Another long bus journey takes me to my next destination in Chile. I’ve vowed not to take another night bus on this trip if I can help it, after some of the more horrific journeys of Bolivia. So I idle the day looking out on to the passing barren landscape in a mild stupor, audiobook in my ears. I’m interrupted only when we cross into a new region of Chile where our bags have to be scanned. It’s at this point I discover the oil and vinegar I was ill-advisedly transporting – in a stubbornness not to waste such expensive items – have exploded odorously into the side-pocket of my bag, making the bus and the rest of my day smell like a heavily dressed salad. On this journey I also feel the full absurdity of the detour which had led me back to La Paz and not across the Chilean border after the salt flat tour. For San Pedro de Atacama – the mid-desert backpacker hub where I’m heading – is exactly where I …