Paula Brukmüller - Flowers from Greece - The Autobiography of the Journalist Who Turned a Personal Tragedy into an Inspiring World Tour

I got out of bed with a single concern. Henry was to arrive from Bolivia that afternoon, and I had no way of contacting him. When I left the room, Henry was with his backpack in front of the door.

- How did you find me here? – I shouted as I jumped into his arms in a way that was probably frightening to an American.

- This is the cheapest hostel in the whole city. – He smiled, returning my warm hug.

Henry and I were well used to surviving on a limited budget in Thailand, but prices in Chile were easily compared to those in Europe, with the peculiarities of a desert. So anything in Sao Pedro do Atacama cost a fortune. Without my cell phone, I could not access my bank account to transfer money to my German card, and I had no more limit on my Brazilian credit card thanks to the ticket exchange that followed the Australian transit visa problem. A Visa which, by the way, was approved after 33 days, when I was already planning to leave Chile.

We rented a bike and cycled over 15 kilometers in a single day to see the Valley of the Moon. Henry smoked his pot on the dunes and we took lots of pictures together. On the way back, I let the bike roll free down the road while repeating aloud, “I deserve all this happiness.”

When Henry left, I took a bus to Calama, bought a new cell phone, and on my return to San Pedro I started looking for work at the city’s travel agencies and hostels. I made a resume of all the professions I had done throughout my journey and went out delivering it door to door.

Patricia, my friend from Paraná with whom I had met in Toronto, almost a year before, would arrive in a few days to make a weeklong expedition through the desert. I really wanted to do the expedition for two reasons: camping one night in the desert and climbing to the crater of Lascar volcano, the most active in northern Chile. But I was still uncertain about this possibility because at that moment my financial situation was very delicate.

One morning, while I was drinking some instant coffee, I met a German and a Russian in the lockers of the hostel, and they asked me if I would like to go to Guatin to explore a waterfall in the middle of the desert. I was ready to decline the invitation when one of them said, “Let’s get a ride on the road.”

That was like music to my ears. A penniless desert adventure just for a waterfall bath? Of course I’m in! I changed clothes immediately, filled my water bottle, and put the sunscreen in my bag.

We walked for about three kilometers until we left town and we waited for over 40 minutes before the girls started talking about giving up. The sun was getting hotter and hotter, and everyone said that throughout the day the streams that cut the Atacama tend to dry up.

- Let’s wait for another car, girls. I feel like our air-conditioned ride is on its way – I said, very optimistically.

Less than five minutes later, an SUV stopped at our nod.

- Guatin? – The driver asked. – We have only one place if you don’t mind tightening up a little! – He showed the two children of seven or eight years old in the backseat.

- If that’s okay with them, that’s fine with us.

The Chilean family told us about some traditional festivals in the village of Guatin and also about the meanings of some ancestral origin words. I was trying to understand accelerated Spanish, but it was hard to understand every word. Still, I could understand the context of the conversation between them and my German friend. The Russian certainly didn’t understand a word and just stared at the orange landscape through the car’s closed windows.

Our driver left us a few miles before the village entrance, informing us that in order to find the waterfalls we had to follow the wettest trail on the left. The cell phone map said there was a river, but we could only see a path of wet sand.

We walked optimistically, always following the wettest trail until, finally, a small stream appeared before us and guided the rest of our little expedition. As the amount of water got more significant, we felt even more excited. All around us, among the mountains, there was only sand, rocks, and some cacti. A few meters further from where we stopped for some photos, we heard the sound of a waterfall.

We were above the fall and had to go down a small rock wall. Below, two stone walls surrounded the small valley. I took off my clothes, only wearing a bikini and the Russian warned:

- I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t bring a top.

At this point, I felt completely comfortable and took off my top too. I had gone topless on a much-crowded beach in Spain. I was only among women and I thought it was unlikely that anyone would find us in that waterfall in the middle of the desert.

The Russian smiled in thanks and then the German also took off her top.

We took turns under the waterfall, and when it was my turn, I couldn’t resist. I wanted to feel nature all over my body. I wanted to be completely naked in the waterfall.

- Sorry girls, but I won’t forgive myself if I leave without doing this. I took off my bikini bottom too and stepped under the waterfall. Before leaning my head on the rock behind me, I heard the Russian celebrate.

The power of the water was unbelievable given the size of the small stream that formed the highest waterfall. The water was deliciously cold and I smiled with satisfaction. – Thank you for this most unforgettable experience, dear universe.

When I came out of my immersion, my fellow adventurers were also completely naked and wanted to bathe again in the waterfall.

We took pictures of each other and then each one retreated to their own place. As I meditated, feeling the relentless sun dry my hair, I listened to the tighter waterfall, and when I opened my eyes, I could no longer see the mist formed by the force of the waters.

It was after 3 pm, and if we took too long to get a ride back, we could get very cold after sunset.

We put on our clothes in silence, climbed the rock wall, and reached the roadside happy about our afternoon in the hidden waterfall in the driest desert on the planet.

Iwas already at Atacama for ten days. My skin was already cracked from the dryness. I rubbed dexpanthenol lotion several times a day around my body, but it wasn’t enough. Every morning, when I blew my nose, there was blood. The only advantage was that I washed my clothes in a small bucket and it took less than 2 hours for them to be completely dry.

When Patricia arrived from an adventure in Patagonia, I had already solved all my problems concerning my banking access. She gave me a very special deal so I could make the expedition with the same benefits of the other girls. I believe she totally gave up her share of the profit to put me among the women-only group, and I was immensely grateful.

When I met Patricia a few years earlier, during a volunteer work in Parana, she was beginning to travel the world as a nomad. I can’t tell if what I felt was exactly jealousy. Somehow, I already desired to throw myself into the world without destiny, only that I had got married to Felipe very early, and at the time, it was much easier to blame external circumstances than to assume the consequences of my own choices. So to bear with my own frustration, I told myself that this life was easier for her since she probably had a rich family.

Now, after traveling a year and learning to live with minimal resources, I knew of the sacrifices she had probably made to live her dream too.

The days with the expedition girls were fun and lively. We took unforgettable walks through breathtaking landscapes. The night in the desert was special, with a lot of wine, lots of dancing and marshmallows at the bonfire.