Explore the Natural Wonders of Chile
Stretching from the belly of South America to its foot, Chile is nature on a colossal scale. Travel here is surprisingly easy if you don’t rush it. Start amidst the granite spires of Torres del Paine National Park in Patagonia, and then travel north to Valparaíso, a poetic and boisterous seaside town. Succumb to the spiritual magnetism of the Elqui Valley before striking out for the arid canyons and volcanoes of the Atacama Desert.
Torres del Paine National Park
Head to the Patagonian wilderness to paddle among icebergs in the shadow of mighty granite peaks.
The Andes pass many spectacular landscapes on their 4,000-mile journey along South America’s spine. From the terraces of Machu Picchu in Peru to the green hills of Colombia, and the tributaries of the Amazon basin, the Andes show off diverse beauty. However, it is at the southernmost point of the continent where the mountains reach their grand finale—one of the best views in the world.
Torres del Paine National Park is the geological masterpiece of the Andes; it is a place where the weather patterns of the Pacific and Atlantic converge, destroying hikers’ tents and sculpting granite mountains into crooked forms.
Once a backwater for remote cattle herders and wildlife, the park now attracts adventurers for trekking, mountaineering, and horseback riding in this enchanting wilderness. Among them is Cristian Oyarzo, a local with an infectious grin who has pioneered a unique way of exploring the park.
‘With a kayak, you can get to places no one else can,’ he says, casting off from a pebbly beach on the shores of Lake Grey. ‘You get a different perspective when you are down on the water.’
We glide out onto the lake, passing forests of Antarctic beech. Snowy summits peek between gaps in the storm clouds; among them are the vertical spires of rock – towers, or ‘torres’ – that lend the park its name. Ahead are more icy pinnacles: icebergs afloat on the lake, sailing southward, carried by the wind.
‘Every time you paddle among icebergs, it is different,’ Oyarzo says. ‘They are always changing forms and color. Once you paddle among them, you never want to return to land.’
The icebergs are vessels made of millennia-old ice: broken fragments of the massive Grey Glacier, which begins in the Patagonian Andes and terminates at the lake’s northern reaches. This glacier—one of the park’s most spectacular—is a branch of the Southern Patagonian Ice Field, one of the world’s largest expanses of ice.
At 6,500 square miles, it is a frozen wilderness so vast that neither Chile nor neighboring Argentina can decide precisely where their territory ends and begins. It is, however, under threat: the Grey Glacier is rapidly shrinking, decreasing in width and thickness due to climate change.
Closer to the icebergs, the creaking of ice echoes above the splash of kayak paddles. The icebergs’ warped shapes bring to mind a Salvador Dali sketch. Some are pristine white; others are streaked with deep blue. Some are the size of double-decker buses, though few survive longer than a few days before they become tiny enough to fit in a beer glass.
Often, they can be seen calving, or breaking apart. Oyarzo recalls moments when he heard a sinister rumbling and had to paddle out of the way of collapsing towers of ice.
‘This is the way to see the ice in Patagonia,’ he exclaims. ‘When you come so close, you can touch it.’
The icebergs sparkle in the afternoon sunlight as waves lap against their bases. Oyarzo pauses, temporarily laying down his paddle, to join them in their slow, silent drift along the cold waters of the lake.
From Torres del Paine, it’s a 90-minute drive to Puerto Natales airport, followed by a three-hour flight to Santiago, then another 90-minute drive to Valparaíso. Alternatively, pack snacks for the nonstop 40-hour road trip northward through Chilean and Argentine Patagonia.
Valparaíso
Scale the hills and wander the waterfront of Valparaíso, Chile’s poetically disheveled port town.
Luis Segovia yanks a lever, and a commotion begins beneath his feet. It starts with gentle shuddering, growing to a symphony of rattling cogs, creaking wheels, and spluttering engines – the soundtrack of life in Valparaíso since the mid-19th century.
‘It is a joy doing my job,’ says Segovia as he watches a car full of beaming passengers inch down the hillside. ‘My life belongs to these funiculars; they are the spirit of our city.’
For four decades, Segovia has been a funicular operator in Valparaíso, a city that boasts the highest concentration of these contraptions anywhere in the world. Their existence stems partly from the city’s location—straddling steep hills on Chile’s Pacific coast. Moreover, they mirror the character of the city they serve: unorthodox, scruffy, and full of legends.
Valparaíso was once known as the Jewel of the Pacific. Families from Europe emigrated here in the 19th century, building fortunes on shipments of California gold and constructing mansions overlooking the bustling port. However, the opening of the Panama Canal in 1914 rendered Valparaíso less significant as a port, leading to an ongoing state of graceful decay.
Today, weeds grow in grand townhouses where prosperous merchants once resided, and glassless windows gaze out over empty wharves. The town’s aura of melancholy has inspired painters, musicians, and poets. No resident was more famous than Chile’s greatest writer, Pablo Neruda, who dubbed Valparaíso ‘a wonderful mess,’ adding, ‘How absurd you are… You haven’t combed your hair, you’ve never had time to get dressed, life has always surprised you.’
Once a symbol of modernity, Valparaíso’s funiculars sadly fell into disrepair. Of the approximately 40 that were built, only nine are operational today. Fortunately, a slow restoration process is underway. The funicular Segovia operates, the Ascensor Barón, underwent a full refurbishment five years ago, restoring its century-old German machinery.
‘Every neighborhood identifies with its own funicular,’ explains Segovia as another car approaches. ‘Funicular operators know all their customers too. Many romantic encounters have taken place here. I even met my wife on a funicular.’
During a ride on the Ascensor Barón, the view expands from chaotic city streets to serene heights, where the sea breeze wafts through open windows. The frigates of the Chilean Navy appear in the distance; closer, the view encompasses hilltop palaces with turrets, church spires, and thousands of pastel-colored houses cascading down the hillsides.
Other funiculars provide a more intimate perspective of the city: you can rattle through laundry lines and chimney tops, sneaking a glimpse into homes where families watch TV. There is no better place than a funicular to ponder the fortunes of Valparaíso, a city capable of giddy heights but prone to sudden rises and falls.
From Valparaíso, take a six-hour drive north on Highway 5, then bear east on Highway 41 for 90 minutes through the scrubby hills of the Elqui Valley.
Elqui Valley
Explore the dusty trails of the Elqui Valley, a home to quiet vineyards, sleepy market towns, and a force field of cosmic energy.
Winemaker Marcelo Remetal stands beneath a pyramid made of tree trunks, his eyes closed and palms upturned in silent meditation. The first rays of morning sunshine illuminate rows of vines cascading down the slopes around him.
‘There is an energy that you feel in your hands when you stand here,’ he says, breaking from meditation to pick a few grapes. ‘I feel a strong spiritual force. It is in my fingertips. I think you can find it in the wine we make too.’
Since the Spanish conquistadors first imported vines from Iberia, Chile has cultivated a distinguished winemaking tradition. Fertile hills around Santiago have produced award-winning vintages boasting characteristics that impress even Old World winemakers.
However, the Elqui Valley represents a new frontier for Chilean wine pioneers: an area that nearly qualifies as a desert, characterized by loose soil, steep slopes, and an almost complete lack of rainfall. Miraculously, bursts of greenery emerge across this dry tableau. There are groves of slender cypress trees, shady fruit plantations, and rushing streams that mysteriously emerge from the mountainside.
‘This valley lives because of snow,’ says Remetal, pointing to the eastern mountains. ‘The meltwater from the High Andes filters through the rocks and irrigates our vines. I think the best wine comes from extreme places like this.’
Remetal’s winery, Vinedos de Alcohuaz, has gained respect since it first produced bottles five years ago. Built on land formerly owned by a shamanic healer (hence the wooden pyramid), it is run with deep reverence for Pachamama, the goddess of the Earth in Andean cosmology. Such a business model is not unusual in the Elqui Valley, South America’s New Age heartland.
Along winding country roads, thatched-roof farmhouses display Tibetan prayer flags in their gardens, and sleepy market towns fill the air with the scent of exotic herbs. As melodies from The Dark Side of the Moon waft through cafés, VW camper vans line the streets.
Some speculate Elqui’s spiritual aura stems from a magnetic property in the soil or that its power flows from the Himalayas, precisely on the opposite side of the Earth. Cynics might note the influence of pisco, the potent brandy distilled in Elqui for centuries. Others attribute it to Elqui’s altitude and proximity to the stars—after all, telescopes dot the hilltops, capitalizing on some of the clearest skies on Earth.
Whatever the cause, cosmic vibes are unmistakably present at the Artisan Village of Horcon, perched by a rushing river near the valley’s peak. Here, hammocks and wind chimes sway in the warm breeze while artisans create mandalas and dream catchers in reverence to the surrounding landscapes.
‘Everything here has its own individual energy,’ says Andrea Riviera Stefanini, a designer at a cooperative in the Elqui Valley. She crafts jewelry from local quartz, along with shawls and dresses inspired by the valley’s color palettes. ‘It is all magic: the silence, the blue of the sky, the white of the moon, the sound of the river. It makes it a paradise.’
From La Serena, catch a flight north to Calama. From here, it’s a 90-minute drive along Highway 23 to the town of San Pedro de Atacama.
Atacama Desert
Experience the surreal landscapes of the Atacama, the driest place on the planet.
Stretching 2,653 miles from north to south, Chile resembles a cross-section of South American climates. Its territory spans subpolar steppe, rainforests, snowy mountains, and Mediterranean hills. At its northern tip, the vast expanse of the Atacama, where some weather stations have never recorded a single drop of rain, awaits discovery.
‘In a place like this, you must sit down and listen to the silence,’ says park ranger Manuel Eric Silvestre Gómez, as he gazes over Laguna Chaxa, a salt lake in Los Flamencos National Reserve. ‘You must contemplate the mountains, hills, volcanoes, and observe the skies and the moon. You’ll realize how small we are in this world.’
The Atacama looks forbidding in diverse ways. To the east, somber-gray volcanoes loom along the Bolivian border. To the north and west stand burnt-red cliffs, and geysers send plumes of steam into a clear sky. At the center lies an expanse of emptiness, a landscape that feels almost alien. Featureless salt flats stretch as far as the eye can see.
Except for the flamingos, whose presence seems oddly incongruous here. Silvestre, a soft-spoken ranger, is responsible for safeguarding the three flamingo species inhabiting the Atacama Desert: the Andean flamingo, the Chilean flamingo, and James’s flamingo. All spend their days wading through saline pools, feeding on tiny crustaceans. In Laguna Chaxa, the flamingos appear as vibrant bursts of pink against the stark whiteness.
‘Flamingos are sacred to the indigenous Andean peoples,’ Silvestre explains. ‘They symbolize various meanings: their feathers are used for rituals and tributes to Pachamama, the Earth Mother. We must protect them, because they are our siblings.’
Flamingos are among the few species to have adapted to life in this desert, a habitat unique on the planet; Andean foxes and Darwin’s rheas also roam here, while condors soar high above.
The Atacama lies within a highland plateau, sandwiched between the Andes and the Chilean Coast Range. These two ranges act as a barrier to weather systems, helping make the Atacama the driest place on Earth outside the polar regions. It is also the highest hot desert on the planet, resembling a place that doesn’t seem to belong in our world. Thus, it is fitting that Mars rovers are tested here before their launch into outer space.
Indigenous Atacameño people tell many legends explaining the formation of these varied landscapes—jealous kings whose rage caused volcanoes to explode and the 40 days of torrential rain that washed away all life in the desert, ceasing only when the sky ran dry. Yet somehow, gazing out at the salt flats, this landscape feels like a planet in its very beginnings.
Oliver Smith traveled to Chile with support from Journey Latin America. GoTravelDaily contributors do not accept freebies in exchange for positive coverage.
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