Pata(no)gonia: Northern Chile & Argentina

Tell anyone you’re going to Chile and Argentina, and the first thing they’ll think of is Patagonia. The windswept wonderland at the bottom of the world has been at the top of our lists for quite some time. And that’s exactly why we decided not to go there on this trip.

Patagonia is vast and very expensive. We couldn’t find a flight down there for less than $500/person, most of the park fees are at least $30/person, and unless you want to pay $600/week for a car, you’ll be at the mercy of irregular bus schedules throughout your journey. (For context, our flight to the Atacama Desert cost $35/person, most park fees were around $12/person, and we paid $170/week for our rental car in Argentina.)

We probably could’ve done Patagonia without totally annihilating our budget, but we almost certainly would’ve ended up sleeping in over-priced hovels and skipping some attractions. And that’s not the Patagonian experience either of us wanted.

When we go, we want to be able to pull out all the stops: a fjord cruise, a rental car, hotel rooms with heat and more than one pillow—the whole nine. So this time around, we traded the famous fjords and glaciers at the foot of Chile and Argentina for the lesser-known canyons and dunes at the top.

Valley of the Moon, Atacama Desert, Chile

Cajón del Maipo: Escape from the urban-ary

It’d be an absolute sin to visit Chile without spending time in the mountain (they make up 80% of the country, after all). Since Patagonian stars like Fitz Roy and Cerro Torre were off the table, we opted to head to the mountains outside Santiago instead.

For three glorious nights, this domo was our Andean retreat. It didn’t have wifi or electricity, so we spent our time reading, writing, listening to podcasts, and enjoying the spectacular views.

We managed to go on a short hike to keep our muscles from atrophying, but afterward we headed straight back to the window seat for more strenuous sitting.

The sun didn’t set until almost 9pm in Chile, but when it did we raided the stash of candles and continued about our lazy business.

Journaling by candlelight, just like my ancestors

Atacama: The world’s driest & wettest desert

The Atacama is the driest non-polar desert on the planet; only Antarctica receives less precipitation. But its real claim to fame are its otherworldly landscapes. Want to know what Mars looks like? Head to Mars Valley (aka Death Valley). Want to walk on the surface of the moon? You can at the Valley of the Moon. Want to see a lake made of salt? The salares are for you.

Salad de Aguas Calientes, Atacama Desert, Chile

The Atacama Desert was one of the places I was most looking forward to visiting, and we worked hard to put together the perfect four-day itinerary. But the weather had other plans. Apparently it rains in the world’s driest non-polar desert in February. A LOT. And our perfect itinerary fell apart almost as soon as we arrived.

Our first tour (to the Tatio Geysers) was canceled due to bad weather, and then canceled again for the same reason after we rescheduled for another day. We tried to walk to a nearby archeological site instead, but the road was washed out in two places. (We managed to make it there the next morning by walking along the highway.)

Washed out road en route to Pukará de Quitor

The view from Pukará de Quitor (after we finally made it)

There’s hardly any light pollution in the Atacama, but cloud cover KO’d our stargazing tour. So of the four tours we planned, we only managed to take two.

We’ve had problems with weather before. Big problems. But at least when Venice flooded, it was still completely magical. Unfortunately, the tiny town of San Pedro—the lone gateway to the Atacama Desert—is anything but.

All tours to the Atacama Desert leave from San Pedro, so its sole purpose is to serve tourists—and it shows. Street after dusty street is lined with indistinguishable hostels, tourism companies, and mediocre restaurants serving the same sauceless pizza and bready sandwiches. Other than a couple of tiny museums (both of which were closed when we tried to go) and a cute little church, San Pedro doesn’t have much to offer.

Iglesia San Pedro, San Pedro de Atacama, Chile

We ended up on a bit of an emotional rollercoaster during our Atacama visit: The two full days we were trapped in San Pedro were depressing and terrible. But the two tours we went on totally blew our minds!

The Mars Valley and the Valley of the Moon were absolutely out of this world. We ran down sand dunes, hiked past salt-crusted rock formations, and watched the sun set over a lunar landscape.

Sean preparing to run down a sand dune in Mars Valley

Tres Marias rock formation, Valley of the Moon, Atacama Desert

Watching the sun set over the Valley of the Moon

The salt flats and altiplanic lagoons were at the opposite end of the geographic spectrum. We’re talking about snow-capped volcanoes and sapphire lakes fed by the runoff, briny lagoons lined with flamingos, and plains filled with vicuñas (sort of like a llama, but not domesticated).

Antiplanic lagoon, Atacama Desert, Chile

Salar de Aguas Calientes, Atacama Desert, Chile

The Atacama Desert was a mixed bag. And while the downsides are definitely worth mentioning, we’re both more than willing to gush about the incredible sites that we actually managed to see.

Northwestern Argentina: Canyons, cacti & wine country

I’m going to be honest: We only went to northwestern Argentina because we found a cheap bus from San Pedro de Atacama. But friends, I’m not ashamed to admit that it was the most exciting part of our opposite-of-Patagonia experience.

After an 11-hour bus ride to Salta, we picked up our rental car and headed north to the itty bitty town of Purmamarca. It’s a tourist hub too, but it’s not nearly as remote or as popular as San Pedro, so it still has plenty of heart.

We had one of the best meals of our trip while we were there: quinoa empanadas, humidas (like tamales, but moister, fluffier, and less bland—yeah, I said it), and locro—a meat and squash stew that will be the first Latin American dish that I try to recreate at home.

Using Purmamarca as a base, we explored almost everything the Argentine state of Jujuy had to offer—from the rusty rocks of Quebrada de las Señoritas to the endless expanse of salt at Salinas Grandes (the second-largest salt flat in the world after Uyuni in Bolivia).

Quebrada de las Señoritas, Uquía, Argentina

Squishing Sean like a bug in Salinas Grandes

From there, we headed to the cute little wine town of Cafayate, stopping en route to explore the burnt-orange canyons and mind-bending rock formations of Quebrada de las Conchas.

Quebrada de las Conchas, Cafayate, Argentina

Los Castillos, Quebrada de las Conchas, Argentina

Anfiteatro, Quebrada de las Conchas, Argentina

Cafayate is not the most famous wine region in Argentina; that honor belongs to Mendoza, and rightly so, since it’s where Malbec is produced. (Hello, have we met? Malbec is my favorite wine ever.) But Cafayate has its own varietal called Torrontes, and the city is chock full of tasting rooms and estates serving up their spins.

Our wine preferences skew red generally, but after three tastings and one really fancy Torrontes-accompanied meal, we’re converts!

Before we wrap here, I should note that the northwestern Argentina portion of our trip would not have been possible without a car. Trouble is, automatic rentals are outrageously expensive in most countries that are not the U.S.—so my enterprising husband spent an hour learning how to drive his friend’s manual car over Christmas. And that’s all he needed to become a total master. He got us over bumpy roads, through dense fog, and up and down mountains without breaking a sweat or tearing up the transmission.

Our fearless navigator en route to Cafayate from Salta

So I guess you could consider this a training mission. Today, the desert; tomorrow, Patagonia.

Not your padre’s Colombia

What’s the first thing you think of when I say Colombia? Cocaine? Pablo Escobar? Narcos? FARC? Terrorism? That’s fair. But what if I told you everything you thought you knew about the country is wrong?

After the flood: 72 hours in Venice

We arrived in Venice just hours after the second-worst flood ever recorded. While our experience may not have been typical, it was very real—and also surprisingly great.