It´s 4am and we´re stumbling off a Peruvian bus. A man is shouting, "Arica, Arica". This is where we´re heading, just over the Chilean border. He offers to take us, but the border doesn´t open until 6am. We go anyway and see what happens. He leads us in the darkness to his 1980s American car. It´s a Pontiac with a bench seat across the front and a gear lever sticking out of the dashboard. There are two others in the car also heading for Arica. At least I hope they are. I hope they´re not part of a kidnapping gang preying on sleepy tourists. I try and stay awake just in case. It takes five minutes to get out of town, the driver has some kind of Classic Spanish Gold pop station on the radio. As a Spanish Nancy Sinatra croons and what looks like the Atacama passes by I feel like I´m in a Quentin Tarantino film.
At the border the driver switches off the engine (he leaves the radio on) and we sit in the darkness waiting for 6am. Amanda´s asleep, I watch as the yellow moon goes down and the sky brightens to the east. At 6am the driver leads us in a rush through customs. This is our 17th overland border crossing but his guidance confuses us. We stand there looking like we don´t know what a passport is for. Amanda leaves a bag in the car and has to go through again. They tell her off and confiscate some peaches. We´re through and it´s 8am in Chile. One of the other passengers is detained so we leave without him. It´s a short drive to Arica. The sun is bright and the Pacific hoves into view, there´s a disco instrumental on the radio, it sounds like Barry White´s going to break into song.
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