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Desert Colors

By Daniel Lins - 2009-09-15

Calama

My eyes open for the first time into harsh, white light. My feet are freezing, and I tuck them up into the warm torso of my sleeping bag. I probably should have used my tent, but I had wanted to watch the desert stars. I breathe in the cold, dry air through my mouth. My nose has long since crusted with desert dust and dried snot.

As my eyes adjust to the brightness of the morning sun, undampened by cloud or tree canopy, I take in my surroundings. On the edge of my cocoon of warmth, a mangy puppy is curled up. It’s "Ducas," who followed us here last night. As I begin to stir, he bounds to my head, tail wagging furiously. He licks my face and I notice one bright eye, as if bleached blue-white by the sun. Gently, I push him away and look beyond the edge of my tarp.

Miles and miles of beige sand. Sometimes it is broken up by a pile of beige rocks. And in the distance, the horizon is defined by beige mountains. Off to the north, I can already see the dust-clouds rising from the war wheels of the largest mine in the world. They say that this pit swallowed the town of Chuquicamata ("The point of the spear" in the native tongue). To the south is the dried-out town of Calama. Constructed entirely from the desert which it sits in, it is a tiny refuge of order in this chaotic tumult of dry dust and sand.

The paint of the houses matches the ink of the desert. Tan and yellow; brown, beige and gray. Walls painted with materials at hand. And every once in a while, a pale green taken from the copper mine next to the city. Even now, with the sun barely peeking over the mountains, the war drums of machinery beat their wrath upon the earth, crushing rocks taken from its belly to find the sweet copper hidden within.

There is a riverbed just 20 feet from where I lay. No more than a hard channel in the dirt, long ago dried up by the sweeping winds and unforgiving sun. And now that same unforgiving sun has pushed back the coolness of the night. For a few minutes, the air was perfect. But the sun doesn’t know when to quit. Already, the heat is uncomfortable and the brightness makes me squint, even when I look away… What kind of people would choose to make their lives here – day after day?

Beige. Not even the sunrise has much color, no desert scrub or life of any kind to be seen. But there is a beauty to it. And it calls to me. It is awesome in its largeness and harshness. It is funny that it has taken me this long to get my words out, but this barren land, devoid of comfort and support, CALLS to me. We’ve finally made it back to the wilderness. Through the wonderful joys and life of civilization – a month of smiles and laughter. Now we’re back to the grim face of the desert… and Peace.