Red light, green light, I speed off on a black bike I slightly overpaid for. I’m searching for a blue clay beach that no one’s ever heard of.
A French man who hadn’t cut his hair for 25 years told me two things. Turn left when you reach Los Lagos then travel 5km through the jungle. And you probably shouldn’t drive, he said, it’s quite a dangerous road.
It wasn’t a road, it was rocks and death trap turns. But 5km is quite a long walk. Often, motorbikes and adventure come as a couple, like Instagram and boasting about brunch. But I nearly crashed as many times as Facebook sells your data. Just as I was about to give up and finish the journey on foot, the wilderness opened into crystal ocean.
Yellow white sand, orange brown cliffs: the deposits of clay were in the far right corner. It’s an ancient tradition practiced by the Mayans or the Aztecs, I’m still not sure exactly who discovered it. Either way, people have been doing this for a very long time. I painted myself from head to toe, baking in the sun till it became hard then bathing in the sea to wash it all off.
I learnt two things today. Volcanic clay makes your skin feel ready for world domination like Amazon. And the reason no one has heard of blue clay beach is because it’s definitely grey.