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San Pedro is a small town in the Atacama Desert in Chile, the driest desert in the world. We had just been dropped on a dusty road somewhere in the middle of this town created specifically for tourism, feeling physically and mentally drained from the border crossing from Bolivia, the desert sun was practically burning us to a crisp and we were lost. I get the impression that Aji Verde was trying to be some kind of eco-hostel: the walls were constructed using a bizarre combination of clay and old wine bottles, it had a thatched roof and the bed frames were just giant slabs of stone and the showers were in outbuildings.
Our plan for our first morning in the desert was to hire bikes and cycle down to a place called Quebrada del Diablo. It was a beautiful morning, bike hire was cheap and it would be a unique experience. There was only one problem. After a lot of failed attempts at finding that all important balance, I finally mastered it. Things were going swimmingly for all of 3 minutes, until I veered towards a pedestrian, had a mind-blank and forgot how to brake and how to speak and crashed into him, covering the back of his leg in muddy water.
Get on the pavement you absolute moron. I felt so free escaping San Pedro on a bicycle. We went along a long, straight road, passing beautiful scenery and even three men on galloping horses. Quebrada del Diablo was even more stunning than the journey there; a terracotta canyon with a dusty paths and tiny caves awaited us. Our hand-drawn map gave us the impression that the place was a small semi-circle, about half the size of a roundabout. What it actually was, was an extremely lengthy bike trail with impossible-to-cycle-on sandy terrain and steep uphills and downhills, possibly designed for professional mountain-bikers.
In other words, I was screwed and petrified. Even my pretend brave face and tightly-secured helmet could save me. We were desperate to find a way out of the labyrinth and we were starting to lose hope, having not seen another living thing for the best part of two hours. Eventually, signs of life started to emerge: we saw signposts pointing vaguely in the direction of San Pedro and an old church. There was hope. Finding the exit of Quebrada del Diablo was one of the happiest moments of my life.