Given that it's a predominantly Catholic nation and you're actually working at a Universidad Catolica, it looks like pascua is going to give you an extra 2 days to the weekend. Sweet… Jesus.
The plan is set. Travel a few hundred kilometers north to a small beach town, stay the night in a cheap cabaña with three others, then head back the next day. Get a bit of the sabor, nothing more. The big pack is coming on this trip, loaded with 2.5 liters of tinto to add to the other 1.5 liters of Grenache and 750 of pisco carried by your compatriots. The inevitable beer will be purchased en camino.
The only real rule is to keep it cheap. Time is a factor but with less priority to the aforementioned rule. Luck has it that the bus is too full when you arrive, the second option is to set out for a micro that will take you outside of town and then flag down a bus with standing room only to make it north to Cobquecura. The four of you take the micro without problem. After 45 minutes of waiting for a proper bus, and having one pass you by as if you were nothing but a cow chewing cud, the thumb is stuck out.
Now hitching in a group of 4 is downright impossible and necessitates the fissure of two and two. It is necessary to leap-frog to preset destinations to regroup and set off, making things even more of a hangover.
The first hike goes off without a hitch. Only 25 minutes of wait and a ride pulls off to the side. Your compañons soon follow suit and when all is said and done you're all at the pay station reunited.
Flush with an early victory, the pep in your step is clearly evident as you cross the highway... or perhaps it's just because you're crossing both lanes of highway traffic on foot.
The switch to the by-road looks as if thumbing a ride is going to be difficult, almost no traffic whatsoever. But luck is still riding your ass and a micro comes by in the direction you're hoping for. 1000 peso later and 100k down the road you reach your next stop.
"Shall we try saving 1200 more pesos and hitching the rest of the way?"
"Of course, why not güeon!"
And the walk to the fringes of the pueblo commences. The hunger you're feeling is assuaged a bit by the figs and grapes found along the way. A membrillo orchard also calls your name and J momentarily disappears to snatch one of these fruits from a low-hanging branch. It's still a little unripe but dulce nonetheless. The minutes have turned to hours by this point and you realized that this weekend probably wasn't the best for finding a free ride. Luckily you catch the last micro on the route and swallow your pride shelling out the pesos to the driver... after you get your foot caught in the door that is.
The weekend is passed in Cobquecura, a small town where last year's earthquake found its epicenter. There is some notable damage to a few older buildings but for the most part, unscathed. The coast looks as though it were taken directly from northern California. Forests ending in cliffs ending in ocean. The only difference is the nauseating symmetry of the forests as they are all raised for the purpose of clear cutting and wood-products production. They are still very trampable.
You and your compañons find yourself about 15k from where you started and without water. After emerging from the forest, once again, you find another perfect scenario for sticking out the thumb. The ride back to Cobquecura is taken in the back of a pickup with some long boarders. One of the guys has a friend in San Diego; he could look the part himself with a flex-deck held to his side.
The food stays simple throughout the entire 2 day sojourn; eating bread and beer and pisco and wine. Somehow, after finishing the dessert of this list, friends are made with neighbors in the cabañas next door. You slyly bring up the possibility of smuggling your travel party in the back of their flat-bed cargo truck and, to your surprise, they accept.
The following day your tailbone wishes it had progressed in evolution a bit more and ceased to exist. Not the case at all. But this is it! The first real, classic, traditional, epitome, embodiment of what travel in Latin America should be! Hiding away in the back of a truck with your other compadres to save a mere 1000 pesos, viewing the sky as sand gets caught in your eyes and forgetting you're lying on dog-piss soaked floor-boards even as Lukas the dachshund whimpers behind your head. The trip back to Conce comcludes by catching a proper bus ride by haggling the attendant and then sitting in the aisle, undoubtedly still smelling like piss.
On arrival home the clothes are cleaned in the tub (you cannot use the laundry machines downstairs because your roommate has failed to pay the building costs) and then set to dry for 2 long days as the humidity will not allow anything shorter.
Other quakes greater than 4.5 to this date:
14/4 4.9
20/4 4.5
22/4 5.2
25/4 4.6
