The day Becca and I left, my friend Michele (who lived in Santiago for about a decade) predicted that I would be surprised at how first-world Santiago is. And she was exactly right. Chile is a modern country with everything you’d expect from that and Santiago is absolutely a first-world, metropolitan city. Public transportation in the city (Metro) and between cities (bus companies like Tur Bus, who we used exclusively) was nothing less than surgical. Metro made San Francisco MUNI look bad and Tur Bus made Greyhound look really, really bad.

Admittedly, a contributing factor to the excellence of public transportation and to the image of Santiago and Chile as a whole was the complete absence of homeless people, crazy people, drug addicts, and other undesirables who wander the streets. We visited many neighborhoods in Santiago and many cities in Chile and during that entire time we saw one beggar and one crazy person. As a point of comparison, I see dozens of these types of people everyday during my walking commute.

I have no political angle here, nor do I have an explanation for how this has been accomplished; this is merely an observation. San Francisco is a beautiful, unique, welcoming city, but the problem with homeless and crazy street people is something I see everywhere I go. At the risk of sounding jaded or desensitized, it was refreshing to be part of a culture where that particular aspect was simply non-existent. I am legitimately curious as to how that came to be and if it’s transferable to our culture at all.

After we came back to the States and I was telling people about all of this, my friend Pat’s response was “You’d be surprised just how second-world San Francisco is.” This was said in jest, but it’s sometimes very true. The rose-colored glasses through which I view San Francisco have become more clear over the years and this trip was an unfortunate reminder of that. It’s very humbling.

One of the aspects of Chilean culture that has stuck with me the most is how Chileans appreciate relaxation and are more leisurely than Americans (except when it comes to soccer or politics). The best evidence I can offer is the culture of meals at restaurants. All the waitstaff we encountered were very hands-off; once we received our food, the server never checked back on us to see how we were doing and never brought the check unless we asked for it explicitly. The result was a lot of leisurely and relaxing meals that went on for hours. I think it’s this same attitude that explains why it’s not uncommon for Chileans to take multi-hour breaks in the afternoons and explains the difference in nightlife. While Americans drink a lot of cocktails, order rounds of shots, and engage in binge drinking in general, Chileans like to enjoy their liters of beer over conversation or a bottle of wine with dinner. The initial reaction might be Why are these people so lame?, but perhaps the better question is Why are we so aggro?

Another fascinating part of the trip was witnessing (and interacting with) the population of stray dogs in Chile. I feel like I could write an entire entry on this topic alone, but I’ll try to keep my thoughts on this brief. Everywhere we went, we saw a sizable stray population. On the whole, they were very muttsy, with most of them Labrador, German Shepherd, Golden Retriever, or Collie mixes. They were well-behaved in public; rarely did we see any of them acting out. They also appeared to be properly nourished; it was very rare to see a dog’s ribs. And other than being dirty, the vast majority seemed to be pretty healthy; we noticed only a few that were a bit gimpy. My take on all of this is that it’s a simple application of “survival of the fittest”: if a dog is poorly behaved, or can’t fend for itself, or is suffering from a serious health issue, it will not live very long, not reproduce, and not be seen (by tourists like us).

When we first arrived in Chile, I had the view that dogs belong in homes and backyards, not on the streets. But as we spent more time in that culture, this view softened. I began to see how all the dogs were furry, four-legged members of the community. It became normal to see dogs walking or laying around in the same way we saw people walking or laying around. Beyond being normal, it was borderline hilarious to watch a dog wait patiently at a crosswalk and then cross the street with all the people when the light changed. While the dogs in Chile aren’t getting consistent medical attention, meals, or baths (unless it rains), they do have very free, unencumbered lives and there’s something to be said for that.

On the other hand, it was obvious that the dogs were lacking something: companionship. When Becca and I would greet and play with the strays in all the cities we visited, they would latch onto us almost immediately. One minute of scratching and petting could buy you a new best friend for the afternoon. It was clear they were all affection-starved and would take every second of attention they could get. More than anything else, this is the biggest issue I have with a large stray dog population. Even though dogs in homes have lots of limitations placed on them by their human masters, they are (hopefully) given lots of love and attention, which they would never receive out in the wild. There’s something to be said for that too.

After a few weeks in Chile and another month of reflection, I’m still conflicted about which lifestyle is “better”. I see the pros and cons of both sides and I really can’t say that one is better than the other. Even though I don’t enjoy being on the fence like this, I’m grateful I had the opportunity to experience a culture that made me evaluate my preconceived notions.

On a more personal note, this trip was important to me because it was the first time I’ve had the backpacking and hostel experience. Even before Becca and I left for Chile, I had started making plans with another friend for some long-term, open-ended traveling (more details to come in a future post). At that point, the Chile trip became something of a litmus test of how well I could handle the style of traveling that is very active, mostly unplanned, highly flexible, definitely not luxurious, and prone to problems. For my sake (and the sake of my friend that I’ll be traveling with next), I’m happy to say that I felt well-prepared for and even drawn to a highly minimalistic and mobile lifestyle. Sure, I enjoy having a home and comfortable things as much as the next person, but it’s fun to have a nomadic and dynamic life for a while too. I’d like to thank Chile for being my warm-up lap.

It’s really hard to sum up a trip like this without sounding trite or cliche. Literally every day presented us with some type of adventure, big or small. We visited so many interesting places and met so many great people that since we’ve returned to the States, we’ve been writing reviews on TripAdvisor, Hostelworld, and Wikivoyage in the hopes of assisting other travelers and steering business towards some people who really deserve it. I feel like the trip hit the right balance of sightseeing vs. living like locals, being active vs. being lazy, new food vs. comfort food, settling down vs. being mobile, and adjusting to a new culture while questioning our own. Oh, and wine. One bottle of wine a day seems like the right balance to me.

Finally, I have to mention the part of the trip that was the most important and had the most impact: my traveling buddy and very dear friend Becca. We’ve been very good friends for several years and this trip elevated that friendship to another level. We have similar easy-going personalities, which made traveling together incredibly easy and effortless. Becca did a lot of the research (both before and during the trip), was always accommodating (to my vegetarianism, for example), was happy to take the lead on conversations with locals (even though she’s still learning Spanish herself), and was always up for an adventure or for sleeping in, whichever was appropriate at the time. In short, she was the perfect traveling partner and one of the few people in the world that I could have done this trip with.

It’s been over a month since we got back to the States and I’m very aware that I’m only now closing the book on our trip. In fact, it’s taken so long that it’s starting to infringe upon the planning for my next trip. One reason is that writing all these blog entries and developing all the photos has taken a long time, which speaks volumes about how dense our trip was. The other reason is that I’m probably holding onto the past a bit because part of me still wants to be on that trip, which speaks volumes about both Becca and Chile.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The next ten to fifteen minutes of memory are a hazy fog for me, filled with flashbacks of Becca and our driver (a man in his fifties with grey hair) belting out Whitney Houston with the windows down and the stereo turned up to a blistering volume while our taxi sped through nighttime Santiago, often attracting the attention of passengers in other cars or people standing on sidewalks. When we finally reached the neighborhood, we drove around for another ten minutes before our driver explained he couldn’t figure out how to get to the hostel; one particular one-way road was throwing him off. He got us as close as he could (about half a block away) and pointed us in the right direction. We grabbed our bags, paid him, thanked him for the entertainment, and he sped off.

We walked down the block, following the street numbers until we got to our hostel. Except there wasn’t a hostel there. We checked and double-checked the street and the house numbers and verified we were in the right place. Yup, right address, no hostel, just a dark building.

Thanks Lonely Planet.

We pulled up the Lonely Planet guide for the neighborhood and located the next hostel on the list. It wasn’t far, so we walked over and found it. And by “it” I mean “another dark building”. We double-checked the street and house numbers again and again; there was nothing resembling a hostel.

Fuck you Lonely Planet.

This particular block had signs for two other hostels, so we tried the first one. No answer. After a few more failed attempts, we left and tried the second hostel. The man who answered the door spoke very little English, but we spoke enough body language to understand he had no beds for the evening.

With the silence of dejection and crankiness fully upon the two of us and the hour growing very late, we started to consider (again) the possibility of being homeless for the night. As our internal monologues became increasingly riddled with obscenities, I decided to look up the third (and last) hostel listed in Lonely Planet. Based on the hostel’s description as a party palace for gap-year kids, we had previously decided to avoid it, but now our hand was being forced, so we started walking.

The hostel (La Casa Roja), thankfully, actually existed. Not only did they have beds for the night, but they had a private room and they would give us a 20% discount if we stayed for three nights. It just so happened that we had exactly three nights left in our trip, so in the interest of getting off the streets and not being grumpy anymore, we signed on.

As we walked to our room and wandered around the hostel, we slowly started to realize what we had stumbled upon. La Casa Roja is located in a former 19th century colonial mansion, complete with multiple courtyards, gardens, a swimming pool, a hot tub, massive ceilings, a huge kitchen and dining room, and at least half a dozen common areas. This was not a hostel, it was an estate. It had grounds. There was a pool house that had been converted into a bar that sold $5 bottles of Chilean wine. And all of this cost us each $20 a night.

OMG THANK YOU LONELY PLANET I LOVE YOU

The next day we slept in after partaking a bit too much of the hostel’s inexpensive selection of wine. We rolled out around lunchtime and walked the neighborhood, finally settling on a place (D’Angelus) to grab some food. We shared some chorrillana, a traditional Chilean/Peruvian dish that is a layered parfait of french fries, beef, and fried eggs. Instead of beef, we had a layer of tasty sauteed veggies. The entire dish was massive and delicious and quite possibly the most perfect hangover food ever.

After lunch, we strolled to Calle Bandera, a street that runs close to Plaza de Armas and is known for having a variety of used and vintage clothing stores. The reason for the shopping was that we wanted to have one bougie night on the trip, so I needed to find some clothes nicer than the ones I had brought. We rummaged through most of the stores for the rest of the afternoon and I ended up buying a sport coat and a few ties; I was hopeful that one of the ties would pair in a not-too-terrible way with the only nice plaid shirt I had brought on the trip.

That evening, we had our bougie night. We went to dinner at an Italian restaurant (Nolita) in Las Condes, a high-end neighborhood that feels like the financial district in San Francisco. In fact, the area is also known as “Sanhattan” (a portmanteau of “Santiago” and “Manhattan”). We knew we were rolling high-class when we opened the menu and realized we were going to have to pay at least $25 for only one bottle of wine. Sheesh, talk about breaking the bank! That said, the meal was worth every penny because we had some phenomenal Italian food. Becca had the blue cheese and goat cheese gnocchi; I tried a bit and I can honestly say it was the best gnocchi I’ve ever had.

After dinner, we walked over to The W Hotel in the hopes of going to their rooftop bar, but our hopes were dashed when we learned it was being renovated. Instead, we settled into their “regular” lounge, which was probably the largest and swankiest hotel lounge I’ve ever seen. We enjoyed some cocktails and pisco while watching a scarf-laden, 20-something DJ spin some tunes while literally lounging on a sofa. We also took the opportunity of actually being dressed nicely to have a faux-model, I’m-too-good-to-look-at-the-camera photo shoot.

The next day was an actual excursion out of the city: a full-day trip to the Andes. We climbed on a coach with about fifty other tourists, rented some snow pants and Wellies, and drove up a steep, switchback-laden road to the top of the mountains. We stopped at a couple ski resorts, had some beers, had some lunch, hiked around a bit, and played in the snow for a few hours. The views and the weather were spectacular.

For our last full night in Santiago, we went back to Bellavista for dinner followed by a visit to a jazz club, something we had been trying to do for the entire trip. As usual, the evening consisted of amazing food and a bottle of wine (which was so exclusive that it didn’t have a label, but rather a vintage written in Sharpie). We spent an unusually long time at dinner because we couldn’t help but chat with the incredibly friendly staff about food, wine, Chile, the States, and traveling. The restaurant (The White Rabbit) was as high-end and organic as anything on Valencia St. in the Mission, but unfortunately they haven’t found their footing yet in Santiago. Here’s hoping that a blog mention and a positive TripAdvisor review will steer some business their way.

Our last day in Chile was spent, appropriately, visiting a couple wineries for tours and tastings. The first was Undurraga, a sprawling estate with fields, fountains, statues, old architecture, massive machinery, and cellars full of wine barrels. The tour was unlike Napa or Sonoma wine “tours” in that this visit included a guide and an actual tour of the grounds, complete with geology, history, and chemistry lessons. It was a gorgeous day out, so no one was complaining about touring a winery and tasting wine in the sunshine. Becca and I each found our soulmates.

The second winery, Santa Rita, had a similar feel. The architecture was reminiscent of Spanish villas, the grounds were sprawling, and the cellars were dark and full of barrels and bottles. Again there was an interesting dichotomy of old buildings and modern technology; bricks, stone, and wood beams peacefully coexisting with stainless steel tanks, digital readouts, and high-output assembly lines. The winery even had a full-fledged museum that was professionally curated and filled with Chilean art and artifacts. Chile takes its wine (and its wineries) very, very seriously. After three weeks of wine-induced bliss, I was ready to trust fall and Chile did not disappoint.

That evening we enjoyed what we could of the city before heading to the airport for our 2:00 AM flight. We stopped at the sushi place next door to the hostel (Platipus) for a bountiful dinner, washed down with some delicious Guayacan beer. With my opportunities for adventure dwindling, I tried one of the veggie rolls with cream cheese and chives and it was some of the best sushi I’ve ever had. Thanks Chile. Thanks for ruining another food group for me.

After dinner, we stopped by D’Angelus again for terremotos, a traditional Chilean cocktail made from pineapple ice cream and pipeño, a wine that’s somewhat similar to white wine. It was a bit too sweet and fruity for me, reminiscent of those frozen drinks you get by the yard in Vegas, but I was glad I tried it at least once. After one last round of pisco sours, we cabbed to the airport and wished Chile a heartfelt and sad goodbye as we started our journey back home.

I plan on writing up one more blog entry with some final thoughts, but for now I’ll conclude by saying my three-week adventure in Chile was a life-affirming trip with a wonderful, close friend. The entire experience was unforgettable and a reminder of why we all work hard, why we all save our money, and why we all bother to get up in the morning. We packed a lot into three weeks, and yet we barely scratched the surface of half the country.

Dare I suggest a southern Chile trip is in our futures? I guess only time will tell.

After getting off the bus and grabbing our things, we managed to find another traveler that spoke both English and Spanish; he explained to us that the highway had been shut down by a strike of the local taxi drivers. Yup, that’s right, taxi drivers had entirely shut down the country’s major freeway. Chileans are known for being very political and opinionated; though we hadn’t encountered any unrest thus far during our trip, protests and strikes such as this are common.

The bus companies didn’t know when normal service would resume, so we started walking around town to get a lay of the land. We didn’t find much other than car dealerships and doctor’s offices, though we did notice that the strike had infiltrated Calama as well. Taxis drove around by the hundreds, honking their horns constantly. Every so often, all the taxis would stop and park where they were and all the drivers would get out and mill around, effectively creating a massive roadblock that brought all traffic to a standstill. After chatting for a while and smoking a few cigarettes, they’d all get back into their taxis, honk and drive to a new location, and block traffic again.

While the taxis carried on their shenanigans, Becca and I ducked into the only open restaurant we could find and ordered some coffee and empanadas. As we ate breakfast, we were slowly sucked in by the loud and bewildering local morning show “Mucho Gusto” that was being shown on a couple TVs. The panel of hosts of this show covered bizarre and uninteresting local stories, put on awkward skits, and played video clips “of the week” (which were actually several-years-old YouTube videos), while some sound engineer constantly played the kinds of obnoxious sound bites you hear on crappy radio shows or in children’s cartoons. The icing on the surreal cake was that one of the hosts was a surly older woman with bright purple hair who looked like she had murdered before and could murder again. Seriously, this was the local morning show that nightmares are made of.

After stomaching as much terrifying breakfast television and disgusting instant coffee as we could, we wandered back to the bus station, where we were able to buy tickets for a mid-afternoon departure to San Pedro; evidently the strike was over. We laid around the bus station for a while and then took an uneventful bus ride to the desert. The “Calamity in Calama” was over.

Once we arrived in San Pedro, we wandered through town and asked a couple locals for directions until we found our hostel (Backpackers San Pedro), which was a bit out of the way, but very welcoming. After settling in, we walked around the town a bit to check out the restaurants and tourist agencies. While we deliberated what activities to book for the following day, we grabbed dinner at a restaurant (La Cosana) with a nice back area that had an open roof and a firepit. The open roof is common to a lot of places in San Pedro; the Atacama Desert is the driest desert in the world, so the possibility of rain is an afterthought. Firepits and fireplaces are also common because it gets very cold at night (more on that later). We treated ourselves to a liter of sangria and an incredibly delicious and massive meal, including the largest and most delicious veggie sandwich I’ve ever had in my life (not exaggerating). After all the traveling and annoyances of the last twenty-four hours, having a fireside feast under the stars was exactly what we needed.

We had three excursions planned for the next day, the first of which was a trip to the hot springs in the early morning. The drive to the springs had some great views of the desert and the Andes; unfortunately, the driver spoke primarily in Spanish, so we were deprived of all the interesting things he had to say about the surroundings. Nevertheless, we thoroughly enjoyed soaking and meditating for a couple hours. I wouldn’t say the water was “hot”, but it was much warmer than the air and very enjoyable, especially with all the sunshine.

After lunch, we rented bikes and rode about six miles to Valle De La Luna (Moon Valley), which has a variety of natural attractions and great views of the Andes. (Truth be told, I rode a bit further than six miles, because not two minutes after we left the bike rental place, my front tire exploded, resulting in a sheepish walk back for a repair.) We arrived in the valley in the late afternoon and, funny enough, ran into a backpacker we had met back in La Serena. We had only a little bit of time before the setting sun would cause a steep drop in temperature and he suggested visiting the salt caves. We rode to the caves and wandered around, using the handy miner’s lights we had received when renting the bikes. The valley was so quiet (provided there wasn’t anyone else within earshot) that when we sat down at the caves and listened without moving, we could hear the cracking of the salt.

At sunset, we walked up one of the nearby hills for a clearer view of the mountains. Using a salty rock as a tripod, we were able to get a photo of the two of us just as the sun was lighting up the Andes. A lot of good photos came out of this trip, but this one is my favorite.

As expected, the temperature dropped sharply just after sunset, so we immediately started to furiously pedal back to San Pedro. On our way out, we actually ran into the Spanish-speaking traveler that was stranded in Calama with us. It’s funny when you come across the same backpackers over and over again because you’re all on the same traveling circuit.

After a quick dinner, we met up with the tour guides for our evening stargazing outing. The Atacama is known the world over for stargazing because of its clear skies, dry air, and high altitude. In fact, one of the largest and most expensive ground-based telescopes in the world, the Atacama Large Millimeter Array, was built within the last few years and is fully operational as of a few months ago.

The Atacama stargazing coin has two sides to it, so I’ll address each side separately.

First, the good part. This was the most spectacular view of the night sky I’ve ever seen. Our guide (a professor of astronomy) pointed out all of the constellations and a variety of star systems, but the most impressive sight in my mind was seeing the Milky Way for the first time. No matter how much our guide talked about all the other celestial bodies, I kept looking back at that impossibly clear band of stars across the sky and simply marveling at it.

The toys that our guide had at his disposal were really cool as well. He had a very powerful, computer-controlled telescope that we used to view a star cluster, a binary star system, and Saturn and its rings, which were so bright and clearly defined that they almost seemed fake. He also had the most powerful laser pointer I’ve ever seen, which he used to point out the constellations in the sky. The beam was visible for miles and he was basically using the night sky as a blackboard.

Now, the bad part: it was cold. Fucking cold. As in, holy shit, freeze-your-nuts-off, this-is-where-I’m-going-to-die cold.

Becca and I had bundled up and worn multiple layers, and that was fine for the first hour, but the second hour was brutal. We had made the mistake of not wearing multiple layers of socks, so when the tour was about two-thirds of the way through, we were both convinced that we wouldn’t be coming home with all ten toes. On top of that, our guide’s astronomy lesson slowly turned into a history lesson, which, as it does in Chile, then turned into Spain-bashing. Becca’s and my internal monologues were sounding something like this:

“Dude, I get it, the Spanish suck. Yup, I hate them too. Fuck the Spanish. Are we done yet? Dear God, are we done yet? I have so much life to live! Stop talking about the Spanish and LET US GO!!!”

Mercifully, at 10:00 (yes, that’s right, it was only 10:00), the tour ended and everyone ran back to the heated vans that were waiting for us. While huddling for warmth and praying that we hadn’t lost any appendages, we thanked each other that we had opted for the 8:00 tour instead of the 10:30 tour that ends at 1:00 in the morning. My toes are cringing in pain just from typing that out.

As easy as it is to remember the soul-crushing coldness of that tour, I like to think about the truly spectacular astronomical sights instead. Seeing the Milky Way in all its glory was life-changing. Stargazing in the Atacama is nothing short of a thrilling, magnificent view of the cosmos dovetailed with a harrowing near-death experience. I highly recommend it to everyone, but for the love of god, wear lots of warm socks.

After getting a ride back into town, we set off to find a place for dinner, applying the discerning requirement of Does it have a fucking firepit?!?! We settled on a well-known place (Adobe) and spent the first half hour chugging hot tea and red wine while continuing to wear our hats, gloves, and coats. Whenever the waitress left the table, we left the table, took our drinks, and stood by the fire. After about an hour of both alcoholic warming and actual warming (and some awesome pesto quesadillas), we felt human again. Needless to say, we indulged in the two-for-one wine deal and drank cabernet sauvignon well into the night.

To this day, Becca and I talk about that stargazing tour like we had survived a tour in Vietnam or a night on the planet Hoth. Live to tell. Seriously.

The next day, we went on an excursion to the Atacama salt flats, with stops in Valle de Jere, an actual oasis, and Toconao, a small, cute town. Valle de Jere has some interesting archaeological and geologic properties, but I still think the coolest part was the idea of being in an oasis. Toconao was as exciting as any small town, though it was interesting to see cactus wood being used in some of the religious buildings (for things like doors and staircases).

Around sunset, we drove to the lagoons in the salt flats to see the flamingos. They spent the entire time (and, to be fair, most of their lives) walking around in the lagoons, constantly feeding. It was a truly fascinating geographic area: salt flats and lagoons stretching as far as you could see, surrounded by mountains in every direction. Literally. There were 360 degrees of mountains.

The real show started when the sun began to set. As the sun settled behind the mountains, the sky turned yellow and orange; as you looked upwards, the sky transitioned into a beautiful, dark, clear blue that slowly became dotted with little twinkles of light. Exactly opposite from the sunset, the Andes were lit up in pink and purple and blue. Once all the other visitors had left, it was so quiet that the only sound came from the flamingos’ wings as they flew from one lagoon to another, their black silhouettes passing in front of the orange sky over the mountains.

The entire setting was serene and surreal and otherworldly. The sunset was one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen and definitely the most unique. As a photographer, I know when I’m in a situation that cannot be accurately captured with a camera and this was one of those times. These pictures don’t do any of it justice, but here they are anyway.

We milked our stay for as long as we could and once we realized we were the only ones left, we begrudgingly walked back to the bus to head back to San Pedro.

Before going out to dinner that night, we stopped at a tourist agency to ask them about their geyser tours, something Becca really wanted to do but I was lukewarm on (pun intended). The woman at the tour agency informed us that the geyser tours leave very early in the morning (around 4:00) and that the temperature at night is about -15° C (or about 5° F). With the stargazing wounds still fresh in my mind (how often do you hear someone say that?), I told Becca she was doing this one on her own. We were leaving San Pedro the next day for Santiago (via plane, not bus), so I agreed to research all the transportation details while she was gone.

While Becca woke up at an ungodly hour and ventured out into the cold, I slept in a warm, comfortable bed, got up late, and had a leisurely morning of eating breakfast in town and reading in a hammock in the sunshine. Once Becca returned, we caught our transfer to the Calama airport, which was swarmed with miners flying back home after spending their requisite time working the copper mines. By our conservative estimates, the airport was 99% men, 1% women, and 0% children. Because we aren’t Chilean citizens, we couldn’t purchase airfare online beforehand, so we had to resort to buying tickets at the counter, which is an experience almost unheard of in the States. We had done our research though, so we knew what the flight times were for the rest of the day and how much they cost. Our flight back wasn’t ideal in that it connected through Copiapo (another mining town) rather than going directly to Santiago, but we were happy that we were getting to our destination fairly quickly for a reasonable amount of money.

Let’s recap. We’re in the isolated, unlit middle of nowhere on the outskirts of town, the taxi has left, the lodge is closed, neither of us have phone service, and obviously there’s no WiFi on the deserted street that we now find ourselves on. We’re hungry and tired after being on a bus all day. At this point, neither of us are talking, but both our internal monologues are sounding something like this.

After we think things over a bit, we realized that, if nothing else, we can always get drunk by the side of the road on the Elqui Valley pisco we have with us, which didn’t seem too terrible of an idea at the time. A better idea popped into my head though. We had passed a few hotels on the drive over, so I suggested that we walk back towards them and ask someone to call our lodge and figure out what’s going on. In the worst case, we can get a room at the hotel, since they’re surely not fully booked mid-week during the off-season.

Becca agreed and we set off down the dark, shoulder-less road, heading back towards town. After a couple minutes, we heard a car approaching us from behind, but instead of hearing the usual whoosh of a car going by, we heard the sound of a car slowing down and pulling over. As we watched, a green SUV stopped next to us and the passenger-side window slowly rolled down.

No Kenny Loggins this time. What’s the music you play when you shit your pants?

The man in the driver’s seat spoke English and asked us if we were traveling and if we were staying at the lodge up the street. Initially we thought he was another stranded guest, but after a little bit of back and forth, we realized he ran the lodge. Because we had booked with so little notice and didn’t have WiFi or phone service all day, he had no way to contact us about what time we were arriving. There were no other guests staying at the lodge at the time (again, it being mid-week and off-season), so the place was going to stay closed until we arrived.

After breathing a collective sigh of relief, we introduced ourselves and the man introduced himself as Rodrigo. He was very friendly and extremely apologetic about the whole situation and offered to drive us back to the lodge (even though we hadn’t made it very far down the road). We threw our bags in and Becca had to actually climb into one of the two car seats in the back seat because there wasn’t enough room for everyone and all the stuff Rodrigo normally kept in his SUV. Luckily it was only a 30-second ride back to the lodge. Thinking back on the whole situation now, I’m not sure how Rodrigo knew to drive by the lodge at the exact moment we were locked outside. It’s like he just knew. Classic Rodrigo.

After getting the keys and a tour of the place, we asked Rodrigo if any restaurants were still open. We had also noticed a few barbecues on the patio, so we also asked about buying groceries. Rodrigo, the consummate gentleman, offered to drive us into town so we could go grocery shopping. We picked up some charcoal, fruits and veggies for grilling, bread and eggs for breakfast, instant mashed potatoes, and, of course, a bottle of wine.

Once we got back, Becca and I settled into our respective gender roles: she prepared food in the kitchen while I made fire outside. As a vegetarian, being the grillmaster is not something I do often (or ever), so this was a new experience for me. We didn’t have enough kindling to get the fire started, so I wandered around the property in the dark with my keychain flashlight looking for anything that would burn, managing to find some old newspaper. That wasn’t quite enough, so we resorted to burning some of the Spanish learning printouts Becca had brought with her. Sure, I’ll trade conversational ability for a hot meal! Game on.

After the coals were hot, we spent the next hour and a half grilling up onions, asparagus, red bell peppers, pineapple, and corn on the cob and eating all of it right off the grill (no silverware necessary or desired). The corn on the cob was a real treat, but I have to give it to Becca, the hot pineapple was eye-opening. We finished the wine (Bicicleta, my favorite word in Spanish) and started going to town on the pisco. In the span of about an hour, we had gone from homeless in the dark to grilling food on a patio by the water, so we felt like some celebratory refreshments were in order. We drank pisco neat, told stories, listened to music, and watched the water until about 3:30, when my phone (and therefore the music) died. It was probably a good thing that happened; otherwise, we would have stayed up until sunrise killing that bottle, as opposed to taking down only 90% of it. That night in Caldera was absolutely unplanned and, in some ways, was the most fun night of the trip.

Cue Hangover Day Number Three.

While dealing with a pretty rough start, Becca and I once again assumed our gender roles: she chopped up the rest of the bananas, kiwis, oranges, and pineapple and made a fruit salad, while I shaved. As she got ready, I made some scrambled eggs and toast and afterwards we had a nice, quiet breakfast on the patio, also partaking in the papaya nectar we had bought in Coquimbo a couple days before. It was one of those “breakfast and battleships” kind of mornings, you know? No, literally, a few battleships had shown up outside the lodge in the middle of the night.

After our late breakfast, we walked to nearby Bahía Inglesa, a beachy tourist destination a little more than three miles away. Though both towns are coastal and picturesque, the land in between is oddly alien: flat, barren, and occasionally rocky. We even passed a space-themed restaurant/club, which makes sense given that the surroundings are reminiscent of the moon.

Once we reached Bahía Inglesa, we spent an hour or two walking around, handing out treats to stray dogs, and quietly sitting on the rocks by the ocean. One particular dog, a white boxer with a docked tail and heterochromia, took a real liking to us, mainly because I gave him the shitty cheese sandwich we had gotten on the bus ride the day before.

We grabbed lunch at a “Thai” restaurant on the water (El Plateao) and while neither of us ordered traditional Thai dishes, the food was some of the best we had on the trip. I was quite happy with my heaping mounds of veggies and couscous and Becca’s creamy, cheesy scallops dish was phenomenal (I made sure to sop up some of the sauce with the ample amount of fresh bread we had). The meal was made even more entertaining by the presence of Jose (referred to as “Jose Loco” by us), the town’s resident crazy person. He’d hang out in front of the restaurant, sometimes yelling, sometimes preaching, sometimes just talking, but you were never sure who he was talking to, even when he was looking right at you.

After our meal, we took a cab back to the lodge, packed our things, and Becca took a power nap while I finished off the rest of the pisco. Rodrigo swung by to give us a ride down to the bus station, but there was some issue with the online payment I had made the day before, so he drove us to his house so we could use his laptop (since the lodge didn’t have an Internet connection). As we settled the bill, Becca and I were charmed to meet his wife Andrea, one of his sons, and all three of his dogs. As a token of appreciation for staying in their lodge, they gave us a copy of a book they had published together (Casitas De Fe). When someone dies in a traffic accident on a road in Chile, family and friends will sometimes build miniature houses or churches (casitas de fe, or “houses of faith”) and place them at the site of the accident, along with crosses and other decorations. Rodrigo and Andrea took photos of many of these memorials and compiled them into a book that is now sitting on my coffee table.

With our bill settled, Rodrigo drove us down to the bus station. We said our goodbyes, grabbed some fajitas and wine from a local cafe, watched a couple stray dogs wrestle for about ten minutes in the parking lot, and then boarded a coach for an 11-hour overnight drive north to the Atacama Desert. We weren’t crazy about spending half a day on a bus, but we upgraded to the first-class seats so that we’d be able to sleep most of the time. Next stop: San Pedro de Atacama!

Or so we thought.

Stay tuned for next week’s exciting conclusion!

After being shown around and dropping off our things in the room, we grabbed a couple chairs on the back patio and dove into the empanadas and wine we had hauled with us from Valparaiso. We ended up chatting for a while with a couple other travelers and they invited us to share in the (vegetarian!) pasta, veggies, and garlic bread they were cooking up for dinner. Becca and I walked over to the local Lider (Chilean Walmart) to buy some wine and dessert and as we were checking out, the cashier confiscated our plantains and tried to explain to us (in Spanish) that we couldn’t buy them. (We later discovered that cashiers in grocery stores in Chile can’t weigh produce like they can in the States, so you have to take your fruits and veggies to a separate person at a different counter before checking out.) We left dejected and plantain-less, but still had a nice evening of dinner and drinks with a few of the guys staying in the hostel.

The following morning we embarked on a full day tour of the Elqui Valley, an area known for its good weather, unique vegetation, wines, and pisco. Supposedly, the valley is also known to hippies and crystal worshipers as the most energetic place in the world (in the context of the Earth’s magnetic core), but neither of us noticed anything different. Our tour guide for the day, Gerald, picked us up a bit after 8:00 and warned us that we had the bad luck of visiting the valley on one of the very few non-sunny days of the year. We started the tour with a lesson on papayas and a stop in the small town of Vicuña, known mainly as the birthplace of the famous Chilean poet Gabriela Mistral. Next was a history and geography lesson on the Puclaro Dam (on the Elqui River), which was constructed to improve irrigation to various parts of the valley. This part of Chile is in the middle of a very bad drought, so where there should have been a sizable lake, there was instead a barren, rocky landscape with some sparse greenery.

The first real treasure of the day was a tour and tasting at the first and only brewery in the valley (Guayacan). Chile is known more for crappy light lager (as noted a couple times in my previous posts) than small-batch craft beers, but microbreweries like Guayacan are working to change that. Guayacan has less than ten employees and operates out of a few small buildings in the valley. In fact, they’re so small that their master brewer Cristobal took us on a tour of the property and guided us through the tasting. The short version of the company’s founding is that Cristobal was attending university to learn winemaking when he took a brewing class for fun. He loved it immediately and, upon graduation, joined up with two other classmates to start a new microbrewery.

Our tasting was done outside the brewery’s main building in a small hut with the company of two large, friendly dogs that insisted on meeting and playing with all the new humans that had just showed up. The more outgoing of the two was a built-like-a-tank bull terrier that spent the entire time fetching (avocados) and eating (avocados). Cristobal took us through the tasting of his golden ale, pale ale, and stout as he talked about the brewery’s history, their success and expansion plans, and beer making in general. It was a fascinating conversation and it was wonderful to hear about all the success they’ve already had. Chile’s market for quality microbrews seems to be very much untapped at the moment (pun intended), so breweries like Guayacan will have a lot of room to grow. From an actual beer perspective, their (award-winning) stout was very good, but surprisingly I found myself drawn to the golden ale, which was drink-your-face-off delicious. It’s a shame that their beers aren’t offered outside of Chile (yet).

After the tasting, Cristobal took us on a tour of the entire property, starting with the existing facilities and talking about how the beer is made. They are very much a small-time operation, so tasks like bottling, labeling, and packaging are done mostly by hand. The demand for their beer is far outstripping supply, so the brewery has been constructing a new, more modern facility that will allow them to greatly increase their tasty, tasty output.

The entire Guayacan experience was really uplifting and very memorable. The beers themselves were excellent, but the real joy was getting a view into the workings of a small business that is doing very well for itself. Cristobal was gracious and down-to-earth and his passion for his work was infectious. And it goes without saying that two big, lovable dogs will always turn a good time into a great time.

Lunch was at a restaurant that specializes in solar cooking, but since the weather wasn’t cooperating, the cooking was done in the kitchen with natural gas. We had some copao juice with our meal and Becca and I realized we had tasted the same subtle, quasi-bland flavor back in Valparaiso; I had ordered the juice of the day at one of our brunches and neither of us could figure out what it was. Copao is a plant that is endemic to Chile and is found mostly in the Elqui Valley.

After lunch, we drove to a few more vistas with great views of the valley and then to a small town to stop for souvenirs and gifts. In lieu of souvenir shopping, Becca and I played on the children’s playground in the main square and also played with some of the local stray dogs. One of them gave me a kiss as we were posing for the camera, but deserted Becca on the steps of the church when it was her turn for a photo. Ice cold!

We left the town en route to our final destination of the day: Fundo Los Nichos, the oldest pisco distillery in Chile (that is still operational). We were given a tour around the grounds and the usual fascinating history and chemistry lessons. The distillery still maintains a historic, authentic feel with its open-air buildings filled with old concrete, wood, and copper.

At the end of the tour, everyone had a chance to taste two of the distillery’s four piscos: the 70-proof special pisco and the 80-proof reserve pisco. Neither Becca nor I had tasted straight pisco before and we were both very, very impressed; each pisco had pleasant fruity notes and not a lot of burn. Truth be told, it also helped that we were tasting one of the world’s best piscos (according to tastings.com). We inquired about pricing and Gerald told us that the 70-proof special and 80-proof reserve bottles cost $6 and $10, respectively.

Let me say that again. $6 for a bottle of some of the world’s best pisco. Is that Kenny Loggins I hear in the background?

After Becca and I silently exchanged Are you fucking kidding me? glances, we politely bought a bottle of the 80-proof reserve to take on the road with us. In retrospect, I wish I had bought a case and shipped it back to the States. With our gorgeously designed and packaged pisco in tow, Gerald drove us back to La Serena. We broke into the bottle a little bit before dinner, which was a peaceful meal of veggies and empanadas at an outdoor table at a downtown cafe.

The overcast and rainy weather had washed out our hopes of a northerly boat excursion to see penguins, so the next day we slept in and ambled over to a nearby organic and mostly vegetarian cafe (Ayawasi). Just as was promised in all the reviews we read, the place was charming, the owner was super friendly (and spoke English), and the food was ridiculously good. This place seriously rivaled any cafe or veggie restaurant in San Francisco, which is a damn good compliment. As we sat there with our coffee drinks and listened to the rain outside, we seriously considered spending the entire day reading our books by the fireplace. But as the rain began to let up, we decided to venture out and go for a walk on the beach.

We ended up walking all the way to Coquimbo, a neighboring city about the same size as La Serena. It was about a 9-mile walk, which occupied the rest of our afternoon as we leisurely made our way along the coast. There wasn’t much to see besides a battleship on the horizon and the occasional stray dog that would accompany us for a bit. One dog in particular stayed with us for a good while, so he and I played fetch with whatever I could find. It brought back memories of playing with dogs at Fort Funston in San Francisco (with the same weather too).

We arrived in Coquimbo just as the sun was setting behind the Third Millennium Cross, which sits high atop one of the hills in the city. Can’t be a legitimate Latin city unless you have a huge cross on top of a hill.

We wandered around Barrio Ingles for a bit until we settled on a small sandwich shop (La Marraqueta) to grab some dinner. We treated ourselves to some veggie and potato tortilla sandwiches, fruit juice, and beer, and also had some really nice conversation with the owners Ernesto and Lali. Ernesto spoke English, so we talked about traveling and Chile and photography; Ernesto is a photographer and some of his work was hanging in the restaurant. I showed them some of the photos from my Galapagos trip and before we left, Ernesto took a photo of the two of us for their Facebook page. Lali, bless her adorable heart, even wrote out the URL of their Facebook page with pen and paper and gave it to us before we left.

By this time it was dark out, so we hired a shared taxi back to La Serena and walked back over to Lider for our daily bottle of wine and second attempt at buying plantains. I also bought a box of dog biscuits so I could do my part in nourishing the country’s canine population. After mastering the protocol of buying produce in a Chilean grocery store (great success!), we walked back to the hostel, only to discover that the neighborhood was experiencing a power outage. We spent the evening drinking wine and playing cards by candlelight and chatting with some of the gap-year kids who were cooking dinner. Once everyone else had turned in, we took our groceries to the kitchen and made ourselves some homemade plantain chips; thankfully the stove was natural gas and not electric.

The next day we were leaving for Caldera (another port city on Route 5), but had some time before our bus left, so we visited the nearby Japanese tea garden. After two dreary, overcast days, the weather was finally sunny, so we spent some quiet time in the garden to enjoy the scenery and read before going to our favorite local vegetarian spot for another meal. After lunch, we hopped on a coach for another six-hour ride.

Once we dropped off our things, we walked back down the hill to the main square, where we intended to take the free walking tour put on by the same company that coordinates the walking tour we took in Santiago. We stopped at a restaurant on the plaza to sit outside underneath the bright yellow umbrellas and have an afternoon cappuccino. What started as a simple coffee break turned into a full-blown meal once we saw the pizzas on the menu and realized how famished we were. Just as in Santiago, the walking tours are offered multiple times a day, so we decided to pass for the time being. Slowly but surely, we were acclimating to the Chilean lifestyle: having very leisurely meals and blocking off multiple hours in the late afternoon to just relax.

After lunch, we started our own walking tour, wandering through various parts of the city that we knew weren’t going to be covered by the “official” walking tour. We walked through a few plazas and shopping districts until we found ourselves by a church at the base of one of the city’s hills. So we started walking up. And up. And up. And up. Every time we thought we were getting close to the peak, we would round a corner and see that there was still more to go. There weren’t many people out and about since the hills are mostly residential, but we did run into a few friendly locals. Taxis whizzed by us constantly, mostly to bring people home from work. There’s no way buses could navigate those hills safely, so unless you want to spend an hour or so walking up a steep hill to get home, you’re going to take a taxi. We saw scores of colorful and uniquely designed houses, rundown cars, stray dogs, beautiful views of the city below, and even a halfway-decent soccer pitch, though it was made entirely of dirt.

As the sun set and the fog rolled in and the temperature dropped, we started to make our way down the hill back towards town. The roads on Valparaiso’s hills are a bit disorganized and confusing, so we had to follow the taxi routes to figure out how to navigate ourselves back down to sea level. We even picked up a four-legged buddy on our way, the first of many furry companions to join us on our travels. He looked quite dashing in his scarf as he guided us down the hill and through part of the town below.

We relaxed at the hostel for a bit before cleaning ourselves up and going out to dinner at a fantastic tapas place just up the road from us. As we sat on the couch by the fireplace, surrounded by paintings and art, we felt as if we were dining in someone’s home. The restaurant looked like a converted house and the atmosphere was warm and cozy, like we were over at a friend’s place for dinner. Once again, we indulged in the two-for-one reserve bottle deal and took the second bottle immediately back to our private balcony. Donning the matching wool hats we had purchased from a street vendor only a few hours prior, we tested the self-timer function on Becca’s new camera with a faux-honeymoon photo shoot. Given the increasing level of intoxication, it took a few iterations of fumbling with camera settings and comically-blurred photos before we shot some winners.

With a couple bottles of wine in us and midnight approaching, we decided it was time to head out for a taste of the Valparaiso nightlife (it being Friday night). Lonely Planet directed us to a neighborhood club called Mascara, which was conveniently located at the bottom of the hill from our hostel. Half of the club’s space was a bar where, not surprisingly, couples and small groups of friends sat at small tables sharing liters of cheap beer. However, the other half (where we spent the entire night) was a dancefloor with a large video screen and another small bar. The DJ played mostly English-language 80s songs, a few recent American pop songs, and then lots of 80s B-sides by the end of our time there. Every song was accompanied by the music video being played on the screen, even for the more obscure 80s tracks that we had never heard before. Even when the DJ played three Devo songs in a row, the videos were up on the screen, and somehow most of the locals seemed to know all the lyrics. Clearly Chile loves the 80s.

A few cultural observations are in order here. For starters, we noticed a few pockets of gay couples and groups of gay friends. Coming from San Francisco, this wasn’t a big deal to us, but it was interesting to note which places were more accepting than others in a more conservative country. Also, at about 2:30, the video screen retracted into the ceiling so a drag queen could perform a one-song lip-synching show. While writing this blog entry, I glanced at the Wikivoyage article for Valparaiso, which mentions that Mascara “caters to an artsy and gay/lesbian crowd”. Now I know why our tour guide (the next day) chuckled when we told him we had gone to Mascara the night before.

The other really fascinating observation was the difference in the partying culture. The bar by the dancefloor was so dead and unused that when we went to get drinks, we found the bartender reading a book by herself. Compare this to American partying culture, where you need to fight through a crowd and then wait at the bar for a while to get drinks. Once again, we observed Chileans having fun and socializing with their friends without needing alcohol. Not surprisingly, the party-goers we saw didn’t get tired nearly as early; by the time we left the club around 4:00, it was still crowded and more people were still arriving. In fact, as we were leaving, we saw a few guys in their 50s roll up to the dancefloor with beers in hand.

Cue Hangover Day Number Two.

After sleeping in past the morning walking tour, we sauntered over to El Desayunador, a restaurant just up the street from our hostel that specializes in “permanent breakfast”, which is exactly what we needed when we resurfaced at 1:00 in the afternoon. After a much-needed leisurely brunch of eggs, fruit, coffee, and breads, we barely made the start of the 3:00 walking tour. We met our tour guide Israel, he laughed at our Mascara outing, we all talked lovingly about Filipe, and then it was time to wander the streets of Valparaiso for a few hours.

Just like the Santiago walking tour, the Valparaiso walking tour was English-language, free (except for tipping the guide), and very interesting and informative. Israel was no Filipe, but he held his own quite well. We walked along the hills, side streets, and staircases of Valpo (as it’s known to locals), taking note of the unique architecture, wall art, and graffiti everywhere. Santiago may be the capital of Chile, but Valpo is arguably the cultural capital. It was also peculiar to see vegan-related graffiti in quite a few places (literally the word “VEGAN” spray painted on walls); Israel told us that veganism and vegetarianism are popular among the city’s many university students. The tour also took us on a couple of the city’s funiculars, which transport people up and down the very steep portions of some of the hills.

After the tour, Becca and I walked back to The Brighton (a hotel and cafe) for some early evening coffee and dessert and a spectacular view from the hotel’s patio. It was a very pleasant and peaceful way to relax before kicking off Saturday night activities. As we were sitting and chatting and taking photos, one of the hotel cats magically appeared and jumped into Becca’s lap, kneading her for a bit before settling in for a nap. Peaceful times all around.

We went back to the hostel for some more downtime before getting ready to hit the town. Our evening downtime periods were a nice way to relax in between daytime and nighttime activities. Becca would often research hostels or restaurants on her iPad while I would touch up photos on my phone and post them to Facebook (mainly to let family and friends know that we were still alive). Occasionally a power nap would be called for as well.

After hitting up an Italian spot on our street (and more two-for-one wine), we made our way to the club district of Valpo, which has nightlife venues for pretty much every taste. A lot of the popular spots were swarming and overflowing with university students, so we walked right past those two blocks of shitshowery. After taking a lap around the neighborhood, we settled on El Huevo, a five-story behemoth that is more reminiscent of a military complex than a nightclub. Each floor has a different physical layout and different entertainment; on our way to the rooftop, we saw/heard a rock show, reggaeton, and pop/dance. We spent a while on the roof with our half-liters of Cristal enjoying the view and the people-watching. On our way back down, we stumbled upon a live show by Yoan Amor & Team Impacto, a Latin pop singer (who is possibly part of a larger boy band). It was the usual screaming girl audience you’d expect and Yoan basically made out with one of the girls in the front row during the show. I’m happy to write that off as a pretty standard PDA for Chile, even it involves a pop star.

We left El Huevo and walked around some more, fully expecting to turn it in for the evening, when I heard house music and saw flashing lights coming from a third-story window in an otherwise nondescript, government-looking building. From the street, it almost seemed like a house party, but was a bit too organized and professional, so we guessed it was a club of some kind. We circled the block and found an entrance on the other side of the building with a staircase leading up to who-knows-what, so we decided to check it out. As we reached the top, we realized we had found the club (Bar Tertulia). After paying the cover, we walked into a space that didn’t natively feel like a bar or club, but nevertheless had been turned into one. Just as the outside of the building felt anomalous, the inside felt like an old government building or mansion, but outfitted with lights, a bar, a DJ setup, and a dancefloor.

Once again, I was struck by the cultural differences between Chile and America with respect to drinking and partying. The bar was empty, barely anyone was drinking, yet the dancefloor was crowded with lots of people having a legitimately good (and seemingly sober) time. (During all of our nightlife outings in Valpo, we saw only one person who was visibly intoxicated.) And I really couldn’t blame them as this was some of the best house music I’ve ever heard in a live set. XV (the DJs playing that night) were having a lot of fun themselves and carrying on a bit as they played, which led to a great atmosphere all around.

Around 4:30 or so we decided that heading back was the responsible course of action, especially considering we had a very early bus to catch. After about three hours of sleep, it was time to get our stuff together and make our way to the bus depot for a six-hour ride to La Serena. We left Valparaiso very tired, but very happy and legitimately surprised at how much we fell in love with the city in only 48 hours. Lots of people have asked me what my favorite part of the trip was, which is an impossible question to answer, so I often say that the most unexpected and surprising time was our weekend in Valparaiso.

Stay tuned for our adventures from week two in Chile!

A short while later, we arrived at our hostel (H Rado Hostel) in Barrio Bellavista, a neighborhood reminiscent of the Mission in San Francisco with its nice restaurants, dive bars, and youngsters. The hostel was certainly on the swankier side with its large wall murals of American icons, a large, sunny common area on the top floor, and a huge roof deck. I’d say it very much epitomizes the idea of a “boutique hostel” and our stay there was very pleasant, especially considering we had a private room with a private bathroom.

After dropping off our stuff and cleaning up a bit, we wandered the neighborhood in search of noms. Much like San Francisco neighborhoods, downtown Santiago neighborhoods are very walkable and you get a great feel of the city and the people simply by walking around. We stumbled upon Patio Bellavista, which Lonely Planet describes as “upmarket eateries and posh souvenir shops ranged around a huge courtyard”. That’s a pretty accurate description and the area does feel a bit different than the rest of Bellavista, but we still found it to be a pleasant part of the neighborhood. If nothing else, it’s a nice respite from the hordes of college students drinking shitty beer and eating hot dogs.

After taking a lap to survey all the options, we settled on a jack-of-all-cuisines restaurant (MosaiCafé) that had some balcony seating with a nice view of Cerro San Cristóbal. Luckily our waiter spoke English and was able to make some suggestions for food, as I was having some trouble finding a good veggie dish (a not uncommon problem in South America). My first meal in Chile was a hot stone bowl filled with veggies and molten cheese, which is as delicious as it sounds. As would become our custom over the course of the trip, Becca and I split a bottle of Chilean red wine at dinner. We thought it apropos to treat ourselves to a very nice Carménère, a grape that was originally French, then thought to have gone extinct, then rediscovered in Chile, and is now decidedly Chilean.

Once we finished dinner, we wandered the neighborhood for a bit, noticing the popularity of the small tables on the sidewalks in front of the bars. Even with the relatively cool weather, most people opted to sit outside (which we noticed in almost all the cities we visited). The bar scene in Bellavista mostly entails sitting at an outside table with a small group of friends and conversing over drinks. And by “drinks”, I mean “cheap beer”. The rule of thumb for drinking in Bellavista is to order cheap beer by the liter, be it Escudo or Cristal (yes, spelled exactly like the expensive champagne). For the sake of doing as the Romans do, we stopped into one of the bars and split a bottle of Cristal ourselves. Our entertainment for the evening was the video jukebox in the bar, which was monopolized by a couple locals who evidently love 80s metal music videos. After getting our fill of Chilean light lager and Guns N’ Roses, we turned in for the evening.

The next morning, we grabbed breakfast at the hostel and then went for a stroll to get a feel for some of the surrounding neighborhoods. We walked through several of the parks next to the Mapocho River, worked our way south through Barrio Providencia, then walked west and ended up in the downtown shopping district around lunchtime. Clearly Chileans enjoy shoe shopping, because I’ve never seen so many shoe stores in one place before (even Becca thought the same). We stopped at a hole-in-the-wall Peruvian place for lunch, which delighted us with bread and (really good!) sauces, a heaping mound of veggie noodles, raspberry juice, and a TV that played only Spanish-language club bangers.

After lunch, we walked to the Plaza de Armas (the main square of any respectable Latin American city) to partake in one of Santiago’s free walking tours, which are offered every day of the week (multiple times a day). They are completely free (other than your tip for the tour guide), are in English, last anywhere from three to four hours, and offer some thorough historical and cultural insights into the more popular parts of the city. Our tour guide was Filipe, who became an inside joke for the rest of the trip because of his unusual, yet delightful personality. He maintained a constantly serious countenance, yet was very pleasant; he was animated and almost theatrical, but in a very controlled and subtle way. (We found out later from his walking tour colleagues in Valparaiso that Filipe is an actor, which explained everything.) The tour was very entertaining and informative and really helped us familiarize ourselves with some of the neighborhoods and some local places we should visit. Filipe insisted on a brief stop in Barrio Lastarria, where we had enough time to sit outside and enjoy some pisco sours.

That night, we went to a more traditional Chilean restaurant in Bellavista (Galindo) that Filipe had recommended on the tour. The food was certainly good (I had the porotos granados, which is a bean and pumpkin stew), but the critically important discovery at this meal was drink-related. As we were ordering, our waitress brought us a separate wine menu and tried to offer an explanation in Spanish (and her limited English), but the language barrier was a bit too high for us to fully understand her. We picked a bottle (Chilean red, of course) and had a quiet, enjoyable meal. As we were settling the bill, she came back to the table with another bottle of wine in a plastic bag. As I looked confusingly over the bill and tried to explain to her that we didn’t order another bottle, she was able to cobble together enough English to explain:

“Two bottles. One for the restaurant, one for the home.”

It turns out that every year for the last twelve years, Chile has organized a rather large-scale promotion whereby participating restaurants and bars (in certain parts of the country) offer a two-for-one deal on reserve bottles of Chilean wine. The first bottle you have with your meal and the second bottle is to be taken home (and cannot be opened in the restaurant). All told, you get two bottles of delicious Chilean wine at a restaurant for about $20.

Game. Changer.

Cue the Kenny Loggins, because we’re heading into the fucking danger zone.

It was around this point (my memory is fuzzy from consuming massive amounts of wine) that Becca and I made a pact to have at least one bottle of wine (between the two of us) every day for the entire trip. Special consideration was given to any restaurant that proudly displayed the reserve wine menu in their window. Sometimes we’d have the second bottle that same night, sometimes we’d take it on the road with us, and sometimes we’d donate it to a particularly nice employee at the hostel we were staying at. In any case, I feel pretty confident that we thoroughly tasted every red wine on that menu.

After dinner, we dropped the wine off at the hostel and went to a small bar (Cuatro & Diez) a couple blocks away. Semi-swanky, candlelit, with live music, it was a great spot to enjoy some cocktails. I tried a Piscola (pisco and cola), a somewhat common local drink, though I wasn’t a huge fan (pisco sours are much better). After a couple drinks, we went back to the hostel and took the aforementioned second bottle of wine up to the massive roof patio (did I mention this was a boutique hostel?) to enjoy the skyline and the sounds of the city.

Fast forward six hours to a healthy hangover at 8:00 in the morning. We grabbed breakfast and then hiked up Cerro San Cristóbal, which was a really nice way to work off the lingering effects of the previous evening. From the top of the hill, you get a breath-taking view of… well, mostly smog. I’m told that after a rainfall, the smog is gone temporarily and the view is spectacular. Nevertheless, we still appreciated the beauty of the view of a sprawling city with the Andes in the background. We enjoyed some quiet meditation time before descending back to Bellavista.

For lunch, we went to the fish market so that Becca could try some seafood soup (another Filipe recommendation). After fighting our way through the gauntlet of outgoing (read: annoying) restaurant hosts, we settled on a small, unassuming spot that was mostly filled with locals eating lunch by themselves. After explaining to our waitress that I was vegetarian, she responded simply with “Ensalada.” and reached for my menu. I resigned myself to eating bread, sauce, and rabbit food (Becca’s term for my salad that looked like a plate of condiments) while Becca enjoyed her cauldron of seafood.

After fighting through the restaurant gauntlet on the way out, we walked over to Cerro Santa Lucía, a small hill in the middle of the city with facades, stairways, patios, fountains, and really great views. We walked around the grounds for a while, snapping photos and enjoying the weather, until it was nap o’clock. With lack of sleep, a food coma, and sunny weather all conspiring against us, we laid down on the grass (amongst the usual collection of Chilean teenage couples) and checked out for a while.

That evening, we hit up a nice Italian spot in Lastarria for dinner, then wandered around Bellavista for a bit before settling on a karaoke bar. Surprisingly, a good amount of the music was English-language and a few of the singers really killed it.

The next morning, we checked out and took the Metro (Santiago’s light rail) to the bus depot. Another commuter (who spoke English) offered his help when he saw a couple gringos unfamiliar with how the Metro system worked. (It was one of many acts of kindness we encountered during our trip.) Once at the bus depot, we hopped on a coach to Valparaiso, a nearby coastal city that we had heard a lot about while in Santiago. This was probably the first point at which our itinerary diverged from our pre-trip plans and, unbeknownst to us at the time, would eventually lead to a completely different trip than we had initially imagined.

My close friend and trusted bro-ette (a term I use with pure endearment) Becca found herself between life gigs with a few months of downtime and decided she wanted to go to Chile, a place she had heard many good things about. She was ready and willing to travel by herself, but floated the idea to friends just in case anyone else was interested. No one else was able to commit to two and a half weeks of vacation, but I pretty much had no choice but to say yes. Seriously, do I have anything better to do? Nope. Plane ticket purchased.

Our idea for the trip was to keep it as flexible and fluid as possible. We had flights in and out of Santiago and that was it. The general approach was to plan the trip a few days at a time, making heavy use of WiFi wherever we could find it. Luckily, almost every hostel we stayed in had WiFi and/or computers for common use. Additionally, most cafes in Chile have WiFi for paying customers. Being a backpacking trip, we planned to travel light and to stay in hostels wherever possible.

Before leaving the country, we each did research on Santiago and Chile in general, mostly through Lonely Planet, Wikivoyage, and friends that had either lived in or visited Chile. Based on this research, we had a list of ideas for sightseeing and activities, including Easter Island, Patagonia, Punta Arenas, and Villarrica (a volcano in the south that is popular for hiking).

We ended up doing none of these things and it still was the trip of a lifetime.

More to come over the next few days as I aggregate all our photos, go over my travel notes, and track down the various hostels, restaurants, and bars we discovered in this massive and diverse country.

Spoiler alert: Chile is freaking awesome.