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I've found the stars.

The first things that attracted me to Antofagasta for my semester abroad was a two sentence excerpt from the location description of the UCN (Universidad Católica del Norte): "With the clearest skies in the world, with no more then 20 cloudy days in a year, this region of Chile is internationally recognized as an ideal location for astronomical observation. A number of national and international observatories and some of the world's largest telescopes are found here."

I distinctly remember reading this one cloudy morning in Texas, sitting alone at the table in the lobby of the guys dorm. My study abroad application and final decision on location deadlines were approaching rapidly and I had very little time and resources to do sufficient research. Some of the best stargazing in the world would have to suffice.

Personally, I have nearly no experience with formal astronomy. I've never taken an astronomy course at university, nor did I take one in highschool. The closest astronomy classroom experience I can recall is an elementary school science class with my dad (sup home school days). I remember a large foam ball illuminated by flashlight in my pitch dark room and some really big numbers that confused me. Then in middle school I once went on a field trip to a planetarium (double props to the good old home school days and benefits) and distinctly remember the mystical constellations ellucidated and spinning around my head, explained by some smart guy.

Nevertheless, these "balls of gas burning billions of miles away" (Pumba) have always fascinated me on a deeper level and never fail to stir up that child-like awe and wonder within; and often in retrospect, I find the stars (and incredible night skies in general) preserving my most nostalgic and vivid memories--kind of like bookmarks of my recollection.

Of more significance, they´ve now served as my life compass on more than one occasion; this is the second time they´ve brought me to South America. October of 2007 I found myself sitting on the DTS (first YWAM school) classroom floor, my heavy head in my hands, five minutes before the outreach decision deadline. I had to write my name on the white board, under one of the titles: Brasil or South Korea, committing to one month of service overseas...and I was perfectly balanced on the fence. I had a list of practical reasons why Korea made sense (so many past connections and relationships), but my heart just wasn´t in it and I didn´t want to spend my month overseas in the city. Brasil sounded fun and exotic, but looked potentially similar to my experience in the Dominican Republic, was really expensive and I really didn´t feel called there. ¨Yeah, I guess Korea seems more practical...and I have so many relational ties to Korea in my life...¨ was the best thing I could come up with. But I stepped outside on the lawn to have a moment of silence and clear my head before picking up the blood-red Expo marker. And there in the silent texas sky dazzled the stars, underwhich I´d spent many a night gazing and contemplating, relating, worshipping and listening to their Creator...and at last came the voice of peace and clarity: ¨You won´t see the stars in Korea.¨ Images of the two Korean outreach locations, light-polluted Seoul and Asan, quickly shuffled through my mind. It was enough to step out in faith on...and I was filled with joy and peace of mind the moment I finished writing my name on the board beneath Brasil. And the naked Brasilian skies did not disappoint. I know I was supposed to be on that outreach.

Anyway, jumping out of Brasil, eastern Texas and Asheville planetariums, I´m now in Antofagasta, Chile--entirely satisfied with my second decision to follow the stars. Ironically, however, these renouned southern skies remain hidden from me, robbed of their glory by the fixed city lights. Antofagasta is a city of 300,000 persons with enough city lights to fascilitate their extravagant night life, and unfortunately offers no city transit outside of the city (as there is nothing but lonely desert). When I finally made it into the desert town of San Pedro de Atacama, 2 months ago--where everyone raves about the unrivaled night skies--I found a full-moon in the sky, which made for an equally unique and surreal experience in the open desert, yet once again trumped my brilliant stars and foiled my hunt. I was beginning to wonder if these extraordinary heavens really existed outside of my phosphorescent halo that I couldn´t seem to escape.

4 weeks ago, I escaped...

Over a long weekend (who knows, another random Chilean holiday with thursday and friday off), May 21-24, myself and 3 other intercambios/foreign-exchangers headed 12 hours south to the joined cities of La Serena and Coquimbo and Valle de Elqui (Elqui Valley). These are beach cities that are pretty dead this time of year, but normally packed throughout the summer as the centralized hot vacation spots. The two cities have a very unique climate, due to their coastal location at the mouth of a valley and river marking the start of the Atacama desert. The cities are nealy always cloudy and foggy this time of year, with a very wet chill in the air...a pleasant change from my consistent climate in Antofagasta. However, directly to the east of La Serena, working your way through Valle de Elqui, you find the clearest skies on earth as well as a host of observatories, some of which house the largest telescopes in the world.

We spent the first day in the two cities: perusing the markets (buying some delicious, hand-mad/artesanal candies and whatnot) walking along the coastline--observed a crazy sea-gull vs. pelican feeding frenzy in the sea, checked out the fisherman´s wharf and fish market, ate some incredible seafood empanadas, explored an old, abandoned military fortress in the rocks of the coast by night, and found a late-night reggae bar (Babylon) with live marley-tunes that carried us into early morning and then to our hostal. But first thing in the morning the adventures began! We departed through the fog and hazy streets to the nearest Korlaet, the Ingles or Food Lion of Chile, calculating and buying all the food supplies and rations to get us through two nights of camping in Valle Elqui (less than 10U$ a person for hot dogs *and all appropriate dressings, cookies, a mountain of fresh bread and rolls, crackers, cheese, ham, apples, a box of wine, toilet paper and a few other odds and ends). Done! From the trusty Korlaet we regathered in the hostel for a minute to distrubute and pack up the goodies and then headed to the bus terminal.

On the 1-hour drive east we passed a beautiful resevoir and little town, Puclaro (literally translated Pureclear, or very clear), maintained by a huge dam. This lake owned up to its name, showing off the clearest fresh water I´ve ever seen. It looked like it belonged in the Carribean much more than the driest desert in the world. Unfortunately, the bus didn´t stop so some snap shots of wind surfers from the bus window had to suffice. About 30 vineyards and 20 minutes passed quickly before our arrival in Vicuña. We spent the afternoon there, in a very interesting entomology museum, more street markets and the Capel factory. If you´ve been following this blog at all you´ve definitely heard me mention Pisco (Chile´s mascot drink, a liquor distinct to Chile and Peru). It´s made from a particular grape grown exclusively throughout this valley and is quite tasty. The biggest pisco company in Chile, Capel, runs its distillery out of this town, Vicuña, and offers several daily tours for less than two dollars. Very fun, very interesting.

By the end of the tour, the sun was getting low in the sky and we still had a lot of road in front of us. We caught a taxi back to the center of town where we found some empanadas and boarded the next bus headed east, further into the valley. A half hour later we were dropped off in Montegrande, a tiny town that offers a large church, grassy park with a dry fountain,some little mini markets and a Gabriella Mistral museum. This little town is on the map because it was the birth place and home of Chile´s nobel laureate-winning poet, Gabriella Mistral. But we didn´t stay. From here we found a little dirt road with a sign for Cochiguaz, our destination. We split up, 2 and 2, loaded down with our packs and headed down the road with our left thumbs greeting all passing vehicles. Sure enough, within 15 mintues we were cruising in the back seat of a large SUV with a nice young couple from Santiago.

Cochiguaz was perfect! It´s too small to call a town or village, basically just a congregation point of hippies and

country Chilean folk. The location offers one minimart (actually just a window) where you can buy basic necessities, cans of tuna, crackers, beverages, batteries, etc; two restaurants; a hostal; a large-house that functions as a hotel; 2 campgrounds; and Cancana Observatory. We found a campsite in the forest *we were the only people camping in Cochiguaz*, along ``the magic river´´ and quickly set up our tents as the first stars appeared over head. I conveniently spent some time inside the tent, unpacking/repacking things, rolling out the sleeping bag, finding myself a snack, etc--just long enough for night to set in and the curtain of heaven to be lifted. Oh boy. I was satisfied with the sight above my head outside the tent. ..Umm...hmm...and now that I've sat here for about 5 minutes contemplating how to describe it, I'm pretty sure I will leave it undescribed with words. Simply know that it was by far the most incredible sky I've ever seen, the milky way perfectly distinguished from horizon to horizon. We were many miles away from any light source and it was the weekend of the new moon--at last I believed the location advertisement I had read one year prior.

Four hours later, we entered the observatory, Cancana, for a 3-part, two-hour tour of the night skies. First part

was outside, with the guide and the most incredible lazer pointer I've ever seen (maybe the highlight of the evening...hand-held, green lazer beam that shoots "maybe infinitely" into the night sky to pin point individual stars, constellations and galaxys to the naked eye). He explained the history of a few constellations, the rotation of the night sky, and tought us what black constellations are--random black patches in the milky way (which looks kind of like fog in outerspace) where there aren't any stars, which form wild shapes and patterns (i.e. a serpent and a llama). Second part was in the downstairs of the observatory where we received a slide show presentation of crazy hubbel photographs and more crazy information about how freaking tiny we are and how massive and scary the universe is. Lastly, we spent an hour in the dome, behind the lens of the telescope. The highlights included saturn (perfectly visible ring), the sombrero galaxy, and an extremely old star (don't remember it's name) that has probably already died, that is, exploded as a supernova, but is yet to be observed on earth as we're waiting for the light to arrive.

I left that observatory so incredibly satisfied...immediately deciding that I could not sleep under a tent roof with a clear conscious, despite the near freezing temperature. Two of my companions lasted until about 1:45 or 2am gazing under the chilling skies and the third until about 4am, when I think I drifted off for a couple hours (oops). I remember quitting the count of shooting stars once I reached ten (one shooter actually startled me *I think I ducked too* by it's incredible size and brilliance right over me head...I think I smelled it burning) and that was about half-way through the night. WOW, a night to be remembered.

Hmm...wrapping things up and moving right along. The next day was fabulous checking out Chochiguaz and its surroundings. I climbed a big rock (apparently disrespecting the sacred stone) with ancient petroglyphs (rock carvings/markings), which supposedly marks a magnetic center in the universe, this particular one being a sexual energy portal or something like that. Hmmm, I must say I felt the same rush and stoke I feel any time I sexcessfully climb a rock or complete a bouldering problem. Fun stuff. Anyway, we hitchhiked out of there midday, had a picnic-style lunch in the grass of the park back in Montgrande and hitchhiked to another little town a few miles further down the main road, Pisco Elqui. There we found a steller campground along the river again, in a valley outside of the city, at the foot of a very large cerro (desert hill...definitely a mountain by Appalachian standards). We explored the town in the early evening and then sat in the house with the campground owners and chatted about, or just listened to all the stories about the aliens that had visited that valley and that very campground throughout the years as witnessed by our dear elderly host. Goodness I wish I remembered his name. We eventually got out of there with very grumbly tumblys, started ourselves a legit fire, and thoroughly enjoyed some hot dogs. Later that night I did some more stargazing under skies nearly as epic as the presceding eve and had a quality conversation with Galia (my good mexican-hippie friend and fellow intercambio) about religion, Jesus and spirituality.

The next morning brought the second highlight of the trip for me, after the stars of course. I woke up rather early and set out for the peak of the cerro we were sleeping beside. It was Sunday morning, the sun was rising over this tranquil, lush valley and I was ascending a mountain alone (concerning the presence of other humans). The geography of this valley is incredible. Understand that it is on the rim of the driest desert in the word, yet is itself a valley with a river in the bottom of it, therefore full of life, vegetation and particularly a LOT of vineyards cultivating the famous grapes for pisco. Yet, all the surrounding desert peaks and land formations are completely dry and desolate, making for a radical, unique contrast.

This hike ended up being much more intense, long and STEEP, than I anticipated, making the pay off at the top all the more rewarding, where a large white flag awaited my arrival. I spent about an hour on the peak alone, raptured in my sunday morning celebration (the best I've experienced in Chile) before I began my decent--this took less than half the time of my ascent because it was so steep and the earth/stones were so loose that I literally skied down over half of it on my feet. I arrived back at camp around 1130, right when my travel campanions were waking up, perfect time to start packing things up and start our journey back home (after I took the COLDEST shower of my life in the riverside bathroom...ice headache washing my hair).

We caught a cheap bus back in town that took us straight to La Serena (our entry city on the coast). And I thoroughly enjoyed the ride back sitting next to two gentlemen from some little town in North Carolina by the name of Boone. Yes, that would be the same Boone that is about an hour away from my house in Asheville. One guy was a recent masters grad from Appalachian State (touring Chile on a Rotary Scholarship) and the other is a professor there...yes, the world is incredibly small. We arrived back in La Serena late afternoon, relaxed in a nifty japanese garden, chilled with some condors, deer, llamas and other fun animals in a free zoo, ate some num nums and cought our bus out of the terminal at 10:30pm (it arrived an hour late) for the 12 hour overnight haul to Antofagasta. So satisfied and content...I'm LOVING Chile!

At last I've gotten my butt into gear and uploaded some photos onto my flickr page, which there is another link to at the top of this page in the left column. All the surfing pictures are from a pro surf competition (WQS World tour) I went to two weeks ago in Arica (10 hours in the opposite direction from Antofagasta, border city with Perú). This trip was equally as thrilling as my La Serena/Coquimbo/Valle de Elqui adventures, but I will not be sharing it now. Hope all you northern hemisphere folk are enjoying your summer! Love and miss you dearly, and can't believe I'll be seeing many of you within 6 weeks--I touch United Statian soil in less than 6 weeks (Miami, FL august 1st).

You know you live in the driest desert in the world when (inspired by personal experience):

1-You hang your wet clothes on the clothes line after sunset, 9pm, and find them dry at 9am the next morning.

2-Large portions of sidewalk beneath streetlights and overhanging trees are painted white with bird poop on the few streets that don't get washed by street cleaning crews (gives a whole new meaning to the term "rain shower" doesn't it?).

3-You walk out of your way on campus to pass a man mowing THE patch of unnatural grass in hopes of catching a nostalgic whiff of freshly cut grass.