Ah, finally, a truly hot, sandy, whumping beach and surf location. Chilled out here for a good few days roasting my pasty cellulite whilst Fuzz cowered from the sun under a hired beach umbrella. This place, trapped between the Pacific Ocean and the Atacama Desert, is a scorcher.
The town is literally trapped. The Atacama Desert, which is the driest desert on the planet, stretches for miles back towards the Andes, but stands up aggressively at the coast in the shape of 200 metre high sand dunes that are perfect for sand boarding, but trap the heat and raise the temperature of the air to must-get-in-the-chilly-water temperatures. Well, I think it was the dunes that did this. Fuzz is convinced that it was all the tight, firm, bronzed young Chilean tarts prancing around with bat and ball (and not much else at all) that required me to take cold dips every twenty minutes. She is so cynical. I did try taking photo's for the boys in London (as demanded), but I got clocked by one of those stern, big Catholic mama's who sat brooding over her clucks in that my-time-and-looks-are-past-so-screw-the-world snarling mood. I swear, her moustache was practically quivering with anger. And, for once, I did actually feel a tad like a perverted old European man photographing young gals on the beach. I mean, its a feeling I am prepared to suffer for the greater benefit of flesh-starved men shivering in wintery London and Oslo, but nonetheless, I hear that the Chilean penal system can be harder on one's ass than a 24 hour bus ride along pot-holed rural goat tracks.