Pisco´d

After a topsy-turvy, roundy, curvy three hour scuttle through the Chilean pre-cordillera directly east of La Serena lies the tiny village of Pisco Elqui. The village lies at the far end of the aptly named Elqui Valley which has been the subject of work for South America´s first Nobel Prize winner, the second most prominent Chilean litereary figure (after Pablo Neruda), the feminist poet Gabriela Mistral, who was born in the Valley Elqui.
Pisco Elqui was renamed since the time of Mistral from the patriotic sounding “La Union” to its present day liquor soaked name-sake. The potent alcoholic drink that is “Pisco” is made from fermented Moscatel grapes (which hang from vineyards throughout the valley) which are then distilled, maximizing its inebriative powers.
A Pisco-shooter sense of intoxication enveloped my senses that day:
Shot 1: Head on a swivel, eyes popped, possibilities: endless. The bus ride into the valley leaves Andrea and I wide eyed with excitment. Steep barren mountain ridges drop deeply into the fertile green veins of the valley. Growing thirsty for adventrue...
Shot 2: When is this party getting started? Arivving around eight in the morning its difficult to distinguish if the secluded village has yet to be roused from its Pisco induced slumber, or if in fact the inhabitants are already  hidden deep in the vineyard laboring away and sweating out their hangovers.
Shot 3: Feelin Fine! A horse ride through the town up onto a depilated lookout over the valley exposes us to the extreme contrast at work. From where we are perched a parched desert wasteland leaves us suceptible to an attack by the Tusken Raiders at any moment. Meanwhile the lush valley below is home to nothing more dangerous than the mind-numbing grapes.
A short cut back to the ranch affords us the “opportunity” to maneuvre our stead down some intense declines. Visualize horses on a slip-and-slide...
Shot 4,5,6 and maybe 7 or 8...: No metaphors, figurative language, or creative writing here. These were indeed Pisco shots we received while touring the distillery.
A browny single distilled variety at 70% alcohol by volume.
A slightly beige  double at about 90%.
A clear triple distilled delight at a lethal near-purity.
And finally a national cocktail “Pisco Sour”, or two, or three, or...
Shot eeerrrmm...9 or so?: ANOTHER PARTY WOOOHOOO! With vision skewed and a wobble in our step we arrive to Montegrande where a festival is underway to honor Gabriela Mistral´s birthday. The town is preparing for quite the fiesta. School children and day laborers alike pile into the villages chapel for a pre-party mass, as non-parishoners arrange speakers and band instruments outside. Banners adorn the statue in honor of Mistral featuring the handiwork of the town´s school kids. Collapsable tables are unfolding for a banquet in the town square, and within a few hours the valley will be luch with Pisco-soaked revellers.
Shot ???: Ummm....err... oh boy. How did I describe that bus ride before? Curves, lots of turning, up, down, seemingly upside down. World spinning. I feel quite Pisco´d. I fight with every ounce of energy not to recreate a green, lush, Pisco valley on Andrea´s blouse.