90-minute van ride from the Calama airport to San Pedro, a pueblo of
2,500 people supported by farming and tourism, covers 62 monotonous
miles of dry arroyos, volcanic rock, bare sandstone, and grubby plants
in blindingly bright light, the lone standout for my attention being
the numerous small piles of stones, an offering called an apacheta,
along the road. One builds an apacheta with the left hand, the driver
tells me – the hand of the heart – stone by stone, as a
repository for one’s fatigue and a prayer for continued safe passage.
My destination: 18 miles east of San
Pedro awaits Hotel de la Larache, which presides at 8,015 feet above
sea level within Explora de Atacama, a 42-acre estancia known for championing
the desert’s beauty. To at once appreciate and respect the limits
of the land was the goal of Explora when the company built the property
in 1998. I concede that its success is already in evidence when, nearing
the estancia, we turn down a dirt road and come within welcome sight
of its low-lying structures: I can see only the rooftops.
From the swimming pools, I can see Licancabur
Volcano in the distance, as well as the estancia's variegated roofline,
which seems to allude to the contrasting, fractured terrain. "Spare
but lush" comes to mind.
Entering the compound
we pass stables and watering troughs, parking beside a wide set of stairs.
The hotel itself embraces me with an immediate feeling of spaciousness
and ease. (What a relief not to be sealed inside a desert hotel lobby
bathed in the antiseptic chill of air conditioning.) The reception area
is open and airy in the face of late-morning temperatures of 80°
F and rising. Explora’s double-tiered roofline, the vision of
its award-winning architect, Germán del Sol, uses passive ventilation
to regulate heat and light, and an overhang of slatted wood wraps around
the rooftop veranda, softening the light to a pattern of dancing stripes.
The Santiago-based Chilean also designed the estancia’s sister
retreat Explora en Patagonia, with its lakeside Hotel Salto Chico, which
opened in 1993.
Of the Atacama, del Sol once commented, “My point was not to build
a pueblo-style, thick-walled adobe compound, but something as light
as the desert itself.” Although I find his an intriguing description,
it would not be what comes to my mind for a barren expanse of sand and
baked soil that stretches north from the town of Copiapó for
700 relentless miles. Some parts of it have never seen rain.
From the veranda my eye follows the land to several spare
white cubes: sauna cabanas and swimming pools. The sculptural shapes
beckon. Anxious to stretch my legs, I set off toward them along a red
wooden boardwalk that courses through pastures where, thanks to well
water, horses stand ankle deep in blossoming alfalfa. Pear trees, heavy
with its ripening, and chañar trees, with peeling bark and hard,
round fruits, line the boardwalk.
The chañar trees, native to the area,
look somehow familiar. Looking back at the hotel I recognize the mustard
yellow inner bark and moss green outer bark of these trees as the hues
del Sol chose for the estancia’s rafters, posts, and beams. A
subtle palette of desert mesquite and brea stains the hotel’s
deliberately distressed doors. Human-made structures virtually dissolve
into the landscape here, freeing guests to commune with the desert air;
from where I stand, it feels as soft as organza.
From the swimming pools, I can see Licancábur Volcano in the
distance, as well as the estancia’s variegated roofline, which
seems to allude to the contrasting, fractured terrain. “Spare
but lush” comes to mind. In the desert, this is not a contradiction.
Nor is the notion of vacation resort as base camp.
Explora encourages its guests to experience
the beauty and power of the Atacama and environs, to use the hotel primarily
as a resting place at day’s end. There are no TVs in its 52 rooms,
the better to get outdoors and visit with llamas, listen to bees buzzing
over the alfalfa, search for owls, or soak up the nighttime stars. I
ponder the detailed list of guided activities the estancia offers: horseback
riding, bicycling, hiking, volcano climbing … An eight-hour trek
to the altiplano sounds intriguing, with its lagoons and promise of
wildlife sightings, though the 13,000-foot altitude gives me pause.
Toward sundown I set off with a group for the nearby Valley of the Moon
and a firsthand taste of the Atacama. Our progress is slow and precarious.
It is a place of such sameness – of dirt clods, cracked earth,
of low, scrubby brush. I tell myself that redundancy is really the gift
of nature. I take notice that patterns are subtle here, rhythms slowed.
The desert is deceptive: Sand seems oceanic; distances heavy with empty
promises of rain. It’s humbling to move on foot through a place
of such vastness.
Shadows deepen into distance as we scale
a steep dune and happen upon a gathering of 150 or so other sunset-worshipping
tourists. We perch on a ridge with them and watch the sky bloom pink.
Later, in the half-light, all of us scramble and slide down to waiting
cars, buses, and bicycles, kicking up laughter along with clouds of
To luxuriate in a slate-lined shower bath after such a day is pure pleasure
and my indulgence before a meeting about an outing to Puritama. This
hot spring sounds doable at a 10,000-foot altitude. A more ambitious
group is planning a predawn trip to El Tatio – at altitudes of
up to 15,000 feet, the highest geyser field on earth. In the evening,
the hotel restaurant fuels us up for tomorrow’s exploits with
dishes such as braised lamb, quinoa salad, grilled shrimp, gazpacho,
baked congrio (a delectable Chilean whitefish), fresh vegetables, peaches,
strawberries. The bar is conducive to conversation over Chilean wines
or pisco sours, a thirst-quenching cocktail made with lemon, sugar,
bitters, and the grape-derived pisco, all shaken over ice in a tumbler
to a delicious froth. Explora seems to operate an exotic menu of possibilities
outdoors and in, day and night. I fall asleep musing about the hot spring,
imagining that one might navigate the desert by swimming through it.
AT THE CONFLUENCE of the Pacifica and Puritama rivers five of us climb
into a cool canyon, bouldering over sandstone outcrops. The sound of
water dips and rises as the trail follows the Puritama’s course.
I drift in and out of conversations, then lag behind in order to absorb
the colors of the canyon in silence – a swirl of purples, mauve,
sienna, ochre, volcanic black, and greens from gray to lime.
Two hours into the hike, I’m further rewarded for my efforts:
We arrive at the hot spring, where our guides surprise us with a bounty
of smoked salmon, ham, cheeses, skewered tropical fruit, avocados, wine,
and fresh juices. A stack of towels and fluffy bathrobes add just the
right touch of decadence. We take a delicious swim, feast, then swim
some more before piling into a waiting van, only to return to the hotel
eager (and improbably hungry) for lunch, a poolside nap, and afternoon
riding across a sandy wash fragrant with menthol-scented rica-rica trees.
Moving along on horseback, the wind in my ears, the sun on my arms,
my body shifting to the rhythms of this big, breathing being, underscores
a growing sense that the challenges of the desert are surmountable or,
at least, not impossible.
Acclimatization comes at its own pace, escalated by Explora’s
specialty in the outdoors. The next day I join up with four other recruits
for the stroll at 13,000 feet in the altiplano. Happily, the 5,000-foot
ascent between Explora and the altiplano and its lagoons means a road
trip. Stepping out of the van, I stoop down to tie my shoe and reel
from the thinness of the air. This, I understand, is to be expected;
our guide proffers us cups of coca-leaf tea to clear our heads. I breathe
steadily into air that makes parchment out of skin, and inhale a paradoxical
desert world of stark simplicity, cavernous silence, needle-sharp light,
Vicuñas, the Audrey Hepburn version of a llama, leap away on
dainty feet at the slightest sound, their thick fur gleaming platinum
in the bright morning sun. Here, land is the mirage. Terra firma is
merely a blip between blue skies and blue water. From a distance, we
watch pink flamingoes alight on glassy tourmaline lagoons ringed with
salt so dense it looks like mounds of sea foam, like breaking waves.
When I reach the lagoons, my footfall breaks the silence. What from
a distance suggests gentle movement and fluidity arises from shards
of salt and dried clay. Crunching along, I bend down to collect flamingo
feathers afloat in the pastel water. Across the lagoons, the land meets
bare pewter and buckskin hills and, above, clouds of torn cotton in
a denim sky. We traverse lava fields veined white with salt. I find
bleached vicuña bones resting among the tundra grasses. I gather
five small stones and, with my left hand, pile them up next to the bones.
I place a flamingo feather on top and watch it take flight. My own apacheta
turns out to be a tribute to the Atacama, less a repository for fatigue
and a prayer for safe passage than an offering of thanks.
Copyright © Mary Heebner 2004