Calama is a sizable city with a long avenue running out and north for sixteen kilometres, increasing in gradiant uphill towards beiges hills dominated by a mountain of spoil at the Chuchatta copper mine. On the outside, it looks like flowing slopes of scree in circular circumference, a kilometre or more across. And behind the high chainlink boundary fence are cranes and yellow monster dump-trucks. A sign says visiting by appointment, so that ruled out going up and looking down inside the manmade mountain. Instead, I stop across the road at the COPEC filling station where, I took a can of coke from the fridge, paid for it and then sat out in the forecourt, savouring ten minutes in the shade with something cold to drink before continuing.

There was a further energy sapping ten kilometres uphill, through a valley and up again through a narrow gap; then at last downhill, steeply to begin, but easing off in a sixty kilometre long sweep down, towards a sultry afternoon where blue sky turned increasingly battleship grey further west. The chocolate hue plain had two rows of skeletal pylons joined by looping powerlines off on the left. Monotomy was setting in as the road levelled out and I slowed. Eventually though, I saw, ahead and away off to the right, a truck, small and moving in silences across the plain; southbound; eventually reaching and crossing the road ahead and continuing on to the left. The Panamericana at last. Another truck was coming the other way, from south to north.

From the intersection, Maria Elen is fifteen kilometres south, followed by seven kilometres on a bumpy service road turn-off on the right. But the mountain of spoil I could see rising from the plain long before reaching the Panamericana intersection. Another mine and a point of reference as it grew in its enormity nearing days' end, just when a stiff headwind picked up on the last seven westward kilometres. The town was hidden behind the spoil, to the west and eventually as I battled wind came into view as the road curved round the corner of scree and past networks of rusty pipelines running in all direction at the base of the mountain.

I rode round the sloping plaza first. A limousine pulled up outside the catholic church on the corner and a bridle party shuffled out. A hurried photo was taken as they bend against the wind. On the upperside of the plaza there was an old picture house, dating perhaps from the twenties. And below it, occupying one whole side of the plaza was an inside market house. I rode uphill from the plaza and turned left. The street was residencial, the houses attacked and identical fading pale green clapboard with veranda fronts. About a third or more were boarded up with plyboard. I turned a corner and turned again into a parallel street which was the same. Half the houses were derilick. The place had an air of decline. The old picture house on the plaza from the mines' hay day, now the mine was on its' way out. Exhausted.

The only place to stay was a residencia on the street running up the side of the picture house which cost eight thousand pesos for a room. The other residents, all miners, were all crowded into one room watching the football when I arrived. From my room I heard the chatter go quiet and there was a moment where the commentators' excited raised voice was the only thing heard. Then a loud cheer resounded out through the passageway. Chile had scored.

It being Saturday evening, the town was buzzing; and I walked through the inside market. At a fruit stall I bough an apple and bananas for tomorrow. Bread at a Panadaria. Cheese, two bottles of water containing four litres and a litre bottle of Crystal beer at another place. Outside, I called into a fastfood place and had chicken and chips for dinner.

Back at the residencia, I poured a glass of beer while I hoped the loud music nextdoor would not be a sign of the shape of things to come. An all night party. The song was reagetone or it could have been cumbre and the only word I heard was a shrill "CHAR-LO-OOS" then instrumental. I hoped it wasn't much longer ontil it was turned down or off.