Feliz Navidad

I’m something of a traditionalist. There is a way to do Christmas. It usually takes place in Minnesota, there are Swedish meatballs, and Christmas carols. There are lots of children. There are letters from Santa penned in a script closely resembling my father’s. It is chaotic and full of love. If you’re lucky there may even be a Mimi walking into the bathroom while a Joe is showering, but that’s a story for another time. Needless to say, the idea of doing Christmas in another country, far from family was a little jarring. Nonetheless, Christmas time was an opportunity to get a significant chunk of time away without taking too much time off work (#capitalism #practicality), so on December 25th this year, Joe and I found ourselves in San Pedro de Atacama. 

I already wrote about how it took us a minute to warm up to this place. But, going into Christmas, the tides had turned and we were feeling excited to be where we were. What transpired over the next 24 hours, while far from traditional, turned into one of the most memorable Christmases I have had. 

(Also, another side note, last year at Christmas my entire family was in a cabin suffering from a virulent stomach bug, stuck inside fur to temperatures of -25 degrees outside... so it was not so difficult to go up from there)

Christmas morning began at 5:30am. We woke up in our hut, put on many layers of clothing and piled into a van with our driver, Gerald, and our soon to be new best friends, Karina and Arnold — an older couple from Chile who, despite Karina’s cold, were having the time of their lives together. As the sun rose, we drove through the mountains north of San Pedro. What started out as only brown became covered in cacti, and then short green bushes. We made our way above 14,000 feet (which as a Colorado College alum, meant a lot to me), and were greeted with steamy plumes in the distance. Gerald was an aggressive driver, eager to get us there at the peak time to experience the magic.

Thus, at about 7:30am, we had arrived. We stood beside a steamy cauldron, listening to it bubble, when Gerald exclaimed, “Mira! Mira!” And the water started spouting. 

Even at 32, this was a miraculous sight. We were standing amidst El Tatio Geysers — a field of geysers in the midst of mountains with vicuñas running amok. We ambled through the geysers, slowly getting to know our companions in a mixture of broken Spanish and broken English. After walking for 30 minutes or so we convened at our van, where Gerald made us fresh scrambled eggs and we mixed instant coffee. It was perfect.

Now that may have been enough for a satisfying Christmas without family, but it didn’t stop there. After the geysers, we drove a few more minutes and stopped at a thermal pool where we soaked in streams of hot water, still at 14,000 feet. Not too shabby.

(Picture of us in the pool can be seen a couple of posts back)

Then on our way back to town, we stopped in Machuca, a small hillside village. There, we had (vegans close your eyes) the most amazing grilled llama and cheese empanadas. It was by far the best food we had eaten up to that point. When we made it back to our hotel, we took them up on the offer for free champagne, meat and cheese in honor of our honeymoon. As a rule, anytime I’m offered anything for free, I generally take it (this is part of why grocery shopping with me at Costco and Trader Joe’s can be difficult #freesamples). So, we sat in the restaurant and drank champagne and ate some treats. Mind you, we are only to about 1:30pm on Christmas Day.

From there, we went looking for some groceries. We were moving on Christmas from our hotel in the “city” to a Airbnb house just outside of town. Thus, we needed provisions. We were not expecting to find much open, but turns out when you are in a tourist town, businesses don’t treat Christmas as “Christmas.” After finding some essentials we made our way to a coffee shop we had eyed the night before. Anyone who knows Joe, knows he is pretty serious about his coffee. In Chile, we have not come across the best coffee options. But, there on a side street in San Pedro de Atacama, we found Base Camp — a combination adventure touring business and third wave coffee shop. 

Solier, the barista, made us iced coffees that rivaled the best. He developed his own technique that involved shaking chilled chemex black coffee in a very cold martini shaker and pouring it over ice. The result: a creamy black coffee with a foamy head. My husband was floored. We have gone to all the best coffee shops in all the best cities and never encountered this technique. We lingered there for longer than was necessary to drink our coffees, and shared best practices in broken Spanish and broken English. 

From there, it was off to our Airbnb. From the WhatsApp interactions before arriving, I had a good feeling about our host and accommodations to come. But, upon arriving, our expectations were met and quickly exceeded (something that is hard to accomplish). Francisca is a Chilean woman in her forties who has lived many lives that always loop back to San Pedro de Atacama. She is an anthropologist with a specific interest in the trees of the Atacama and the knowledge of the indigenous people. She is a mother, and it showed in both how she cared for us, and in the tips she gave us for when someday we take on the parenting role. She is  a homesteader and entrepreneur — after working in the government in Santiago advising on indigenous rights issues, she was ready to come back to her beloved desert and make a life on her own terms. She is doing just that. 

When we got to her home, we first saw the sunflowers. Joe later told me that he had a “woo-woo” moment, thinking of my aunt Kathy who passed away this year, and loved sunflowers. He saw them and thought, “this is where we are supposed to be.” Francisca rents out several homes on her property. We were staying at Casa Birque, the home she just finished in July, that ultimately she intends to be her home, but is renting it out now to make back some of the money she spent building it. It was the kind of home that felt like it was built with love. Each window carefully placed to give the occupant a view of the wild nature surrounding it. Each decoration thoughtfully arranged to accentuate the natural beauty. The home was a home. After several nights in impersonal hotels trying too hard to be something that often they just weren’t, it felt nice to be in a home. Especially on Christmas.

We settled into our new home, and took a nap. Naturally. After a couple hours of cozy country time, we went down the road to some dunes Francisca had told us about. A place without tourists, but with the same majesty of the area. When we got there, it was just one local family and us. We took off our shoes and walked in the sand until we found a good perching spot to watch the sunset. I jumped in the dunes and made Joe take pictures. We delighted in the quiet alone time.

At this point it was 8:30pm. Time to call it, right? No. Francisca had told us about an opportunity to go to an event arranged by a friend of hers. There would be a fire, Chilean wine tasting paired with indecency’s foods, and stories of the local folklore. It was a new venture and while we were invited as tourists, she was invited to advice on the event and contribute her knowledge of local indigenous culture and the trees. Did we want to go? Of course! So at 9:10 pm, Joe, Francisca and I awaited our ride to the event. The stars were peaking, so we sat in the back of our 4x4 and looked at the endless constellations. 9:30 rolled around and still no ride. Francisca attempted to reach out to her friend and there was no response. Strange. At 9:45 still nothing. Hmmmm. We decide to call it. Joe and I head back to our home. We start to make a dinner at 10pm of grains and vegetables we had picked up that afternoon. We text Francisca and invite her to stop over and join us for our makeshift Christmas dinner. She says she’ll bring wine. Just as we get everything going, Francisca calls. It’s just after 10 now. She says that her friend called, and there was a misunderstanding. He thought she was bringing us. She thought he was sending a car to get us. (For what it’s worth I think she was in the right). She said they are all there and waiting. Did we still want to go? 

Now Joe and I are not go out at 10:15pm kind of people. I could get down in my younger years. But...we are in our thirties now. Still, this was one of those times you just say yes. So we said yes, left our half-cooked meal, and piled into Francisca’s 1990 Mitsubishi pickup truck and drove to the location.

Saying yes was one of the best decisions we made on this trip. We arrived to luminaries that led us to an underground adobe fire pit. We walked down the stairs and found a group of wary travelers one pisco sour in awaiting our arrival. There was the investment banker from Australia, the do-gooder consultant from DC, the Italian-Chilean  tourist guide, the two Italian women who have been best friends since they were 14 and who go on one big trip a year together. A motley Christmas crew. We settled into an experience of traditional Atacaman cuisine narrated by Mauricio, a local librarian who has the only publisher in Northern Chile. I’ll let Joe share more of the details of what we learned — he’s better at that. After a culinary and literary journey, with the stars dazzling above, it was midnight. 

We piled back into the Mitsubishi truck, back to our new home in the desert, in something of a state of shock. How could all of these things have happened in just one day?! 

I’m sure I will be happy to return to the meatballs and kid giggles next year, but I fell asleep that night grateful for this Christmas. A one of a kind. The kind that if I wanted to create a tradition out of, I couldn’t. There is a time for traditions. And there is a time to let go and see what comes.