Tuesday through Thursday in Iquique: Stories from A to Z

 The next morning, Tuesday, I followed the same routine, finding it easy now to walk directly to the sandy beach and boardwalk. The sky was overcast, not sunny and blue as in Coquimbo, making it too chilly to sit for long. The waves were good for surfing, and I saw young men and boys out there with their surfboards. I spent a couple hours sightseeing around the park and beach area then returned to the hotel to work through the afternoon.

When I got hungry, I ate bananas, peanut butter and mixed nuts which makes a filling meal. In the evening, I watched Netflix until I was tired enough to sleep. 

Wednesday Forrest texted me that he wouldn’t arrive until that night, so could I go buy our bus tickets for Thursday morning to Arica. We would spend the night in Arica and on Friday, cross the border to Peru. 

Before heading to the beach that day, I walked to the bus depot and bought our tickets. That done, and with the prospect of Forrest arriving tonight, I decided to celebrate somehow.

 As I walked the now familiar route to the beach area, I wondered about stopping at one of the many restaurants along the promenade. They all seemed too social with crowds of people gathering to enjoy dining with friends. That would make me feel lonely and sad, sitting alone and friendless. I looked for something smaller and less social. 

Fast pass on the Hell Cafe

I ended up going into an ice cream shop across from the ocean, where I could sit at a table by the window and watch the surfers. It was delicious ice cream and so inexpensive compared to what this quality would have cost in the US. 

Today marked our second full week in Chile, having flown into Santiago two weeks ago. It felt like much longer since we had seen so much of the country. My stay in Iquique felt the longest of all. 

The ice cream did not satisfy as a mid-day meal, and I didn’t want more bananas and peanut butter. I noticed a place near the boardwalk that had tables outside and not many customers. I sat at a table and ordered a mixto fajita and a cheese empanada. Turns out in Chile mixto means hot dogs apparently. My “fajita” was cut up hot dogs in a slightly grilled tortilla. It was barely edible and the empanada not much better. No wonder there were no customers. 

I had crossed a barrier and gone out to eat by myself. I didn’t enjoy anything about it.

 Forrest arrived that night around nine, came into the room and said, “This hotel stinks! How did you stand it for so long?” 

“It’s not just the hotel. The whole town smells like this. I have no idea why."

“It smells like a cheap, dirty apartment.” 

“I know.  It’s not an ocean or fishing smell, and it’s the whole town! At least this section of it. Sleep in your bag, Forrest, not on the sheets. The guy said they were clean but I don’t believe him. And there's been no housekeeping in my room despite being out hours every day. I never let the bedding touch my body. I even pull my hood up so I’m not touching the pillow.” 

“Why didn’t you change hotels like you thought of doing?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. I had already paid and didn’t want to bother.”

 Forrest laid his sleeping bag on top of his bed and crawled inside. “How’s the WiFi?” 

“Not bad.” I gave him the three passwords for the three different floors. “Sign into all of them. If one doesn’t work, another one usually will.” 

I went right to sleep, feeling happy to have my son again and knowing tomorrow we were leaving Iquique. 

In the morning, Forrest left to wander around town. I had my usual morning routine of writing to get my head on straight for the day. I took a long shower since this was one of the best ones we had so far, with water hot enough even for me. I packed my things and worked on my computer until it was time to go. 

Forrest came back and said, “The bus depot is close enough we can walk.” 

I wasn’t interested. “I’ve walked enough in this town. Let’s just get an Uber. It won’t cost much since it’s only a few blocks.” I couldn’t wait to get on the bus and drive away from Iquique.

 “It could just be this neighborhood,” Forrest said. “I’ve been propositioned twice already. Once last night and this morning in broad daylight.” 

“You’re not the only one! Some aging prostitute approached me the other evening around six on my way back to the hotel. You can see why I want out and to just get an Uber.” 

“Fair enough.” He picked up his cell phone and put in the order. 

Once on the bus and out of town, I felt such a sense of relief. “That city bothered me, Forrest. It didn’t have a good feeling about it. I’m glad to leave.” 

“In retrospect, you should have just gone to Arica the next day when you realized how sketchy the place was. We could have met there. It really didn’t make sense for me to backtrack and meet you in Iquique.” 

“I wish we’d have thought of that, except I already paid in cash and I don't think he would have refunded me anything."

"Yeah, there's that."

"Forrest, you want to hear something weird? Up and down the promenade near the beach area, I kept seeing middle-aged men with adolescent boys that didn’t look like father-son relationships. One or two I wouldn’t have remarked on, thinking oh it’s his dad who he never sees who came to town to take him out shopping, buying him these new shoes he's so excited about or taking him out to lunch. At first, that’s what I thought. But I saw this whenever I went out. There couldn’t be that many rich, divorced dads coming to town to spend time with the fourteen-year-old son he never sees and buying him stuff.” 

Promenade and park, Iquique

“That is weird,” Forrest agreed. 

“I wonder if Iquique is a center for sex trafficking, or at least that part of it. Anyway, I don’t want to think anymore about it. Tell me about your time in the Atacama Desert.” 

“I was able to get into a nice hostel full of Europeans. How the heck do they know so many languages? Most of them are fluent in four or five. Their native language, English of course, then usually Spanish, French and or Italian. It’s sickening. They’re required to take English classes in school from like first grade up, then they learn these other languages as they go.”  

“I would love to be multi-lingual like that. I took so much French in college and really took to it, but what good does it do if you’re not traveling to the country? I’ve forgotten most of it. I can barely even speak Spanish anymore. Since Dad died, it's like my brain stopped working.” 

“You could travel all over the world, Mom, and learn other languages. It would come back to you.” 

“I’d like to! I want to go to Egypt while my editor still lives there. Want to go to Egypt with me, Forrest?” 

“That would be cool, but once I graduate, I have to get an internship then find a job. This trip is my time off from being responsible.”

Smelling funky here: Stories from A to Z

 I didn’t shower first thing, because I wasn’t ready to make myself that much at home in this room. I pulled on my Doc Martens and went outside to see how the neighborhood looked in daylight. 

It wasn’t too bad, a typical neighborhood of a Latin city, similar to Antofagasta. I walked a few blocks, looking for a tienda to buy my morning diet Coke. 

Returning to the room, I drank my soda, wrote in my journal, checked work email and then felt comfortable enough to shower and change into clean clothes. The shower turned out to be a pleasant surprise, with good pressure and plenty of hot water. Feeling better, I decided to go exploring and find the beach. 

I headed west, weaving through city blocks, keeping my turns to a minimum as to not get lost on the way back. I finally reached a section of ocean lined with piles of boulders and pelicans, my favorite birds. They exude peace and contentment, how they float along whether in the air or on the water. They know how to get the job done without overly exerting themselves. I took pictures of them landing gracefully on the boulders. 

In the distance, I saw a length of sandy beach and headed in that direction. As I crossed a parking lot behind an apartment complex, I observed an older man going from car to car placing small fliers under car windshields. We greeted one another and he handed me a flier, explaining that he was a chef and would deliver ready-made meals to my home. 

“Oh, thanks but I’m in a hotel and only staying a few days.” 

He switched to English and asked me where I was from and told me where he had lived in the US when he worked as a cook. “Where are you going?” he asked, looking around at the parking lot as though this was an odd place for a tourist staying in a hotel to be.

 “To the beach,” I replied, gesturing in the general direction. “I wasn’t sure how to get there from my hotel.”

After chatting awhile, he offered to take me in his car as I was way off track. Since I felt no warning signals from him, I agreed. His car was right there in the parking lot. I'm not sure why I did this, since getting into a car with a stranger is way beyond my comfort zone.

As he drove, he talked to me in English and pointed out several landmarks for me to use next time I wanted to walk to the beach. When we got close to where I could see the boardwalk, a park, and the sandy beach, I said this was fine, he could let me off here. He pulled over to the side and waved at a passerby who he seemed to know. 

“My number is on the flier if you need anything or want a meal brought to your hotel. All fresh ingredients and ready to enjoy.” I thanked him and let myself out, then walked for awhile on the boardwalk.

Iquique Beach Park

When I was ready to return to the hotel, I followed the landmarks he had pointed out and found my way back without having to go behind apartment buildings and across parking lots.

On the way, I bought several bananas to eat with peanut butter for my main meal along with my store of mixed nuts. I didn’t want to buy food in this town, despite passing several restaurants, because it smelled and felt dirty. It wasn’t just the hotel. The whole place had this strange, unpleasant smell.

But the chef had been nice enough. Friendly, helpful and not at all creepy.

Regretting Iquique: Stories from A to Z

On Monday at noon, I checked out of the Antofagasta hotel and got a cab to the bus depot. This would be my first time doing a bus trip alone, without either Bruce or Forrest. I felt anxious and nervous until I got settled on the nice, luxurious bus. It was five hours to Iquique.

My anxious face

Passing through a small town along the way

So much of that route is desert

Halfway through the trip, the porter brought a box dinner for each passenger. It was grilled chicken breast, tender and well-seasoned, on rice with a roll and a little cup of jello. 

When we arrived at the Iquique bus depot, cabs waited outside. I approached one and showed him the address of my hotel. It was only a few blocks away. 

When the driver pulled up, he said, “This isn’t a very good neighborhood. Be careful.” That set me right off worrying. 

In the narrow, cluttered lobby, I felt even more uncomfortable. The place gave off sleazy vibes, and the desk attendant questioned my reservation. I showed him the email on my phone, and he turned away to climb the stairs behind the front desk. 

He was gone awhile. Shortly after he left, a thirty-something man came downstairs followed by a woman. They looked irritated as they passed by on their way out the front door. Later, I realized they were probably in the double room I had reserved, and the hotel attendant had made them leave. 

When the attendant returned, he asked how many nights I wanted. Although I had booked it for four nights, I hesitated, thinking maybe I should only book tonight. But I was here and didn’t want to go searching tomorrow for another place, I didn’t know the city and felt alone and lacking in courage, deserted by my typical spirit of adventure and confidence. I had already stood there waiting for thirty minutes on my feet and was sick of the whole business.

“Four,” I said and paid with cash, since I didn’t want to hand over a credit card. The guy beckoned for me to follow as he carried my luggage upstairs. 

My room had that same feeling of discomfort and uncleanliness, and I wasn’t convinced the bedding had been changed. I asked him for two clean towels and if the sheets were clean. He said yes, but I didn’t believe him. The bed was made poorly, and the sheets and blankets were thin and worn. 

That first night, I slept on top of the bedding fully dressed in my leggings and sweatshirt, using my long, hooded sweater as a blanket. I barely slept, feeling vulnerable and hating this place with its foul smell. I thought about checking out tomorrow but had already paid. This was the first night, Forrest was arriving tomorrow, then only two more after that. 

I saw a text from Forrest on WhatsApp. He was at the Atacama Desert but had been unable to see the Planetarium since he didn’t have an appointment and they were already booked up. He also had not been able to find a couch-surfing situation but had gotten into a nice hostel. 

I was happy and relieved to hear from my son and exchange a few texts. The night sky alone was worth the trip, he texted. He was getting so much Spanish practice. A lot of Europeans were at the hostel. He's jealous of how they all speak so many languages. He wasn't coming tomorrow after all but the next day.

After that, although disappointed that I wouldn't see Forrest as soon as expected, I didn't feel as alone at this sketchy hotel. When he left Atacama, he was coming to Iquique, and we'd head for the border. 

Everything would be better once Forrest arrived.

Quiet Cry Day: Stories from A to Z

The next day, Friday, Forrest left early for the Atacama Desert, where he would spend five days. I was staying another two nights in Antofagasta and then would take the bus to Iquique, where we would meet up before our final leg of the journey to the border. 

If I could avoid spending money at restaurants and instead eat bananas, peanut butter, nuts and fruit, I’d be happy. Our hotel offered a free breakfast, which would help. 

On Saturday, I went for their complimentary breakfast then walked around the neighborhood to get my bearings. I looked for a nearby church to attend in the morning. While I was out, I bought a two-liter of Diet Coke and a large bag of Lay’s potato chips for a Sunday treat. Peanut butter on bananas would be food for Sunday as well. I also had mixed nuts if I needed them, but the bananas had to get eaten first. 

The bus station was only about five blocks from our hotel. I bought my ticket leaving Monday at one for Iquique. 

Our hotel room had great Wi-Fi so I spent Saturday afternoon working and making up for lost time without Internet. I never worked on Sundays, but I had a few books on my Kindle that looked good and could keep me occupied. And I could take longer walks, getting to know the city. 

When Sunday came, it turned into a day of isolation and junk food where I didn't leave my room. I had not found a church in the neighborhood and didn’t feel like searching afar for one. I didn’t even go to the free breakfast. Instead, I journaled for hours and feasted on potato chips and diet Coke. 

In the afternoon, I opened a free Kindle book downloaded years ago but never read. It was about a woman who came to Ireland after losing the beloved aunt who had raised her.

The woman had rented a cottage outside of town on a country road. Upon arrival, grief for her aunt overwhelmed her. She started crying and went on for days, not eating or leaving the house, just crying and sleeping. Occasionally, she wandered around the cottage then returned to bed and cried. 

A housekeeper quietly let herself in and left food for her. The woman finally noticed the food in the fridge and kitchen. In between crying and sleeping, she ate these delicious home-cooked meals. 

I was so envious. I wanted a secluded cottage in the Irish countryside to cloister myself and cry my eyes out. I wanted a quiet housekeeper who left delicious, ready-to-eat food in my kitchen, cleaned up, and then disappeared. Like this woman in the book, I had not fully grieved. I had such heartache, but always pushed it away because it hurt too much. 

Along the beach in Coquimbo, I had opened myself up to grief because of the solitude, the wide ocean, the busy seagulls, and the companionable pelicans.

Don't these pelicans look like great listeners? The bartenders of the bird world.

As I read this book, I cried along with the woman and thought about renting a cottage in Ireland. I finished it that day. A satisfying read, as the cottage owner turned out to be a handsome Irishman who also happened to be single. It was a nice little romance with a theme and a setting that appealed to a grieving widow.

Tomorrow I would get on the bus and return to my traveling self. Today was a quiet, cry day, the kind you need every now and then but thankfully not too often.

Peru-bound: Stories from A to Z

Our overnight bus was a different line from what we had ridden from Santiago but just as luxurious. In a few moments, we would depart Coquimbo and head north. 

As the bus left town, the interior lights dimmed, people shut their curtains and went to sleep. My outerwear was a large, hooded sweatshirt and a long, hooded sweater. I used the sweater as a blanket and pulled the hood up over my head, nearly covering my face. We reclined our seats and slept through the night. 

I woke up right before dawn and watched the sky glow with subtle color changes until finally boom, there's the sun. I caught glimpses of the rising sun from the east-facing windows on the other side of the aisle.  

A young porter passed out trays with a large, wrapped “breakfast cookie” the label said, coffee or tea plus orange juice. 

As before, Forrest followed the map downloaded on his phone. The bus did occasional depot stops during the night and a few more in the morning. 

Around ten as we reached another city, Forrest said, “We’re here.” It had seemed like no time at all. I liked this traveling at night. A lengthy twelve-hour trip had gone by quickly and been quite comfortable. At the depot, Forrest called an Uber to take us to our hotel, a place I had reserved from Booking.com during that Sunday at church with the Internet. 

Unfortunately, it was too early to check in. I asked if there were a place to leave our luggage, and the receptionist signaled to a corner of the rather small lobby, where he could keep an eye on them. 

We exited the hotel and I said, “Let’s go find the ocean.” We headed west in a rather convoluted pattern, not knowing the right streets to lead to the coast. It took about thirty minutes, but we found it, a rough coast with large boulders piled up. So unlike the sandy beaches of Coquimbo. We more or less followed the coastline until we came to a boardwalk and a shopping center. Perfect, because I needed a bathroom and Forrest wanted food. 

Not much was open yet besides the restrooms, nowhere to get breakfast. I got a diet Coke from a soda machine.

Back outside, we sat on a bench along the boardwalk looking out to sea. I drank my diet Coke, happy and refreshed, content with the company of my capable son and glad to have arrived at another city in Chile. 

Forrest was restless and ready to continue exploring the area. He could walk for hours, while I lasted about ninety minutes before needing to stop and sit down for a bit. I had no idea where we were in relation to the hotel, but Forrest seemed to. “Let’s head toward town,” he said. 

Walking with Forrest felt like going in circles, yet he always knew where he was headed. My method of exploring an unknown area was go in a straight line and then back the exact same way to avoid getting confused. He had no patience for my lengthy, straight-line method. “This way is shorter,” he would say. 

We continued toward "the center of town," according to Forrest. He needed food and traveled with purpose to find it. 

We came to the market district with more people on the sidewalks and vendors with open stands, but Forrest couldn’t find anything that looked good to him. We stopped at a stand selling locally made candy and picked out a selection for the vendor to bag up. 

Past the market area, we saw an open Subway. “Let’s go in here,” Forrest suggested. “At least it won’t be overpriced.” 

He ordered a sandwich, and I got another diet Coke. We sat at a table by the window and watched the people go by, taking our time since we couldn’t check in until noon. We ate a couple of the wrapped candies, which I liked more than he did. Candy and Coke for breakfast, not the healthiest choice but I wasn’t in the mood for a sandwich. 

"Antofagasta feels more like a Latin city than Coquimbo did,” I said. “I could live in a place like this. The hotel is reasonable, the prices seem normal, there’s a mercado and vendors on the streets.” 

“Yeah, Chile has redeemed itself somewhat with Antofagasta. I went to La Serena a couple times for meetups, and it wasn’t that great either. Everybody raved about it, but it was essentially just a college town.” 

On the way back to the hotel, I stopped to buy several bunches of bananas. “I can eat these with peanut butter tomorrow when you’re gone,” I said. 

Forrest was leaving early for the Atacama Desert, where he would spend five days. I had tomorrow night in Antofagasta and then would take the bus to Iquique, where we would meet up before our final leg of the journey to Arica, a border city and our final stay in Chile. 

Options: Stories from A to Z

Tuesday, the day before the eclipse, traffic picked up. The next morning, it was bumper to bumper along the little street next to the boardwalk. I felt quite smug that I only needed to walk a few blocks from my comfortable lodgings to the beach.  

Forrest had not committed to where he planned to view it, or with what group of couch surfers or eclipse chasers he would gather. When I asked him, he shrugged. “I’m not sure. There are several options.” 

“I’m staying right here,” I told him. “It’s the perfect location. If you don’t go anywhere else, you can find me along this section nearest to our cross street.” 

Perhaps at the beginning of our trip I’d have felt crushing disappointment at the prospect of not sharing the thrill of a total eclipse with my son. But by now, I was used to his ways, and he was used to mine. 

He liked exploring and meeting people, preferably Spanish speakers to practice the language. I didn’t want to meet anybody. Thankfully, he didn’t bring anyone over for meals or to hang out. I’d have hated that. I needed isolation to process my grief, to feel my emotional imbalance in all its turmoil, something I had to do over and over again. I had no idea when it would be enough and I'd feel normal again. When not with Forrest, I craved solitude. 

Totality in our area would be around four on the afternoon of July 2. Unlike 2017, this Eclipse of 2019 was easy, not counting the whole flying to Chile part of it. Go to the beach, find a spot on the sand or in an empty chair, sit down. Walk back when it’s over. Back then, Bruce and I had to prepare well in advance with hotel reservations, getting up before dawn to drive to the location, take chairs and food.

Around three-thirty, I headed over to the beach area and found the perfect spot. Crowds had gathered, mostly family groups in a party atmosphere. The chairs, benches and ledges along the boardwalk were all taken, and the sandy beach was filling up fast with large groups. 

I claimed my little hill, spreading my things out to save room for Forrest in case he joined me. The slight, crooked hill was too awkward for setting up camp chairs or spreading a blanket and too small for more than a couple people to lean their backs against. 

I felt lonely as I often did when alone among couples or families gathered for celebrations or dinner or just walking together enjoying their lives. I wondered what Forrest had decided to do. I wished he were here with me. 

Finally, I deserted that location and walked along the beach to find a less crowded area. Along the way, I saw Forrest approaching from the other direction. I waved and he ignored me in his stoic way, although I could tell he saw me. We met a few minutes later. 

“What’s up?” I asked him. “Are you headed somewhere to see the eclipse?” 

“No, that didn’t work out. I thought I’d find you.” 

“I had a pretty good place. Let’s go see if it’s still available.” 

We turned around and as we approached my little hill, I was happy to see it was still free. Forrest and I settled down to wait for the eclipse. There was still another twenty or thirty minutes until the moon would start its path across the sun. All these people stressed me out and made me tired. I made a pillow out of my sweater and pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt so that it nearly covered my head. 

“I’m going to take a little nap, Forrest,” I said. “Don’t let me sleep through it.” 

He ended up falling asleep as well, and we both woke up about the same time thirty minutes later. I felt much better, and the happy families no longer annoyed me. Fortunately, we had not slept through any of the moon’s historic journey, slow as it seems when you’re watching and waiting for it to completely block the sun. 

Forrest became impatient. At partial, he said, “This isn’t such a big deal." 

“Just wait, you’ll see,” I declared. 

Minutes later, “still not that impressive. Kinda cool that it’s getting darker though.” 

Shortly before totality, he figured it was over. “Okay, I guess I’m done.” He stood and looked around restlessly.

Bored Forrest tired of waiting for the moon

 “Forrest! Just watch or you’ll miss it.” 

Thankfully, he obeyed and therefore witnessed those few seconds when the moon completely blocked the sun, with only that thin, brilliant ring outlining the silhouette of the moon. 

“Wow, that’s pretty cool.” I no longer had to tell him to keep his eye on the sun. Like everyone else, he couldn’t look away. Totality is enchanting like that. 

As the moon passed on, seeming faster than before, daylight returned, confusing the seagulls and pelicans who had begun to gather for their nighttime routines. They veered up into the sky practically bumping into each other in their disorientation. I found the behavior of the birds nearly as intriguing as the eclipse.

Birds disoriented by the eclipse

In 2017, Bruce and I had been in an area with trees. As the light dimmed, the birds clustered in the branches out of sight. Above the ocean, these birds were in full view for us to appreciate their unusual behavior. We watched the birds as people around us dispersed. When the pelicans returned to normal flights and the seagulls to their usual skillful foraging about the shoreline, then Forrest and I moved on. 

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment,” I said. “This was a special event. We should end the day doing something different from our usual routine.”

“Let’s keep walking along the shore to make sure the birds are back to normal,” he responded. 

We had been frugal to make up for the high rent condo, although groceries were no bargain either. So different from my previous experience in Guatemala and Mexico. Around here, people dressed and carried themselves like they had money. Maybe the La Serena/Coquimbo area was wealthier than the rest of the country. It seemed more like California than what I supposed Chile would be.

Where was the street food? The local indigenous craft stalls? The mercados filled with fresh produce? 

“We should at least splurge on dinner at a seafood restaurant before we leave," I said. "After all, we’re right on the coast with fishing as a major industry.” 

“I know where there’s a string of local restaurants,” he replied. “In fact, we’re heading right for them. We can check them out and see what we think.” 

“Oh, good! I’ll buy dinner, my treat.” I had learned after Bruce died that the best way to get anyone to go out to dinner with me was offer to pay. 

We found a small place that looked out toward the sea, not fancy at all, run by a sixty-something couple. She was behind the counter, and he waited on us. They had just a few tables, and we were the only ones there. 

We ordered their seafood platters. Seafood soup, seafood empanadas, and fried fish. It was okay, nothing remarkable, but at least we got our seafood dinner on the coast of Coquimbo. 

As we walked home, we agreed we were done with Chile and ready to head north toward Peru. We had our reservation through Friday evening, but we decided to leave Thursday. Tomorrow. When we reached the apartment, Forrest checked the bus schedule online. 

“We can leave on the ten pm bus and drive through the night. Our first stop will be early morning in Antofagasta.”

 “Perfect. That gives us all day tomorrow to pack, do laundry, use up our food, clean the place up. I like the idea of no rush.” 

“We’ll go to the bus station in the morning for our tickets. We can walk there and back, then take an Uber at night with our luggage and stuff.” 

One more day to go for a long walk where I let the ocean breezes carry my grief away with the tide. Like the tide though, it always came back. I could see myself returning to Coquimbo for this fantastic beach. Winter, free of tourists, was best, and without an eclipse lodging must be cheaper. 

I visualized a group of Gowens coming out together. We could cram into the condo and split the cost five ways. That’s only a hundred bucks for a whole week of oceanside luxury in Coquimbo!

Never mind the whole getting to Chile part of it.

Not an Eclipse Chaser: Stories from A to Z

By Tuesday, mother and son had their solid routines. I wrote in the mornings, then got ready for the day and went to find enough Wi-Fi to work for a couple hours. Forrest connected with the couch-surfing community, occasionally having meetups for lunch. Dinner, we ate together in our apartment, one or the other cooking depending on which one of us got it going first. 

When I finished work, I walked to warm up. Winter in Chile was cold unless I was outside in the bright sunshine. Even then, I wore a sweater or sweatshirt or sometimes both. 

Our building was five minutes from the beach. Since it was winter and not tourist season, there weren’t many people around. I took solitary grief walks near the water and talked out loud to Bruce. No one could hear me over the pounding surf.

I poured out my aching heart to Bruce and to God. It didn’t seem real that my husband had passed on to the other side and left me behind. How would I ever get used to his absence? Those long afternoons with nothing to do except walk and talk and seek healing for my broken heart were exactly what I needed. 

When I got tired, I’d sit on a bench next to the boardwalk and look out over the ocean. I finally realized what a magnificent setting this would be to watch the sunset each evening. But I never stayed for it. I’d get restless or hungry and return to the apartment to start dinner. Besides, sitting alone to experience a sunset made me feel lonelier than ever, so I didn’t do it. 

Forrest and I normally had one meal a day together, depending on if we both happened to be home and ready to eat at the same time. Sometimes he would cook, sometimes I would. We never planned anything, it just worked out the way it worked out. 

Tuesday marked the first week anniversary of my leaving Utah; it seemed like weeks had gone by. It was the same for Forrest. After dinner, he said, “I’m about done with Coquimbo. It feels like we’ve been here forever. I’m ready to go.” 

“Well, tomorrow is the eclipse and why we came to Coquimbo in the first place. We have to stay for that.” 

“I didn’t come to Chile just for the eclipse like so many did. I wanted to go to South America and figured since I’m coming anyway, I might as well plan for the eclipse.”

I couldn’t believe he would consider leaving before the eclipse! “I think you’ll be glad you did, Forrest. A total eclipse is incredible.” 

“Meh. I’m ready to go.”

 “We can go after the eclipse and check out a day early.” 

“This place is full of eclipse chasers right now. I’ve met a few of them. Did you know there are eclipse celebrities? People who have seen so many they're famous in the eclipse chasing world." 

"This will make two for me,” I said. “I never figured I’d see totality once in my lifetime, let alone twice. And there’s one in Mexico in 2024, when I very well could be there. If I am, that will make three for me.” 

“You don’t have anything to tie you down and you want to travel. You could easily become an eclipse celebrity, Mom, if you wanted.” 

That was the last thing I wanted. 

“There’s even a few American celebrities in the area.” 

“Really? Like who? Tom Cruise?” I loved Tom Cruise. I would keep my eyes out for him. 

Forrest laughed. “I didn’t hear his name, but Robert Downey, Jr. and Bill Gates are a few I heard about.” 

“If I saw either of them, I doubt I’d recognize them.” Besides, they probably weren’t strolling along the Coquimbo beach or going to the shopping center ATM like what I was doing. 

“I’m just sick of the hype and ready to leave.” Forrest hated following the crowd. He had not gone to the 2017 total eclipse, practically in our own backyard, because “there’s too much hype about it. Too many people are going.”

“As close as we are, to leave now and miss it would be silly. You’re the opposite of an eclipse chaser, Forrest. You’re an eclipse avoider.”

"Yep. And I'm ready to go."

Move this chair for Wi-Fi: Stories from A to Z

Sunday after church and dinner, I laid down to take a nap while Forrest continued his quest to find the best Wi-Fi connection in the building. 

He returned sometime later pleased to say he had found it. “Come on, I’ll show you.” 

I was still under the covers reading. “Can’t you just tell me? I'm all warm and cozy.” 

“No, I have to show you.” I dragged myself out to follow him. 

The magic spot was on the first floor, in a hallway off the lobby. He pulled over a chair from the lobby and placed it at an angle.

“This is it. If you put the chair like this, you can sit and work on your laptop. It’s the best spot in the entire building. I’ve tried the chair at different positions, and this is the angle that works.”

I couldn’t believe we paid $500 a week and had to jump through hoops for an Internet connection. “I’d feel embarrassed moving a chair and sitting crooked in the hall like this.” I looked around. “Has anyone ever said anything to you?” 

“No, because who would care and anyway this condo is practically deserted. I think it's us and maybe a few others staying here and that’s it.” 

Once in a while there was another person or two in the elevator, but most often the building seemed vacant. I didn’t need to worry about anyone staring at me or thinking I was weird or strange to move a chair from one place to another. 

That became my working location during the week. Except it had no heat, no sun to warm it up, and after an hour it was too cold for me to focus. Forrest passed me once as I was shivering in the chair. 

“There’s a lounge right there at the end of the hall, Mom, and it’s heated. It has comfortable seating and good Internet reception, but the door is always locked. If you can find the guy who works around here and ask him to let you in, it’s a nice place to work.” 

Again, with the hoops we had to jump through to Enjoy Coquimbo.

Let's get a cab: Stories from A to Z

On Sunday, our second full day, we felt like we’d been there a week already. Not because it was boring, but because we had so completely embraced and acquainted ourselves with the environment. 

Forrest had researched where the nearest unit of our church was and what time it started. “It’s about thirty to forty minutes to walk. So we will need to leave here in time to make sacrament meeting at ten.” 

That sounded good to me. A nice walk on the way to church would be delightful.

Except that it was uphill all the way and not pleasant. We went along busy streets with no trees, past a few weedy lots and scattered buildings. Too often, no sidewalks either. 

After twenty minutes of this, I said, “Let’s get a cab.” 

“It’s only a little farther, Mom, probably at the top of this hill.” 

Then another ten minutes, no church building in sight, but yet another hill. 

I saw a cab coming our way and hailed it. He was going the opposite direction and already had a passenger but said he'd drop her off first, then us. I got in the back seat with the girl and Forrest sat in the passenger seat. 

He drove most of the way we had already walked, let the girl off, then turned his cab around and drove back up the hill. He went straight to one of our church buildings without any trouble, although it was in a different direction from the one Forrest assumed we were walking to. 

We arrived right before the meeting began and sat in the back. As soon as the sacrament had been passed and the first speaker stood up, Forrest and I were nonstop on our phones, because Wi-Fi! 

When not looking at my screen, I glanced around at the congregation, composed of well-dressed worshipers with fantastic hair. Of course, because this is Chile, the land of beautiful people and amazing hair. 

After sacrament meeting, we stayed for the Sunday school class, spending the entire lesson on our phones. During which, Forrest figured out the route for traveling from Coquimbo to Peru, passing through several key cities for stopping along the way. 

While he did that, I booked the hotels online at the cities he listed: Antofagasta, Iquique, and Arica. Forrest planned to do a side trip to the Atacama Desert which didn’t interest me. Instead, I'd stay in Iquique, and he would meet me there before our final bus ride to the border city of Arica. 

We spent a highly productive two hours at church, making the most of their excellent Internet. When the meeting ended, Forrest stepped outside to the sidewalk, looked around, checked his phone, and immediately knew where we were. How he managed to do this, I have no idea. It was his super power. 

“Want to go home via the beach?” he asked. Of course! 

Walking along the beach was scenic and peaceful and like floating on air. I took a picture of us looking healthy and relaxed, the Pacific Ocean in the background.

 The way home felt like ten minutes instead of the forty minutes trying to get to the church, which probably was never there in the first place. I figured if I hadn’t flagged that cab driver, we would have pressed on and on, never finding it. No doubt it was the one the cab driver took us to going a different direction. 

Forrest didn’t agree with me, since his super power status was at stake. “Nah, the church was on the other side of the hill. We’d have reached it in five minutes if you hadn’t stopped that taxi.”

Karen, get over yourself: Stories from A to Z

The next morning, the mutual goodwill disappeared. It began when I made a week’s menu and list of groceries, with the idea we could shop together at a store larger than a corner tienda. 

Why was I not surprised when my independent twenty-seven-year-old son, who had lived on his own since he graduated high school and joined the Marines, did not want to trot off to the supermarket and shop with his mom from her list? 

Instead, Forrest intended to go out exploring on his own. “I want to find some fresh fish,” he responded to my suggestions about groceries. When I mentioned a few other things to pick up, he walked away with, “I’ll see what I see.” 

I returned to my room and crawled under the covers to write in my journal. Even with the door shut and the electric heater turned up high, it was cold outside those covers. With Forrest gone, I felt desolate and abandoned, familiar feelings since Bruce had died. It certainly wasn’t anyone’s fault, simply part of this long grieving process.

Sad feelings of loss and abandonment could overcome me at the slightest provocation, and they hit me that morning in our condo. Probably due to a letdown after our empanada dinner, when we had experienced one of those rare magical moments a mom does not often get with her grown children. 

Last night was the first of many such magical times Forrest and I were to share through the course of our trip. But I didn’t know what was ahead, and that morning I only wanted Bruce. 

The love of my life and my companion for nearly fifty years. What was I doing hanging on to Forrest? Insisting he take me along on what was originally meant as a solo trip couch-surfing through South America? 

Eventually I got this out of my system and noticed how bright it was outside. I dressed and went into the sunshine, much better than staying in my freezing cold bedroom huddled under the covers feeling sorry for myself. I walked to the tienda café of the night before and bought my standard breakfast of diet Coke. 

On the way home I noticed a little vegetable stand across the street from our building. I bought a carton of eggs plus an onion, garlic, and peppers for omelets. Enough to have a few meals to start us off. I also picked out several potatoes, thinking about what I could made in this nice kitchen for my youngest boy. Nothing made me happier than cooking for my loved ones. Cooking for yourself is just not that fun or rewarding. 

Forrest arrived soon after with his own collection of groceries: pasta, sauce, eggs, and a few other items. “I couldn’t find any fish,” he said. 

I made us a vegetable omelet and later he cooked rice with sauteed vegetables. 

We needed Wi-Fi. I couldn’t go without working for more than a long weekend before my authors with books in process got panicky. Anywhere I stayed, I needed reliable Internet. Forrest was focused on finding the best connection in our building and went to explore every corner of it in his search. 

I walked again to the tienda/café and bought a few sticks of butter and a carton of milk from their cooler. After putting it away in our fridge, I returned to the vegetable stand across the street for more vegetables and some fresh fruit. On my way home, I saw Forrest sitting outside the building on one of the benches. 

“Hey, Mom,” he greeted, “the connection isn’t too bad right here. I’m using the password for that place next door.” 

“Oh, good. Let me go put these things away and grab my laptop. I really need to check my email.”

That outside Wi-Fi wasn't bad. I could stay connected and take care of business. Except the sun was too bright to see the screen easily. And working hunched over on a park bench or seated at a concrete planter is too uncomfortable to last long. I was soon ready to pack up and go do something else. 

Forrest was still busy on his phone. “I’m connecting with people who are here for the eclipse,” he said. “You’d be surprised how many there are, from all over the world.” 

“How did you find them?” 

“Through a couple sites, the couch-surfing group I’m in, and one I found about eclipse-chasers. I’m going to meet up with some people for lunch today.” 

“Okay, well that sounds interesting. I think I’ll take my laptop upstairs then go out for a walk to find the beach.” 

Forrest pointed in the direction of the Enjoy Coquimbo building, the real one not our fake one. “Go back to the first hotel where we stopped and then turn right. It’s so close. You can’t miss it.” 

He was right. It was less than a ten-minute walk, and what a beautiful beach, the kind where people come for the sand and the ocean. It had long stretches of wide, flat sandy beach where you could walk forever right next to the water. 

Worth the trip just for this beach

Live crab next to my boot

Along the sidewalks and boardwalks situated between the sea and the street were all kinds of little shops and cafes. Farther down were the less touristy areas with fishing boats and rustic seafood stalls and restaurants. 

After walking awhile on the nearly vacant beach, I connected back up with the street and noticed a green and white street sign pointing to La Serena. This was the town I originally had sought lodgings in, but they were more expensive and less available. Coquimbo, which was described as working class with a fishing industry, sounded more appealing to me than a touristy college town anyway. 

I followed the arrow to La Serena, crossed a busy street and came to a shopping center. I was tired by then and not in the mood to walk around to see what it had. I stopped at a pizza place on the edge of the center, ordered a bottle of diet soda and asked for a glass with ice. There was no ice. Okay, I'll take it warm. 

I took my bottle and glass to a table outside in the sun and watched shoppers come and go, all of them with good clothes and great hair.

The men regardless of age could be male models or movie stars based on nothing more than their hair, worn longish and styled to look casual yet fashionable, like it just happened to grow this way. Perhaps it did. I never saw anything like the hair on these men. Young or old, they all had the same great hair. How did they do it? 

It seemed like a national trait to have the best hair and know instinctively how to cut and style it to look fantastic. Same with clothes. Nice, expensive-looking clothes that looked perfect on everyone, even when dressed casually. The women too had beautiful hair, cut and styled in simple, basic lines, most often long and curled under, that made the most of their features. 

I felt sloppy in my leggings, Doc Martens and oversized sweatshirt, compared to their woolen overcoats and stylish boots. And who knows what my hair was doing. It certainly wasn’t thick and smooth like Chileno hair. Still, I enjoyed sitting there as an invisible observer of the Coquimbo/La Serena population.

That evening, Forrest sat up late in the living room watching local TV to practice Spanish. He flipped through channels to find another soccer game. He might have gone out somewhere. I didn’t know since I went to bed early, read awhile on my Kindle then fell asleep by nine. 

Our first full day in Coquimbo, a Saturday, had started out rough but turned out quite nice.