Pucon

Day 5 - Pucon to Santiago

Today was a transfer day. We said goodbye to Pucón, packed up the car, and set off for Temuco Airport to drop off the hire car — our last drive through lake and volcano country before swapping winding roads for boarding passes. With flights to catch, we were up early and, as you do, packed and ready a full hour ahead of schedule. With nothing to be gained by waiting around, we decided to get going — the airport was just over an hour away and we still needed to fill up with petrol.

We pulled into a nearby petrol station and immediately realised it was manned by an attendant. John swore quietly under his breath. When the attendant approached, John launched confidently into what he clearly thought was perfect Spanish, asking for a completo. Only the night before, John had asked me if I knew what a completo was. I did not. As it turns out, it’s a hot dog absolutely loaded with everything imaginable. So there was John, inadvertently ordering a fully loaded hot dog at a petrol station first thing in the morning. Thankfully, it was neither what we wanted nor what we got.

The next challenge was working out how to pay. The attendant seemed to be serving half of Chile at once. I gestured to another attendant, who promptly sent me around the corner — to the toilets. Eventually, our original attendant reappeared with the payment machine, we paid, and all was well. Another small Chilean adventure successfully navigated.

From Temuco it was a straightforward flight to Santiago, where the pace shifted instantly from lakes and volcanoes to full city buzz — but not before one final airport adventure. We first had to navigate the check-in machines, which, I’m pleased to say, are becoming easier and easier. As we furiously concentrated on the task at hand, John was busy supervising. I printed the luggage labels, turned around… and John’s bag was nowhere to be seen.

He was in shock — it had been there moments earlier. In his enthusiasm for supervising me, a stranger had picked up his bag and was attempting to check it in for another group entirely. Luckily, someone noticed, and John was swiftly reunited with his bag. Oops.

With that excitement behind us, we had a few hours to kill. Even small airports have lounges, which is always a bonus, so we settled in, caught up on banking, and I worked on the blog. The flight itself was uneventful, apart from a small boy sitting in front of me — he must have been four or five. I had a packet of eucalyptus lollies, and every time I unwrapped one, a tiny arm would snake back between the seats, palm opening and closing, politely requesting his lolly. This happened two or three times and was, admittedly, very sweet.

By the time we checked in at our hotel in Santiago, we were officially in the hands of Silversea. John is now officially off duty — and I must say, he has done an impeccable job.

Day 4 - Hot Springs

After a stormy night, we woke to an overcast morning, the volcano completely hidden—draped in cloud all day and making no appearance whatsoever. The plan was hot springs, and we were very much hoping they would be hotter (and more relaxing) than the ones in the Atacama. John had done his research, and our non-negotiable requirement was towel hire—our Airbnb’s microfibre towels are strange things and entirely unsuitable for hot springs. He found one that was twice the price of the others but included towels, robes, and both indoor and outdoor pools. Off we toodled about forty minutes, and the drive itself was an absolute joy—winding, tree-lined roads flanked by towering mountains and crossed by shallow, rocky streams, so reminiscent of Queenstown that it felt almost surreal. Just fantastico. You get what you pay for, and from the moment we arrived, we knew this place was special—and as a bonus, we even scored a discount for being over 60. Set beside a river (which you can swim in, if you’re brave—it’s freezing), we changed and headed straight for the indoor baths, which were blissfully quiet and filled with water straight from the spring. The water was hot—very hot—and took a while to acclimatise to, but the pools were beautifully designed, with just us and about five other people sharing the space. One bath even had a daybed-style recliner, which was particularly lovely. We had to get out regularly as the heat makes you a little light-headed, but that only added to the slow, indulgent rhythm of the experience. Soft spa music played in the background, and we were utterly relaxed—so relaxed it was almost ridiculous. We gave the outdoor pool a try next; the water was cooler, though still fed by the spring, something John discovered the hard way when he accidentally put his foot over the inflow and let out a rather loud expletive. Not quite third-degree burns, but certainly not something he plans to repeat. Rain began to fall, the gentle pitter-patter on the roof adding to the atmosphere as we soaked in the warm water. John even braved the open-air bath in the rain just as it was easing. After changing, we sat down for lunch, both of us utterly content. It was such a beautiful place, and we were thrilled not only that we went, but that we chose that one. Absolutely gorgeous.

We headed back along those same scenic, winding roads, with plans to explore the lake’s peninsula, only to discover it was private—so that was a firm no-entry for us. Undeterred, John had his sights set on something equally important: a café where he could finally have a proper flat white. Off we went in search of it, and what a spot it turned out to be. An open-air precinct of sorts, with charming wooden cabins housing little shops, restaurants and cafés—it was utterly delightful. We found Verbena Café, where John ordered a flat white and I very deliberately ordered a small hot chocolate. When the drinks arrived, the moment of high drama unfolded: the big cup was placed in front of me, while the noticeably smaller cup was set down for John. The pout that followed—complete with a slightly trembling lower lip—was something to behold. Thankfully, my chocolate caliente was absolutely delicious, and despite his initial despair, John’s long-anticipated flat white turned out to be excellent too. Back home, the weather had well and truly turned—it was bucketing down and fiercely windy—so that was that for the day, with the elements firmly calling time.

Day 3 - Hikes

After five episodes of Emily in Paris (or Rome?), it was another good night’s rest for us both, followed by plans for a few hikes. First stop: Laguna Angelina—at least, that was the plan. I should have known something was amiss when both AllTrails and Google Maps admitted they had no idea where it was, so I tried to find the nearest possible access point instead. What followed turned into far more of an adventure than expected. We drove about 30 minutes out of Pucón to Lake Caburgua, which is eerily reminiscent of Lake Wakatipu in Queenstown—same roadside lake views, steep embankments and spectacular scenery—except here the road is narrow, untarred and feels only half the width. I knew Pucón was the adrenaline capital of Chile, but I hadn’t woken up expecting today to involve any heart-stopping moments. The lake is clearly privately owned, with beautifully secluded homes and impossibly steep gardens tumbling down to the water. Eventually, we came across a sign warning that only four-wheel drives should proceed, complete with a tow-truck symbol. Sensibly, we decided not to push on. After a brief Spanglish chat with a friendly gardener, we were advised to park further back down the road. John executed a three-point turn on a slope so steep that only three wheels felt like they were touching the ground—I genuinely thought we were about to tip over the edge. Miraculously, all was fine, and we walked the rest of the way. We headed downhill at first, which felt promising, only to then start climbing again. A glance at the map revealed the public beach was actually 200 metres back in the opposite direction. At that point, we had no idea what was going on anymore, and Laguna Angelina was officially abandoned. Beautiful, yes—but far too stressful and adventurous for us oldies. Some days, knowing when to call it is the wisest decision of all.

Next stop: Playa Negra, Lago Caburgua. We retraced our steps, but by now the week-enders were arriving at their holiday homes, and suddenly the road felt even narrower. More than once we had to teeter on the very edge to make room for an oncoming car. John was fine—he was on the inside of the road. I, however, was the one feeling as though I was dangling off a cliff. Far out, my heart was racing; I am far too old for this sort of carry-on. Eventually, with nerves somewhat frayed, we made it to Bitchimun and onto our next stop: a lakeside walk along Lago Caburgua itself. The lake is impressively large—around 53 square kilometres—and is one of the deepest in Chile, plunging to over 300 metres in places. Formed by glacial activity, its vivid blue waters are fed by underground springs and volcanic geology, making it as beautiful as it is imposing. The small lakeside town was just waking up—it was midday, lifeguards were setting up, market stalls were being assembled, and food trucks were preparing for the inevitable rush. By the time we returned from our walk, the place was starting to come alive. After a not-so-great coffee and a truly disastrous empanada and churros, we didn’t linger and instead headed off to our next stop: Ojos del Caburgua and Laguna Azul.

The next trip took only about fifteen minutes—no dramas at all—and we were even greeted by a park attendant who spoke English, which felt like a small luxury after the morning’s efforts. The walk immediately reminded us of one we’d done in Vancouver: a beautifully constructed boardwalk winding down, up and around waterfalls, leading to the most extraordinary, deep-blue lagoon—hence the name. It was thoughtfully laid out, easy to navigate, and utterly stunning. After the stress and adrenaline of earlier in the day, this felt like a special treat and a perfect reminder of just how rewarding slowing down can be.  Even though in a very rare selfie, John's face looks like I have farted!

Day 2 - Stroll about town and Salto del León

Oh my goodness — what a difference a recovery day makes! With the travel day behind me (and honestly, there’s nothing worse than travelling when you’re not well), a good night’s sleep worked wonders. I woke up back to normal… and absolutely starving.

We were away early, forgetting that Chile doesn’t really wake up until at least 10am. John, ever the planner, had researched a café that supposedly opened at 8am. Open my arse. We walked all the way there to find closed gates and complete darkness.

So we kept walking, explored the town instead, found a supermarket, and by the time we were done it was finally starting to look like a few more people about. We found a café and went in. John wanted a large cappuccino; I wanted a small caliente hot chocolate. Naturally, they only did small cappuccinos and large hot chocolates. After some negotiation, a large cappuccino was ordered.

Then sugar arrived at the table — little did I know that was essential to make my hot chocolate remotely drinkable. It was honestly awful: plain cocoa powder and milk. John’s coffee, on the other hand, was large and delicious, as was the peach crumble he enjoyed.

Back home with the shopping bags, I finally made myself breakfast: crispy bacon and avocado. I think I mentioned earlier that Chile is a great avocado producer — and wow, they are delicious. After not eating properly for two days, I needed some serious energy for the day ahead.

The chef did an impeccable job, exactly to my liking. We did, however, manage to come home without the salt and olive oil — heaven knows where those ended up.

You are going to see a lot of photos of Villarrica Volcano — and I make no apology for it. She’s just like Mount Fuji: perfectly symmetrical, sharp and pointy, and endlessly photogenic. What makes her even more captivating is her many moods, as weather rolls in and out, cloaking and revealing her throughout the day.

One of the most fascinating things about Villarrica is that she is almost never truly asleep. It’s one of South America’s most active volcanoes and one of the few on Earth to regularly host a persistent lava lake inside its crater — meaning molten lava can often be seen glowing and churning just below the rim. Even when she looks calm from a distance, the volcano is quietly breathing, releasing sulphur-rich gases that drift skyward and remind you that the ground here is very much alive.

Villarrica rises to about 2,847 metres, capped with snow and glaciers for much of the year, which makes for a dramatic contrast when eruptions melt ice and snow, sometimes triggering lahars — fast-moving volcanic mudflows that have shaped the surrounding valleys over centuries. The indigenous Mapuche people have long revered the volcano, calling it Ruka Pillán — the “House of the Spirit” — believing powerful forces dwell within it. That sense of respect feels entirely justified when you learn that Villarrica has erupted repeatedly throughout recorded history, including in the 21st century, sending lava fountains and ash into the night sky.

Perhaps what makes Villarrica most compelling is her accessibility. Few volcanoes allow you to hike or ski so close to an active crater, where crampons crunch on ice while heat radiates faintly from below. Standing near the summit, you’re not just looking at a mountain — you’re standing on a thin crust between solid earth and the planet’s molten heart, a reminder of how young and restless this landscape still is.

That said, we will not be going up the volcano. Images of Whakaari / White Island are far too fresh in my mind. We’re quite happy to admire Villarrica from a respectful distance — besides, I’ve been sick and absolutely wouldn’t have the stamina for a two-day hike anyway. Wink wink.

Using Maps to get around, we came to what looked like the main restaurant and waterfall entrance — very turística. Naturally, the navigator calmly told us to keep going, so we did. Like naïve tourists.

We were in a four-wheel drive — but one of those polite, town-friendly ones rather than a proper outback beast. Heck, I genuinely thought we were going to die. The track was steep, rough and slippery; the wheels were spinning, the car was skidding, I was screeching while trying not to be car sick, and John was doing his absolute best to keep us alive. After a gruelling 2.1 kilometres, Maps cheerfully announced, “You have arrived”… and there was nothing. No entrance, no place to turn around — and now we had to navigate the same steep track back down.

Somehow, going down felt slightly less terrifying. We made it back to the first place we’d passed, paid our entrance fee, and finally set off on foot — much calmer — towards Salto del León.

The 92-metre waterfall is hidden in the forest and fed by mountain streams from the surrounding national park. The water plunges down a sheer rock face, throwing up a cloud of fine mist — the sort quietly soaks you through. Standing there felt like being back at Victoria Falls.

They do tourism really well here. There are hot tubs tucked into the landscape where you can soak while the cool mist drifts around you — warm water, cool air and the roar of the waterfall all combining into something pretty magical.

Wandering around Pucón, you can’t help but notice the hydrangeas — there are so many of them, and they are simply magnificent. I’ve taken countless photos of these glorious blooms, and even then, the camera can’t quite capture the way the colours shift in the soft light: vibrant blues, rich purples, pale pinks and creamy whites, often all in one garden or along a single hedge.

The reason for their abundance becomes obvious as you wander the town and surrounding countryside. The climate here is almost perfect for hydrangeas — cool, temperate, with plenty of rainfall and mild summer days. The volcanic soil, rich in minerals from Villarrica Volcano, provides the nutrients and moisture these plants love, while its natural acidity allows some of the most intense blue and purple hues to flourish.

Hydrangeas seem to grow almost everywhere — in gardens, lining streets, even climbing fences — and they spread easily with minimal care. Generations of locals have embraced them, and now they’re part of Pucón’s signature charm, softening the dramatic volcanic landscape with their generous, rounded blooms.

Walking past them, snapping photo after photo, it’s easy to see why these flowers are so loved: each cluster feels like a little explosion of colour, a vivid contrast to the black volcanic sand and the green forests of the Lake District. They’re not just plants here — they’re part of the scenery, impossible to ignore, and endlessly beautiful.

A quiet night in, a home-cooked meal, and a little Emily in Paris — it doesn’t get much better than this. Even better, I have a husband who will happily join me in my chick-flick indulgences, making it all the more cosy and enjoyable.

Day 1 – Pucón

It was always going to be a tough start—an early morning dash to Calama Airport for the two-hour flight to Santiago, a brief two-hour layover, and then another 1.5-hour hop to Temuco, the gateway to Pucón. My head was thumping, and I was genuinely afraid that if I wasn’t within ten minutes of a loo at all times, things could go very wrong. Yet, amidst the chaos, we had a small victory: mastering the check-in machines. A click on “Español” revealed an English menu, and suddenly check-in was a breeze. All flights ran with typical LATAM efficiency, the lounges were good, and—thankfully—there were no dramas along the way.

Arriving in Pucón feels like stepping into a postcard. Set on the edge of Lake Villarrica and watched over by the ever-present Villarrica Volcano, it’s instantly clear why this town is known as Chile’s adventure capital. Even on day one, before doing very much at all, the landscape does most of the heavy lifting — snow-dusted peaks, deep green forests and that glassy lake stretching out in front of you.

We spent the day getting our bearings, wandering through town, soaking up the relaxed vibe and reacquainting ourselves with Chilean time — which, as we’ve learned, runs at its own gentle pace. Cafés, outdoor shops and locals heading about their day all set the tone for what feels like a perfect base for exploring the region.

John had done his homework and identified the most highly recommended restaurant in town. Unfortunately, just as we were approaching, about forty school children wandered in ahead of us — decision made — and we quietly walked on by.

A little further along we found another restaurant. They had a simple tomato and onion salad, which was about all I was up for as I was feeling better, but not quite ready for a proper meal. John stuck with his reliable go-to: a pollo sandwich. The food was nice enough, but what really stood out was our waitress — absolutely lovely. In fact, everyone here seems genuinely friendly, warm and welcoming.

Partway through, we could hear distant drumming. At first it was faint, then closer… and closer… until suddenly there were huge puppets parading past. I have no idea what the celebration was for, but it was impossible not to smile — one of those completely unexpected moments that make travel special.

Earlier, we’d wandered down to the lakeside, where Lake Villarrica stretches out alongside the town. The beaches are black volcanic sand, and the lake seems to host just about every water sport you can imagine — kayaks, paddleboards, boats and more. Despite it being summer, it isn’t hot here at all, which makes the whole place feel fresh and pleasantly mild rather than sweltering.  Just like lovely Queenstown.

Then it was home to bed, cosy and content, where we watched the last three episodes of Emily in Paris Season 4, getting ourselves perfectly positioned for the big release tomorrow.