Santiago & Valparaiso

Day 6 - drama drama drama

We started with an early morning walk up Cerro Santa Lucía — the little hill right outside our hotel that’s actually one of Santiago’s oldest historical lookouts. Originally called Huelén by the Mapuche people, it was later renamed Santa Lucía by the Spanish and used as a strategic lookout when the city was founded in the 1540s. Over time it was fortified, landscaped and turned into a beautiful park of gardens, fountains, stairways and viewpoints, with old castle-like lookouts scattered along the way.

It was an energetic but pleasant — and quite chilly — way to start the day, climbing up through the greenery and stone paths as the city slowly woke up below us. The way down, however, was not without its drama. Somewhere along the route we managed to take what can only be described as the mountain-climbers’ descent rather than the sensible 60-year-old gentle option. There were handrails clutched for dear life, narrow unstable steps made of volcanic rock, stinging nettles brushing our legs, and moments where it felt like a small disaster was quietly waiting its turn. I was extremely relieved when we made it through that little adventure in one piece, and when John gestured toward yet another path, I responded with a very strong counter-gesture in the direction of the cobbled street with the wide, sensible slope and much kinder steps.

Back to the hotel for a well-earned shower, then out again for the rest of the day.

Phew — that was quite enough drama for one day. After surviving Santa Lucía, we headed off to Lastarria to visit the Museum of Visual Arts. The building itself was far more impressive than the artworks inside, which is always slightly awkward. Thankfully it wasn’t very big, so I didn’t have to feign interest for too long before we could move on.

I haven’t really mentioned this before — though I did touch on it yesterday when I discovered the blankets on the rooftop — but Chile should honestly be renamed Chilly. My sister Jen wears jumpers in 30-degree heat, and on this trip, that person is absolutely me. I am constantly cold. My feet are permanent ice blocks. I’ve even resorted to Googling what illness I might have, only to conclude that I’m probably fine and it’s just… Chilly in Chile.

To make matters worse, I didn’t pack a proper warm jacket. Two people who’ve been to Antarctica told me they overpacked and just wore layers under the gear provided, so I confidently brought two jumpers and thought that would be plenty. It was not.

With the Human Rights Museum exhibition closed for refurbishment, we suddenly had time on our hands — and given my rapidly dropping body temperature, it seemed like the perfect excuse to go shopping. A quick bit of research for the best shopping centre and John ordered an Uber.

Now, it’s worth setting the scene. John has used Uber all through this trip, even when taxis have been streaming past us. I questioned it early on and he explained that it removes the language barrier and everything is paid for in the app. Fair enough — and to be honest, it’s worked perfectly. Until now.

The app said there were plenty of drivers nearby… and then timed out after ten minutes. Meanwhile, at least twenty taxis sailed past us. This was torture for me, and John was equally fed up with technology’s sudden betrayal. Eventually we grabbed the next taxi and hopped in. As we pulled away, John casually said, “I hope he accepts cash.”

I mean… it’s 2025. Chile is a progressive country. Of course they’ll accept cash.

Twenty minutes later we arrived at the shopping centre. The fare was 9,000 pesos — about $15 Australian. We handed over the credit card. The driver shook his head vigorously. “No, no, no,” followed by a string of very firm Spanish.

Cash only.

We had zero cash on us.

Drama ensued. Out came Google Translate and we agreed he’d drive us around the shopping centre to find a bank. Where is an ATM when you need one? About 500 metres down the road — with the meter ticking — we reached a bank. I breathed a sigh of relief and John went inside while I stayed in the car as collateral.

John returned, and after more than 30 years together, I could tell immediately he hadn’t been successful. It was a bank administration office only. The ATM, apparently, was a 15-minute walk inside the shopping centre — yes, it really was that big. I didn’t want to limit my shopping choices.

There was a lot of Spanish happening that neither we nor Google Translate could make sense of. Eventually we reached a silent impasse. No raised voices, no Latin American flair — just a polite, calm, and surprisingly understanding taxi driver. I asked if he could pick us up at 2 pm from the same spot, once we had the money, and then take us back to the hotel.

To my complete surprise — and renewed faith in humanity — he said, “Sí, sí… here, Banco. Sí, sí.”

Drama over.

Or so we thought.

We entered the shopping mall and discovered it was the size of a small city. We asked where a bank was and were sent off with vague directions. Eventually we found one and lined up for the ATM. When it was our turn, the security guard saw John’s green Wise card and immediately shook his head. “No, no, no — international cards,” or at least that’s what we think he said.

He gave us directions — all in Spanish and hand gestures — straight, left, left, right, sí, sí, sí. Off we toddled. Patience was now wearing very thin. We couldn’t find a bank anywhere. We checked information terminals — no ATMs listed. We asked more security guards and were sent to the cambio. We walked and walked and walked.

At the cambio, with the help of Google Translate, the woman explained we could only get pesos with cash. No card.

Yikes.

Patience was now hanging by a thread. She kindly wrote down the name of the bank we needed — ASOS — and off we went again with more enthusiastic hand gestures. Then suddenly John stopped and said, “Hang on… there’s a Santander ATM.”

I nearly kissed the thing.

Then comes the prayer that your card will work. It did. Getting the card back out was mildly traumatic, but we managed it — and we finally had cash.

At this point, we had just one hour left of our original two-and-a-half-hour shopping window. Dejected and slightly shell-shocked, we went shopping.

Incidentally, both John and I hate shopping.  But shop we did. In fact, I think we were both so stunned by everything that had just unfolded — the sheer magnitude of trust, kindness, and a bit of luck — that we almost felt like we were in a daze. How lucky were we that the driver trusted us to come back with the cash, no questions asked? Honestly, I’m not sure what the penalty would be for not paying a taxi fare in Santiago, but I’m convinced his calm understanding was far more valuable than any fine could be.

Despite the shopping ordeal, we made the best of the time we had left, but let’s be honest: I think we were both just relieved to have gotten through that little drama in one piece. Now, on to the next adventure… hopefully without any more currency crises.

It’s worth mentioning that I found two fab jackets during our mad shopping dash, so I’m all set for the zero-degree mornings in the desert and Antarctica. Bring it on! But now, the big question: would the taxi driver actually come back for us, or would we be met with the cops waiting to collect the unpaid fare?

We made our way to the "Banco" that wasn’t really a Banco, and just as we were starting to wonder what would happen next, up pulls our friendly, understanding taxi driver. He took us back home without a hitch, beaming when John showed him the Google Translate message and handed over a 50% tip. All is well that ends well.

It was an adventure, for sure, but at least it ended with kindness, trust, and a little lesson: always carry some cash.

The area we’re staying in is the Old Town — more administrative and historic — and it feels worlds away from the part of the city where the shopping mall is. That area is all high-rise buildings, heavy traffic and wide roads; no cobblestones, no charm. You honestly could be anywhere in the world. The contrast between the two parts of Santiago is striking.

After another siesta — which is rapidly becoming mandatory thanks to our 3am awakenings — we headed out to Lastarria for dinner.

Meanwhile, back in Sydney, the Bowling Club was holding its EGM to vote on whether to approve the merger. They needed a 75% majority, so it definitely wasn’t a shoo-in. But in an extraordinary result, it passed with 96% approval: one no vote and one informal vote out of 64 votes cast. That called for a celebration.

Enter my first taste of Carménère wine. This grape was once thought lost, then rediscovered in Chile, and has since become the country’s signature variety — winning plenty of awards along the way. We found a very cool wine bar and ordered a flight of Carménère wines, each one accompanied by its own little history lesson. The perfect way to toast good news from home.

Then it was back to the hotel to pack and get ready for the next leg of the adventure — off to the desert.

Day 5 – Valparaíso and Viña del Mar

It was an overcast, rather chilly day — not ideal beach weather, but you can’t control that, and at least it wasn’t going to rain. As you leave Santiago, you hit the first mountain range, and instead of going over the mountains, you go under them. In a country that gets an earthquake a day, the idea of tunnelling under a mountain feels slightly ridiculous — but under we went.

On the other side, you arrive in the first valley, lush and fertile. This region produces world-renowned Hass avocado pears, walnuts, cherries, strawberries and more. You can even spot the mansions of the farm owners perched proudly on the hillsides. The valley was still blanketed in fog, giving it a wonderfully atmospheric, almost dreamy feel.

Then it’s on through another mountain range and into the next valley — the famous Chilean wine region, with vineyard after vineyard rolling out in perfect waves. One more mountain stretch and suddenly you’re at the seaside.

Today’s destination was Valparaíso, around a two-hour drive from Santiago. If we owned an amphibious vehicle and just kept going straight until we hit land again, I’m convinced we’d pop out somewhere near Coffs Harbour. After a pair of rough nights, both of us would’ve happily dozed off, but our driver and guide, Manfred from Venezuela, was absolutely bursting with stories and facts — so sleep wasn’t really an option.

Before the Panama Canal existed, Valparaíso was an essential port. Now it’s a colourful, artistic, energetic city built on seriously steep hills — and I mean seriously steep. Manfred gave us the choice of a full walking tour or a “drive and walk a bit” option. We immediately chose the second one, and I’m so glad we did. Having him there made all the difference; he could explain the murals and share all sorts of UFI (for anyone unfamiliar, that’s Useless F…ing Information), which actually turned out to be not so useless after all.

We wandered up, up and more up, then down, down and even more down through the winding streets. Dogs roam freely in Valparaíso — it feels like they own the city and the people are just visitors. The murals are incredible, and what makes them even more fascinating is that they’ve grown organically over time. Traditionally, houses were built from wood, then covered in a layer of straw for insulation, and finally wrapped in corrugated iron to protect from the sea air. So most of the artwork you see is painted straight onto those corrugated panels. It’s touristy, of course, but completely understandable when you see how unique and vibrant the place is.  There are a lot of photos, but honestly, everywhere you look there’s another irresistible photo op.

Then we visited Pablo Neruda’s home, which is now a museum. You’re given audio guides — really well done — so as you wander through the rooms you get his life story and all these little insights into what a genuinely top bloke he was. He paid for Spanish refugees to come to Chile and helped them settle in Valparaíso, and he served as a Chilean Ambassador twice, from what I recall.

He never liked to eat alone, so his house was very much the party house. He had a bar in every one of his homes and loved mixing cocktails “for the ladies.” His favourite piece of furniture was something he called the Cloud — a rocking chair where he loved to sit and think. The Valparaíso house itself is five stories high, all narrow staircases and quirky rooms, with huge windows looking straight out over the bay.

A really fascinating place and absolutely worth a visit.

Then it was off to Viña del Mar, the next beachside city along — essentially where Valparaíso expanded to over time. It’s a completely different vibe: modern, polished, lots of high-rises and a far more contemporary feel. After the colour and chaos of Valpo, it felt almost like stepping into another world.

Then it was homeward bound via the Kross brewery. We stopped in for a late lunch and John promptly fell in love with a berry beer — yes, you read that right. A raspberry and blueberry beer. Shandy-drinking southerner, I can hear you saying already! But to be fair, it was actually pretty delicious.

Manfred kept us entertained with more of his travel stories and local tidbits. I’ll admit, I nodded off for a bit while John had to stay awake and politely keep listening. Back at the hotel we had a quiet night in, and I made a brilliant discovery — blankets on the roof terrace. No more freezing evenings. Perfect.

Day 4 - Bario Italia and San Cristobel

Day 4 began after a truly wonderful night’s sleep for me — and a patchy, slightly less triumphant one for John. Still, we were both excited for the day because we were finally heading up San Cristóbal, the hill where the Virgin Madonna stands watching over Santiago. It’s the same place thousands of pilgrims walked up for the religious holiday, and while the elevation is 880 metres, we were absolutely not attempting that on foot. No heroic climbs for us today — funicular up, cable car down, thank you very much.

The funicular was charming in that slightly rattly, vintage-mechanical way that makes you question your life choices for a moment and then enjoy the view. When you reach the top, the whole area is deeply religious and serene. There’s a chapel, hymns floating softly through the air, and “silencio” signs everywhere inviting quiet reflection. And the Madonna herself — she is huge up close, far bigger than she looks from the city below. Very peaceful, very grand.

The view would have been spectacular if not for the haze. You could just make out the Andes, but all the snow has melted now, so they looked a little bare and shy. Still, the journey itself was absolutely worth it. And going down in the cable car was a treat — you glide over the hill and suddenly drop into a residential neighbourhood, leafy and clean and wonderfully ordinary. Always nice to see the non-touristy side of a city.

Getting to the funicular, however, involved a queue situation that could politely be described as intimate. We found ourselves surrounded by a Chinese bus tour and the person behind me — and then behind John — had clearly indulged in a heroic amount of garlic the night before. They also had no concept of personal space, which made the queue feel… immersive, let’s say.

After San Cristóbal we grabbed a taxi to the Cultural Centre under the Presidential Palace, the same place we’d visited on the walking tour. Unfortunately, the main exhibition was closed, so we browsed the textile display instead and had a nice coffee before moving on.  Normally I sit behind the driver, but this Uber driver gave John more legroom than sitting behind Jen when she is driving.  Roomy az...

As we wandered through the streets later, the city had that mellow, early-evening buzz about it. Every so often we’d walk straight into a soft little cloud of marijuana smoke — sweet, floral, and completely unbothered. It’s been decriminalised here, and you can tell: people look relaxed, cheerful, and wonderfully content. Couples strolling hand in hand, groups laughing over plastic cups of something cold, dogs trotting along like they own the place. Santiago has this effortless warmth to it.

We finished the day with dinner at a local spot, sitting outside while a couple of buskers played nearby. Nothing fancy, just that perfect mix of food, music, and atmosphere that makes you stop and think, yep, today was a good one.

A fab birthday from start to finish, even with the wobbles, the wandering, and the sugar-syrup sanitising. Thanks for all the lovely birthday wishes — they absolutely made my day.

Then it was time for Barrio Italia — and what a brilliant surprise that turned out to be. The neighbourhood is cool, colourful, and buzzing with life. The streets are lined with edible gardens and overflowing flowers, and every shop seems to be run by an artisan: pastel makers, designers, antique restorers, ceramicists. It’s creative, vibrant, and full of charm. The vibe was absolutely fantástico — one of those places you wander into and immediately know you could spend hours happily poking around.

A gorgeous day all round — peaceful, chaotic, fragrant (in both good and garlic ways), and full of little gems tucked around every corner.

Finishing the night off with a Pina Colada

Day 3 - My birthday

Day 3 began far too early after yet another not-so-brilliant night of sleep for either of us. But it was my birthday — so no matter how tired, creaky, or confused our bodies felt, we were absolutely determined to have a spectacular day. That’s the rule: on your birthday, the universe must behave.

We had breakfast at the hotel, and then headed out for a street-art walk — lovingly crafted by John and ChatGPT. A collaboration of great minds, obviously.

The morning was cool and calm, with the temperature set to creep up to 30 degrees later. As we wandered out into the streets of Santiago, the place was being jet-washed like some enormous outdoor bathroom. It really is an amazingly clean city. The only challenge? The footpaths. I swear you have to watch where you’re walking every second. Some of the cracks and holes are so big that a small child could vanish into them. I even spotted a nearly ripe beefsteak tomato growing in one — proof that Chilean streets are fertile in more ways than one.

But honestly, that’s the only negative I can find. Everything else felt vibrant, friendly, and full of character.

We followed the route as best we could — until ChatGPT suggested turning right. Something about it didn’t quite look right, so naturally we decided to go left, because there were murals in that direction. Big mistake. Always trust the navigator, even if the navigator is a robot. Instead of the neat 1.8-km street-art trail, we somehow ended up on a 7-km urban expedition through parts of Santiago we definitely hadn’t planned on seeing. But that was half the fun — watching the city wake up around us, cafes opening, people striding off to work, and the streets filling with that energetic hum.

The murals themselves were brilliant — a mix of everything from store advertisements to political statements to whimsical splashes of colour. At one point Captain Ricardo emerged from his little shop to introduce himself, wanting to know where we were from. When I said Australia, he immediately launched into stories about his holiday to Spain, Hungary and Austria. Close enough, I suppose.

By the time we’d finished wandering (and wandering, and wandering), we realised we hadn’t quite completed the original art trail… not even close. But we’d had a good laugh, seen parts of the city we wouldn’t have otherwise, and collected plenty of great photos along the way.

A slightly chaotic, unexpectedly long, but absolutely delightful birthday morning.  Some photos below.  Such a mix of architecture, but it works as it appears to have evolved over time.

After John nearly washed his hands with sugar syrup — genuinely believing it was hand sanitizer — we decided that was our cue to head back to the hotel for, you guessed it, another siesta. At this point, the siestas are practically a third member of the trip.

But no rest for the birthday girl for long, because John had booked me a spa massage and facial at the best spa in Santiago. Honestly, he outdid himself. A quick kip, a splash of water on the face, and off we went again.

The massage was absolute heaven — the perfect mix of relaxing and restorative — and the facial left my skin so moisturised I could practically see it glowing. I floated out of there feeling like I’d just been upgraded to the premium version of myself. A million bucks, minimum.

And since we were already in a very swanky spot, it would’ve been rude not to test out the roof terrace and their cocktail list. So up we went. I ordered oysters — because it’s my birthday and oysters make everything feel fancy — and John went for something pink and mysterious in a glass. Whatever it was, it was delish.

A perfect end to the pampered part of the day, with the city spread out below us and the warm air settling into evening.  The chocolate river - it is unbelievable how fast it flows.

Day 2  - Walking Tour Santiago

Day 2 started beautifully — mostly because we actually slept, though it may have been chemically assisted. I might’ve gone a touch heavy on the sleep meds, because even after a full night, my body was still insisting it was bedtime. All day. At every moment. But we hauled ourselves down to breakfast, and it was worth it. Crispy bacon for me, endless choices for John.

We’d (That is the Royal We, John had) booked a three-hour guided historical walking tour of the city, which on paper sounds like something you’d politely avoid. But honestly, it was fascinating. There’s so much I don’t know about other countries, and even though I needed matchsticks to keep my eyes open, I loved it. The weather was warm — 30 degrees — and all the snow had melted off the Andes.

There were nine of us in the group, including a very loud Canadian man who, bless him, had forgotten deodorant on a 30-degree day and felt the need to loudly marvel at Chile’s plan to build a railway line down the length of the country. This would’ve been more astonishing if Canada didn’t already have a train line stretching 4,466 km between Vancouver and Toronto. The irony made me smile.

We learned about the conquistadors arriving and being warmly welcomed by the native people — only to later take advantage of them by getting them to sign documents they couldn’t read, effectively giving up their land. We took in the architecture, the way Chile has grown and modernised, how progressive it is politically. Like Australia, they have compulsory voting. Unlike Australia, they have more women in parliament than men. Their president has actually delivered on five of his ten promises — and yet is somehow still sitting low in the polls. 

We talked about volcanos, fault lines, and why the underground here is considered the safest place to be during a big earthquake. That piece of information lodged itself firmly in my brain. Good to know, just in case. And because it was a public holiday — the Immaculate Conception — the city felt a bit quieter. Most shops were closed… except the opticians. 

Thousands of people were making a pilgrimage up to the Virgin Mary at the top of Cerro San Cristóbal. The statue is 22 metres tall and sits high above the city with panoramic views. 

And we learned something wild: there’s no income tax in Chile. Everything is sales tax. That explained a few things.

Our guide, MJ, was from Venezuela — energetic, passionate, and full of stories. She made the history feel alive, even for someone fighting off a drug-induced fog.

Straight back to the hotel for a siesta afterwards. I could barely keep upright. Then, feeling slightly more human, we wandered around Lastarria, a trendy area filled with restaurants, wine bars, and ice-cream shops. Perfect for a gentle stroll and people-watching.

Then yes — back to the hotel for yet another siesta (at this point my naps had their own schedule), before heading to the rooftop again for dinner and cocktails. The city looked gorgeous as the sun went down, and it was the perfect way to end the day.

Less medication meant less sleep — so naturally I was awake at 1:30 am. But today is my birthday, so I suppose being awake for most of it is fair enough. Plus with the time difference, it was my birthday in Australia yesterday, so I had loads of messages waiting for me. Really lovely to wake up to.

And that’s Day 2 — slightly wobbly, a bit over-medicated, full of history, sunshine, good food, and a gentle lead-in to my birthday.  Some Photos of the walk around Santiago.

Day 1 - Write off

Day 1 started with one of those flights that completely messes with your sense of reality. Twelve hours from Sydney to Santiago, plus a fourteen-hour time difference, meant we actually landed before we took off. Sounds impressive — like we’ve unlocked some kind of time-travel perk — but our bodies were having none of it. We honestly didn’t know if we were meant to be waking up, going to bed, or ordering a coffee just to stay upright.

At least the Dreamliner made it all feel a bit gentler. I still don’t really understand what makes it different from other planes — something about cleaner air and clever lighting — but I do know it was comfortable, which was all I cared about. We were flying LATAM and the crew couldn’t have been lovelier, even when the turbulence turned the flight into a bit of a rollercoaster. Service was put on hold for quite a while, and when they finally did open the sparkling water near John it burst out like a shaken champagne bottle and drenched him. Everyone around us thought it was brilliant. John took it well, as usual.

He’d organised a car to collect us — naturally, because he’s the tour organiser, researcher, and chief logistics officer of our little duo — and our driver was basically the Chilean version of Robin Williams. Non-stop chatter, stories, and jokes from the moment we got in until the moment we tumbled out. Among other things, he told us Chile has at least one earthquake a day. Turns out that wasn’t just a throwaway line — Chile averages close to a thousand quakes a year, most of them tiny little murmurs you’d never feel, but the country does sit on a very lively bit of Earth. It all comes from the Nazca Plate sliding under the South American Plate, which sounds dramatic because it is.

By the time we arrived at the hotel, all we wanted was a bed. Unfortunately, the hotel was full and early check-in wasn’t happening. They pointed us toward a cosy library area where we could “relax” — which, in my case, meant nodding off like a local drunk in a corner booth. My head kept flopping to the side and jolting back up as I pretended I wasn’t actually falling asleep in public. Meanwhile, John — calm, composed, Johnny Boy — sat there reading like the turbulence, time travel and fizzy-water shower had never happened.

Once we finally surrendered to the fact that sleep wasn’t happening in the lobby, we wandered into the hotel restaurant for lunch — and honestly, it was impressive. Properly good food, beautifully presented, the kind that makes you sit up a bit straighter even though you’ve been awake for what feels like two days. It was exactly what we needed to convince ourselves we were, in fact, human again.

Not long after, our room was ready, and what a room it was. Cleverly designed without feeling fussy, a modern four-poster bed, a massive shower you could practically waltz in, a sofa, a dining table — everything you’d want for six days of pretending this hotel is your new home. Well done Johnny. He really does shine in his role as Tour Organiser Extraordinaire.

And because he never misses a trick, he’d also booked us massages for 3 pm. Mine was blissful — relaxing, quiet, the perfect welcome to Santiago. John’s, on the other hand, was unintentionally hilarious. The man hates oil on his skin. Hates it. And his masseuse seemed to have missed that memo entirely. He went in with the oil like he was preparing him for roasting. All I could hear was constant rubbing, squeaking, squelching — palms sliding, more oil, more rubbing, like he was working on a bicycle chain rather than my husband. I tried not to laugh but it was impossible. It then took John a full 30-minute shower to de-grease himself afterwards. But even he admitted it was a very good massage.

After that came a little snooze (no flailing this time) and then we made our way up to the rooftop terrace for cocktails and dinner. The music was great — we definitely heard the playlist loop a few times, but it was good enough that we didn’t mind. The whole vibe up there was lovely: warm evening air, soft lighting, and a view of the Virgin Mary glowing on the hill with the Andes behind her as the sun went down. It felt like exactly the right place to land after such a long journey.

We chatted briefly to a couple from London — originally South African — who’d spent three weeks four-wheel-driving through Patagonia like absolute champions. Then it was back to our beautiful room and into that four-poster bed for the sleep we’d been chasing since we “landed before we took off.”

And sleep we did…

Intro

We are about to embark on a trip of a lifetime. We are incredibly fortunate, as not many people get the chance to do this trip, and although it has always been on my bucket list, I never really believed we would tick it off.

It’s no secret that I love penguins. When you picture a penguin, it’s usually clean, pristine, and adorable—just like Happy Feet. The reality isn’t always quite so glamorous! I would love to see an Emperor penguin. The only place to see them in the wild is Antarctica!  It’s unlikely, but we will be seeing King penguins, which look almost identical.  My favourite character in Happy Feet is Lovelace, so seeing a Rockhopper Penguin would be just awesome too!

So yes, we are Antarctica-bound via Chile.

John and I visited Argentina in 2008 and absolutely loved it. It exceeded every expectation. Now we’re visiting its next-door neighbour. We specifically chose not to do Chile’s Patagonia, as we know we’ll see similar landscapes in Antarctica.

Instead, we’ll explore Santiago and its surroundings, Valparaíso, Pucón (Chile’s version of Queenstown), the Atacama Desert, and then head right down to the very bottom—Puerto Williams—where we will board our ship to Antarctica. And of course, we all know what awaits us there: ice.

So join John and me on another “living the dream” adventure.