Flip flopping in the Atacama desert

The last four months of riding in Peru and Bolivia have been epic to say the least. As I descend some 8k feet from the Bolivian alitplano to the Atacama desert plain I reflect on a kaleidoscope of experiences I won’t soon forget. That tranquil border crossing in northern Peru seems so far away now as the ink dries on another chapter of my South America travels. The next chapter unfolds in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile but the story is taking an unfortunate turn. The small pueblo is a desert oasis where the tourists outnumber the residents by at least 2 to 1 at any given time. This little fact is not lost on the town’s inhabitants as they’ve created a nice little vortex of commerce that will have you running frequently to their poorly stocked ATMs. So rather than devote a post to a town that hit the jackpot on location and needs no advertisement, I will discuss more important issues, my flip flops.

An ode to my flip flops.

Flippity flop, flippity flop, I first saw you at the Active Endeavors store in Lincoln Park, Grunge was still en vogue.
I could not believe my eyes, something made by Teva that I wanted to buy, forty dollars seems like a lot of scratch for a flip flop.
Flippity flop, flippity flop, I wore you all over, the locker room at the office, the pool, Oak Street beach, the laundry room, the pub, black tie affairs, chillin in the hood, camping, or taking out the trash.
You travel with me, Mexico, Scandinavia, Central America, Asia, South America, makes no difference.
You’ve taken a bullet for me in hundreds of disgusting hostal showers, remember the one in Kashmir?
Flippity flop, flippity flop, we’ve been together since the 90s, longer than my marriage, and you never have a headache.
I’m wearing you now as I write this story, sorry about that dog dog shit I stepped in on the way to the market yesterday.

[SIZE=”1″]I think odes are technically supposed to rhyme and be in some sort of pentameter so my apologies if I’ve offended the poetry police.
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For the record I met some nice folks in San Pedro but there is a culture there that just rubbed me the wrong way. Andres Ramirez is one of the good guys I met. He rides an Africa Twin and guides moto tours. He’s a great guy and speaks Ingles, French, and Espanol.

If you’re looking for a competent guide to show you around the Atacama desert, he’s your guy, route of the desert.

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