One sweet day, I’ve made her mine...

Last year, I celebrated St Valentine’s Day by presenting Ros with sixty thousand breeding pairs of Magellenic penguins. Not literally, you understand, because whilst they’re cute, they do smell a bit, and the cottage is really too small for sixty pairs, let alone a thousand times as many. But you get the drift.

And so, my task this year was to find something similarly unusual. So, why not flamingos? In the middle of a desert...

Luckily, flamingos like saltwater, and the Atacama is famous for its salt flats, in which can be found three of the six varieties of flamingo - the Andean and Chilean, plus the James’s version, a winter visitor.

But first, we had a gentle warmup, with a visit to the Valley of the Moon, so called because, well, it looks quite a lot like the moon, and it’s such a forbidding environment that NASA tested out a Mars rover there. It’s not far from town, and we had a guide, Gustavo, who would be taking care of us for the rest of our stay, organised by the hotel.

And it is pretty daunting. The recent rain had caused salt to appear on the surface, looking at first glance as though there had been a light frost. We gingerly made our way across the barren terrain, because you don’t really want to fall over onto the jagged rocks.

Our next stop was an abandoned salt mine. It seems that the miners would drill holes into the rock, insert dynamite and stand well back. If a lode of salt was found, they would dig it out and then repeat the process. It is a bleak spot, with no water other than that you could carry there, and no shade either. Perhaps it was no surprise that they abandoned the mine.

After a break for lunch, it was time to head for the salt flats. The Salar de Atacama is the third largest salt flat in the world (the two bigger ones are across the Andes in Argentina and Bolivia) and it holds about 30% of the world’s known lithium reserves. This appears not to concern the flamingos, which is fortunate, who eat the brine shrimps to be found in the sinkhole lakes that occur here and there.

Laguna Cejar is the nearest of these lakes, and is an obvious place to visit if you want flamingos. They very kindly provide some useful information to read as you follow a path through the reserve, albeit entirely in Spanish, and you get to find out how the whole thing works. And then, you get to watch the flamingos as they go about their business, dabbling the shallow water to stir up the tiny brine shrimps which somehow give them their pink colour. Don’t ask me to explain how this works, as the brine shrimps aren’t pink, but there is science involved.

I was quite excited to find a lizard, which patiently stood still whilst I photographed it, but the flamingos were undoubtedly the stars of the show, gracefully making their way across the shallow water. Generally, we see them in zoos or parks, against a green backdrop, and whilst they look pretty, they seem vaguely uninteresting. But, against a background of crystalline salt, they look somehow more real and slightly less garishly pink, as though painted onto the landscape. Helpfully, Andean flamingos are paler than their Chilean counterparts, which allows you to tell them apart.

But it was time to head back, we had a dinner to eat and sleep to get before the next adventures...

Breathe deeply... very deeply...

We had to leave the seaside goodbye, for our next stop was beckoning. An efficient transfer to Santiago Airport got us there in good time for our flight to Calama, in the north of Chile. Calama is a mining town, the centre of Chile’s copper industry, and apparently relatively unlovely as a result. But we were onbound to an oasis.

San Pedro de Atacama is just that, an oasis in the heart of the Atacama Desert. And, as you might guess, it’s dry, very dry, so I was somewhat surprised to be greeted on our first evening by a gentle shower of rain. This seems sensible, as the town is on the western side of the Andes range, and my ancient geography lessons taught me that the western side of a mountain range is usually wet. But the cold current that runs along the shoreline to the west apparently sweeps rain clouds south, so San Pedro de Atacama receives, on average, about 42 millimetres of precipitation per year - about 1.67 inches.

The town is also at approximately 8,000 feet, which means that altitude sickness is a factor. And, let’s face it, anything above 80 feet in Suffolk is a hill, so we were determined to take our time before rushing off into the desert or the surrounding mountains.

I still had to get in my 10,000 steps though, which meant strapping on oxygen tanks and going for a walk. Luckily, all that time on treadmills walking steadily uphill meant that, whilst taking it easy, I was able to ease my way to the town’s bus terminal, located on the edge of town, to see what opportunities existed should I ever find myself in San Pedro de Atacama with a need to get out of town quickly.

I was reminded that we weren’t far from either the Argentine or Bolivian borders, and there are regular bus services to Uyuni in Bolivia and Salta in Argentina. Admittedly, they involve long journeys over mountain passes - over 4000 metres in each case - but you could if you really needed to, I guess.

The other task was to arrange our excursions. And we were to have a stroke of luck there...

A day on the beach with the Chileans...

Valparaíso is the port town, and its neighbour, Viña del Mar, is the beach resort. The two are connected by Metro Valparaíso, which runs a very efficient service, seven days a week, at frequencies of as little as every six minutes. Fares are about 50p to travel from one town centre to the other, and it seemed like the easiest way to get some time by the seaside.

And indeed it turned out to be as simple as it looked, despite my total lack of functional Spanish. I managed to buy us a Bip card, the local equivalent of an Oyster card, with enough cash on it to get us to Viña del Mar and back, and off we went.

The line follows the shore in Valparaíso, and then cuts under the coastal highway before diving underground and following the main thoroughfare that runs up the valley. I’d successfully worked out which station to get off at, and we set off for a gentle stroll down Avenida Valparaíso before cutting right towards the Hotel del Mar and a pleasant cafe across the street, where we stopped for an emergency coffee break to watch the pelicans.

On a sunny day, it seems like everyone is either out for a stroll or headed for the sand, but as we aren’t really beach people, we settled for a promenade along the shore. And it’s a very nice stroll, with people selling various handmade art, or useful beach stuff. So, we strolled on, enjoying the sunshine, watching the people.

Eventually, we needed lunch though, and so we retraced our steps until we found the Sheraton Hotel, perched on an outcrop on a curve of the shoreline. Now normally, big chain hotel means garish monstrosity, but I have to give Sheraton credit, they’ve done a decent job here, putting something airy and sympathetic to the landscape. Their barbecue chicken wings aren’t bad either, and sitting on the terrace with a cold beer was a very civilised way to bring our outing to a close.

I managed to find the Miramar station, and we were off back to Valparaíso...

Journeys by trolleybus, a quirky solo adventure...

I am, still, methodically recording my 10,000 steps each day, and I needed another walk to make sure that I got there on our second day in Valparaíso. And what better way than to take a properly long trolleybus ride?

So, I walked down the hill, boarded the ascensor, and made my way to the trolleybus stop near to the Armada de Chile headquarters - a wonderful building in the French style that was apparently popular when it was built.

And, as luck would have it, one of the elderly Pullman built American trolleybuses rolled up almost immediately. I handed over my C$280, found a seat, and settled back for a gentle glide across the city to Avenida Argentina, which defines the northern limit of the flat, coastal part of the city.

Glide is the right word, for they move almost silently, the only sound being that of the tyres on the road surface. They’re very comfortable, despite their age and the upholstery, which is amazingly similar to that on buses in Mumbai, a green plastic material. Luckily, unlike Mumbai, it doesn’t get as warm, so you don’t get burnt by the seats.

At Avenida Argentina, I took a gentle stroll towards the shoreline, stopping only to explore a local hypermarket. Prices are not too dissimilar to those at home, although as you might expect, the cost of Chilean wine is significantly cheaper. Otherwise, ignoring the language differences, you might find yourself in familiar circumstances.

The western end of Avenida Argentina has a commuter rail station, of which more later, and, having checked it out, I headed back to the trolleybus terminus, detouring only to explore the long-distance bus terminal.

Now I would be the first to admit that my interest in buses is limited to local ones, but it is interesting to see where you can get to from any particular town or city, and Valparaíso is very well connected, not only to Santiago, but to cities up and down the country, as far north as Iquique, and as far south as Puerto Montt, which is broadly where the roads end and ferries take over. They’re long rides though...

I caught a Swiss trolleybus back, stopping only to take some photographs... of trolleybuses.

I’m beginning to really like this country...

A gentle stroll amongst the cerros, and an antique ride...

Our hotel, amongst its many virtues, offered a walking tour of the city as part of our stay, and the next morning, we were greeted by Cynthia, who has been leading walking tours in Valparaíso for seven years or so.

We started with a gentle stroll around Cerro Alegre, our own area of the city, before taking the ascensor down to Plaza Sotomayor. The highlights of the square were duly noted, but we were then led to the side of a building to take a ride on the city’s trolleybus route.

Alright, I can sense your thought - why a trolleybus, and why is it interesting? Well, Valparaíso has the oldest trolleybuses still in service anywhere in the world, some of which date back to 1947, and they are American in construction. The newer ones, a mere fifty years old, were imported secondhand from Switzerland, but all of them still serve the locals admirably, and the fare is very reasonable.

Now, I admit to being a bit of a bus enthusiast, indeed, a public transport enthusiast, so a ride on an obscure and unusual form of transport suited me just fine. It was a short ride though, as Cynthia needed to make a stop at her preferred butcher, which gave us an interesting glance at Chilean life, plus lots of free samples of cured pork and salami.

Back on the trolleybus, our next stop was the Queen Victoria ascensor (see, I told you that the British influence is strong here!), which was our link to Cerro Concepción, the other prime hill of the city. The architecture is... unexpected, with a lot of buildings clad with corrugated iron sheets, including the various churches.

For Valparaíso was indeed an international city, and permission was given to the Anglicans and the Lutherans to build their churches, so long as they weren’t too obvious. Apparently, they have the best pipe organ in South America, but I’m unable to personally vouch for that.

All that was left to do was to get back to the hotel, made slightly more complicated by the need to get from one hill to another. It meant climbing up the hillside, cutting across and then making our way back down again.

Luckily, we’re both a lot fitter these days...

Unexpected perfection on a cluttered hillside...

And so to Valparaiso, Chile’s primary port, via a brief but pleasant stop at a vineyard in the Casablanca Valley for a bite of lunch and a sensational Syrah.

I had found a recommended hotel but, you know how it is, the guidebooks and the website don’t always tell you the full story. And so it was with a little trepidation that our driver pulled up at the end of a dead-end street. A cheery greeting from the desk clerk was a promising start, and we were shown to our room, all dark wood and comfy furniture. And then I opened the door onto the balcony...

Laid out in front of us was the port, with enormous container vessels at the quayside, plus a chunk of the Chilean Navy, the main Plaza Sotomayor, with its monument to the War of the Pacific (of which, more later), and views out over the surrounding cerros.

The hotel turned out to be an old mansion, on five floors, with a rooftop terrace for evening drinks, a very good restaurant, a pool, sauna, jacuzzi and spa, sprawling down the hillside. Everything was going to be alright...

It was time to explore, so I set off down the hillside, past the Museum of Fine Arts, in search of the Ascensor El Peral, an interesting means of connecting the hills to the central core of the city. Built at the beginning of the last century, they are very steep funiculars, once steam powered but now electrically driven, and very reasonably priced at C$100 (about 12p). They’re certainly well used, with long queues to use them during the morning and evening peak hours.

I wandered down to the waterfront, taking in the railway station along the way, and took a stroll along the streets that parallel the shore. Valparaiso is never going to win awards for glamour, it’s a working port city that has seen some pretty tough times, but it has an intriguing history, and some unique features worthy of a visit. It also has a strong British connection, which is not overlooked.

But we had a walk planned, and a gentle bus ride. And not just any old bus...

A sombre reminder of the inhumanity of a dictatorship

Modern day Chile, with its stable democracy, modern economy and emerging tourism industry, seems like such a serene place relative to its neighbourhood, so it is easy to forget that, less than thirty years ago, it was a dictatorship which inspired worldwide protests.

And, as has been the case in a number of similar countries, it had to go through a process of reconciliation and recognition. Part of that process was the building of the Museo de la Memoria y los Derechos Humanos (Museum of Memories and Human Rights), which seeks to tell the story of the military coup of 1973, the oppressive regime that followed and the campaign to bring democracy back to the nation. It is not a cheerful place, but it is an inspirational one, demonstrating the power of the human spirit and the yearning to be free.

The building itself is quite remarkable, a piece of modern architecture which looks rather forbidding on the outside, but offers a wonderful multimedia display space for the films, photographs and displays that make up the collection.

You are taken through the events of the dictatorship from the aerial attack on the Presidential Palace, on to the roundup of political opponents to torture and execution, the emergence of protest groups both inside the country and in exile, and the battle by the ruling junta to suppress dissent through a mixture of fear and constitutional reform.

They rather graciously don’t mention the support received from right wing politicians in Europe and the United States which, given what eventually happened to General Pinochet, is probably a blessing for United Kingdom-Chile relations.

It is a bit squeamish in parts, with witness testimony of torture, both physical and psychological, but coming from a country like Britain, where we don’t really do that sort of thing, it is a poignant reminder that we are comparatively fortunate in terms of the democratic structures we have, and the freedoms we blithely enjoy.

Yes, the exhibits are in Spanish for the most part, but there is a very good audio tour, which takes you through the entire exhibition, so you get a true feel for what you’re seeing.

And, importantly, admission is free. Ros was of the view that you wouldn’t want to charge admission, as that might be seen as seeking to profit from the dark events of the dictatorship, and it also serves to make the exhibition open to all, keeping the light shining on the heroism of so many of the Chilean people.

All in all, a humbling experience, and one that should cause all of us to reflect on how fortunate we are to live in an established, mature democracy.

Time to make like a snowbird...

It was snowing in Ipswich. Admittedly, whilst it was surprisingly heavy, it wasn’t destined to last, and it was mere coincidence that, beside my desk at work was a large purple suitcase, packed with a surprising amount of warm weather clothes... For it was time to head for the airport again, and despite the weather, I made my way to Heathrow’s Terminal 5 without alarm to catch a British Airways flight. Next morning, I would awake in Latin America.

The Santiago flight is, by long haul standards, pretty civilised. You leave London at 10 p.m., and arrive at 9.45 a.m., which means that, if you can sleep, you arrive reasonably fresh and can emerge into the bright sunlight in good order.

Best of all, our hotel room was available despite our early arrival, and we could freshen up with a shower before heading out into the warmth. From snowfall to temperatures in the high eighties could be a bit of a shock to the system (albeit not as much as the switch in the opposite direction), but we’re fairly adaptable these days. I was able to organise a massage to get the knots of travel out of my aging body, and a walk in the area around the hotel enabled me to nail down another 10,000 step day.

So, what brings us to Chile so soon after our last visit?

Simple really, we rather like the place. Warmth is pretty much guaranteed unless you head south, the food and wine are great and, unlike much of Latin America, things work here. Hotel staff are efficient but friendly, there are no unexpected surprises other than good ones, and you do get the impression that they’re glad that you came.

And so, another adventure begins...

Vegetarians might wish to look away...

I'm rather fond of meat, and not terribly fussy about how it's cooked. And like my caveman ancestors, roast lumps of meat are perfectly acceptable. If you're like me in that respect, Latin America is quite a good place to go, as the parrilla is a serious meat-eater paradise.

In Punta Arenas, the nearest hotel to our hotel was Parrilla Los Ganaderos, and a brief walk past was sufficient to persuade Ros that this might be a good place to eat, especially as there was Patagonian lamb on the menu.

There is none of this haute cuisine stuff here. A lamb is boned (mostly) and fixed to a frame, from which it is roasted by proximity to hot coals. The succulent lamb is thus cooked and ready to serve.

We'd ordered the trio of lamb, which opened with some lamb ribs, and most delicious they were too. There was quite a lot of food though, compounded by the second element, a large hunk off of the shoulder. And that was where the problems started...

You see, whilst the lamb was truly delicious, the effects of my year-long diet were beginning to come into play. I simply can't eat the large meals that I used to be able to. And the prospect of a third lamb course was more than my digestive system could countenance. So, rather than waste good lamb, I called our waiter over, and explained that, whilst I had really enjoyed my meal, there was no need to serve the third element. Our waiter seemed surprised, but took our rejection with equanimity.

Next time, I'm bringing reinforcements...

Puerto Natales: in search of astonishing...

Sometimes, you go to a place supposedly of outstanding beauty and it's a bit of a disappointment. Waikiki, for example, which Ros and I were decidedly lukewarm about. And, when you've travelled 9,000 miles or so, you really don't want to be let down.

A surprisingly comfortable bus took us on a three hour journey to Puerto Natales, a small town on the shore of Ultima Esperanza Fjord (yes, that's "Last Hope") and the gateway to the Torres del Paine National Park. and, whilst the journey was perfectly pleasant, our arrival into the town did not augur well.

The bus station is on the outskirts of town, next to the local prison, in a fairly grim suburb. Luckily, a convenient taxi whisked us away quickly to our home for the next three days, the Noi Indigo Patagonia, described as a boutique hotel, a phrase which can mean virtually anything.

Not a bad backdrop, is it?

We received an unexpectedly warm welcome from Nicolas, the enthusiastic manager, who introduced us to the Excursions Manager, Javier, and registered us. Everything we had asked for had been arranged, and we were directed to our room. One of the things that had attracted me to the hotel was the view... And, as views go, a fjord leading to snow-capped peaks has a lot to commend itself. They even left a bottle of something sparking, as well as diet-busting slices of chocolate cake. 

The town begged a little exploration, so we took a walk down to the port, where someone had clearly decided to invest in a tourism facility. The apparent absence of tourists was something of a blow, and the empty restaurant suggested that any tourists that did show up wouldn't stay for long, but the tourist information office was at least staffed - not that the person on duty appeared terribly hard pressed. We left, and headed into town, before making our way back to the hotel for dinner.

An early night was needed, for we were off to the National Park in the morning...

What better Valentine's Day gift than this?

A Magellenic Penguin - cute little
thing, isn't (s)he?

Flowers are nice, if a bit unchallenging. Of course, picking the right colour should matter, although I tend to pick colours that I like and hope that that suits the recipient. But, on Valentine's Day, it's the thought that counts, especially if it involves having to make an effort.

And so, this year, I thought about what to do instead, especially as we were going to be a long way from our local florist. And then it struck me - we were going to be convenient for a day out with something cute.

The Natural Monument Los Penguinos is on Isla Magdalena, a small rocky outcrop in the middle of the Straits of Magellan, but an easy boat ride from Punta Arenas. It hosts approximately 60,000 breeding pairs of Magellenic penguins, and the public can go and visit them, as long as they obey the rules - do not touch the penguins, do not leave the roped off path, do not approach within one metre of the penguins (even if they walk across the path!).

It did mean a very early start, but Ros is good at those, and we were soon on the water, heading for the island on a remarkably tranquil day for the region. It didn't take long before we reached Isla Magdalena and there were the penguins - hundreds and hundreds of them, wandering about, digging burrows and swimming in the shallow water on the shoreline.

Everywhere we went, more penguins and it became clear that the more mature penguins got the nesting sites closer to the water, and the relatively junior members of the community had to make their way further inland in order to find a place to nest. It's a fair way from the water, and uphill, so for the juniors, it's hard work to bring food for their chicks.

We only had an hour though, and it was back to the boat for the short journey to Isla Marta. You don't get to go onshore there, but the attraction is the sea lions, who bask of the rocky shore. Some of them swam towards the boat for a closer look whilst our captain made sure that everyone got a good look and plenty of pictures.

Sadly, it was time to head back to shore, but if you happen to be in Punta Arenas, we can strongly recommend the Solo Expediciones tour...

It's cold, wet and decidedly south...

It was time to leave the warmth of Santiago behind, for the next stage of the adventure had arrived, and a three hour flight brought me to Punta Arenas, the major town of Chilean Patagonia.

The vista was, in truth, a bit bleak and austere, as the mountains are running out by this point, and the endless wind tends to discourage anything taller than a shrub. But then, it's the furthest south that I've ever been, beating Invercargill, New Zealand, and remembering what Orkney is like, there is something of a similarity there too.

The hotel was an oddity, looking like a small piece of Las Vegas, casually dropped on the edge of the Straits of Magellan, all glass and steel, with a casino bolted on. It was very nice though, and the room was comfortable, looking out across the Straits. I had to go out though, as I was short on steps for the day. And, in a light drizzle, Punta Arenas on a Sunday afternoon was not a sight to warm the cockles.

The next day was dedicated to some light tourism, with a call into the Regional Museum. Set in a nineteenth century mansion, it's not a huge exhibit, but with some preserved rooms, it does give you an idea as to how the wealthy lived in such a remote place. In those days, Punta Arenas was only really accessible by ship, and given how volatile the oceans are around Cape Horn and Tierra del Fuego, it wouldn't always have been easy to make the journey.

Dinner was taken at a restaurant called Los Ganaderos. A parrilla, the prime attraction is meat, and in particular beef and lamb - there are a lot of sheep in Chilean Patagonia. It was excellent, the only problem was that there was too much meat, and I couldn't even begin to contemplate the third course that completed the trio of lamb.

Replete, it was time to get some sleep, for tomorrow would see a very early start...

The slowest tour bus in the world...

I've learned that one of the best ways of orienting yourself in a new city is to take a city tour. And yes, the commentary can be a bit dull sometimes, and some of the sights unlikely to tempt you back for a second look, but you do get a sense of scale and a flavour of a place in a relatively short time.

And so, knowing that Santiago has such a thing, it was time to find it and, after a few false starts (the map wasn't very good), the bus stop was located and the bus caught.

One thing that I'd already noticed was the number of Chinese vehicles on the road, and the bus, designed to look a bit like a London Routemaster, was a Chinese model, painted red. As it turned out, it wasn't the fastest thing on four wheels, as it ground its painfully slow way around the downtown area. Past the Japanese Garden, past the hotel, and on into the upmarket districts of Las Condes, the bus pottered, allowing a good view of the architecture in the tree-lined streets.

I was a little concerned that, with a lengthy detour out to a shopping mall in the eastern suburbs, the day might be lost, but the accelerator was finally located, and the bus arrived at Parque Arauco, described as the 'fashionista mall of choice'. It is, I must admit, rather fancy, with Tiffany and Burberry represented amongst the array of international stores. There's clearly some money amongst the relatively well-to-do locals.

An excellent lunch of austral hake on a bed of pesto mashed potatoes, and a bottle of Patagonia's finest Austral beer, made for a fine repast, before heading into the mall to have a look around and to get some of my daily step count done.

Back on the city tour, and off to Bellavista, a rather hip and up and coming area of the city, at the foot of an isolated hill. The creaky old funicular to the top had a dauntingly long queue, so an exploration of the area on foot was the best option. Patio Bellavista is a collection of interesting restaurants and interesting gift stores seemingly designed for tourists, although the number of non-Latin Americans is still relatively few, given the cost of flights and the distance to be travelled.

I noted a few potential gift ideas but had reached the point where retreated to an air-conditioned hotel room seemed like a good idea.

If it feels like the end of the world, then I might as well go there...

It's been a bit quiet here lately, predominantly for security reasons. But, now that I'm back, I can tell you about my holiday...

The announcement by British Airways that they were launching a new direct service to Santiago, Chile came at a convenient moment, just as I was thinking about a destination for some winter sun. Previously, the idea of flying to Latin America would be reserved for a break of a fortnight or more, but there's seldom time in February, and having to connect somewhere between here and there just takes too much time.

However, the new flights are overnight in both directions and, as I can sleep just about anywhere, such a journey becomes viable for a shorter break.

The route is served by the new Boeing 787-9 "Dreamliner", which has all sorts of bits and bobs that make flying a little more tolerable. Tinted windows, mood lighting, and a healthier cabin atmosphere make sitting in an aeroplane for fourteen hours less than truly awful.

Arriving in Santiago mid-morning, there was a bizarre delay as the ground staff attempted, ineptly, to bring the skybridge to the door of the aircraft, and a twenty minute delay ensued whilst they puzzled over the complex task. But, eventually, we were all freed to clear immigration, collect our luggage, which had already reached the carousel, and head out into a warm, sunny day.

You approach the city from the west, so Santiago has a backdrop of the Andes mountains, no more than twenty miles away from the centre of the city. And, even in February, there is still snow on the peaks, even if it is ninety degrees in the city. Luckily, despite a very early arrival, the hotel room was ready, so, after an early lunch, it was time to explore...

Strangely, for a city of more than five million, the central district, or at least, that part of tourist interest, is fairly small, and it was possible, despite the heat, to walk to the Plaza de Armas via the Parque Forestal, a linear park which follows the Rio Mapocho. It's not exciting, but it's pleasant enough, and the Plaza itself was as lively as one might hope.

The trip was off to a good start...