us and present to us a different aspect of Arica including the history, geography and nature of the city. The crowning point of one interesting presentation on the importance of preserving the humming bird, which is native to this part of the world, was when Duncan was handed a dead bird to hold, which doesn't happen every day. In the afternoon, we went to the beach and dipped our toes into the (freezing cold) Pacific Ocean for the first time, the third different sea we've encountered on our trip so far.
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