PISAGUA

April 6, 2017 SouthAmerica

Rusting, baking, blown, shaken, forgotten, forsaken, I can’t understand why people stay here.

A trip out to the northern Chile coast from the stark Atacama interior is always interesting. Pisagua is just one of those forgotten corners in the world…or maybe never known about to begin with. Remarkably, there is a nice paved road leading directly to it. Route A-40 splits from the Pan-American Highway about 70 km well north from Iquique. A drive through the barren Mars-like landscape wanders in what feels like the end of the world as approaching the coastal escarpment overlooking the Pacific Ocean. From there, through narrow switchbacks, the road quickly descends to the coast and the small unusual town.

https://www.southamericatotheworld.com/ — Pisagua Coast – Chile

Pisagua has a small fishing community living where people really should not live-on, the rocks at the base of the Andean escarpment dropping off right into the ocean, making California’s Big Sur appear diminutive. Eighty five percent of the town is made of basic shacks, and nestled in the center are several historic buildings. The old buildings, covered in rusted corrugated sheet metal roofs, have several stands of withering palm trees, making this almost cove or port appear like a place that would be favored by pirates. The building styles date back to the same period of architecture found in Iquique, with the facades marked by tall arched doors, second floor balconies with wood pillars, and nicely contrasting colorful painted exteriors that mostly have faded in the sun and salty breeze. The Parroquia San Pedro church has a small bell tower fabricated from corrugated sheet metal. The most colorful thing in town is the few fluttering red, white, and blue Chilean flags. The locals have long sought that the cove be further developed to be used as a shipping port. It was used for shipping point over a hundred years ago during the Nitrite mining in the Chilean salars, but it was just one of many gone with history. The odds of the port functioning again would appear to be zero and their petition is a mute whimper in the wilderness. Parking at the small overlook, and walking about one quickly discovers that there are no real services or businesses open. And considering how this place abuts to the world’s driest desert, one has to ponder where do they get their drinking water?

This was a question with relevance as I found a home-restaurant for lunch. I was the only customer in a living room set up with four tables, and the selection limited to exactly what the senora had prepared that day. So had the fried fish of unknown variety, accompanied by pasta. The spaghetti noodles were too salty to eat, which had me wondering if the lady had boiled the noodles in ocean water. Or maybe the sound of the town’s name in English does says something about the water quality.

And then heading back to the car, across the street there is a building with a troubling mural with text that says “25 years Pisagua, nobody is forgetting.” My later research on the town brought context to it. How the place was used by the Pinochet regime’s military for prisoners that would never be seen again. Old customs are hard to unlearn, the town had previous stints as a prison camp for political dissidents. Looking at the mural, hearing the surf break on the rocks, and not seeing anybody moving about in the town, made the entire place feel eerie.