São Paulo

From Rio Grande do Sul, I headed further north to São Paulo, the capital city of the state with the same name, largest city in Brazil and also 7 or 8th largest city in the world, depending on your source. The flight there was delayed of course but was pleasant enough, taking roughly one hour. At the airport I was meet by another of my Brazilian friends, whom I stayed with in the apartment that he shares with his mother in the suburb of Tatuapé.

My first day his mother took me shopping, spoiling me by buying me clothes and being extremely hospitable. We had lunch at the buffet por kilo in the food court of the shopping mall. Unfortunately, my friend had to work all week. The following day she took me to check out the old city centre. Coming out of the metro, São Paulo Cathedral loomed before us, its lime green spires perfectly distinct against the cloudless blue sky.

We walked past Praça da Sé, following the masses of people filling the streets bordered by colonial buildings, now banks and offices, onto the square where the 17th century Jesuit monastery can be found. The yellow Telefonica phone booths stood out against the graffiti-ed walls on each block, making for some interesting photography. As we continued on, we came across models strutting their stuff for São Paulo Fashion Week. These models looked very foreign amongst the normal city dwellers, especially as a heap of photographers traced their every step.

We walked on, crossing pedestrian bridges, checking out São Bento Monastery and finally arriving at Rua 25 de Março, the famous shopping street where everything is ridiculously cheap and ridiculously crowded. I stepped in chewing gum twice, once on each foot. I must have been looking up too much at the towering skyscrapers, each charismatic in their own right. To look down at the ground, one would come across rubbish and homeless bums littering the streets. With carnival fast approaching, we took the opportunity to check out the stores selling carnival costumes, trying on crazy masks, hats and feather boas.

For the weekend, my friend took me out to the periphery of São Paulo, where the countryside was to begin. Instead Mogi das Cruzes looked more like a town, just minus the skyscrapers of the city centre. We spent the entire weekend at my friend’s friend’s mansion of a country house, which included palm trees, a swimming pool and expensive furniture. After we took the long, sweating train/metro ride back into the city, we headed straight to Charme da Paulista, a bar expanding out onto the footpath of Avenida Paulista. A young man played his handcrafted miniature saxophone as we drank Brazilian Brahma beer and talked about memories of Australia.

Brasil Alimentos

Another night, I went to a delicious pizza restaurant. For one set price, you can eat as much pizza as you want. The servers came around holding out a tray of pizza, either savoury or sweet, and you either accept or refuse to take a slice. There were so many different flavours; I didn't have two slices the same. The trick is to pace yourself because if you get full too fast, you can't fit in the strawberry and melted chocolate dessert pizza afterwards. It was a great idea and the restaurant was very atmospheric, decked out in retro-Italian memorabilia from license plates to posters and newspaper clippings.

On a different night, another friend from Caxias do Sul invited me to her apartment, where she and her boyfriend prepared me a great Brazilian style churrasco. Apparently each apartment in the complex has its own barbeque integrated into the kitchen. We had grilled cheese, grilled entire onions, sausages, beef and pork to be sprinkled with farofa (toasted manioc meal), and drank chimarrão (southern Brazilian mate). On another occasion we went to Cotiporã, a little village not far from Caxias do Sul, where my friend’s father comes from. Mostly Italian descendants live there; my friend's father's first language having been an Italian dialect from the north of Italy, which he still speaks with his family today. He has a country house there as well as plots of land because he comes from a farming family. When the parents died, they split the land between the 6 children, only one of them choosing to be a farmer full-time. However, my friend's father grows pears, grapes and other Brazilian fruits (Brazil has so many fruits, it’s amazing!) We ventured to his brother's farmhouse, where they had just slaughtered a pig and were making homemade salami, cooking the fat in the back garden.

My last evening in the state of Rio Grande Do Sul, my friend’s family took me to Nova Petrópolis, about 45 minutes from Caxias do Sul. The majority of the natives are descendants of German immigrants and therefore, the architecture is incredibly Germanic. It’s almost like we entered a German ski resort town; apparently it is quite cold up there in the mountains in winter. We ate café colonial, a German style breakfast that consisted of jams, breads, cheeses, hams, cakes, tea and coffee among other things. The food literally covered the entire table, all 5 of us barely made a dent in it by the time we were all bursting at the seams with food.

And of course, I ate plenty of pastel (the Brazilian answer to the Latino empanada) throughout my stay.

Caxias do Sul

This little city of 427,000 is situated in the state's mountainous Serra Gaúcha region and was established by Italian immigrants. It is surprisingly abundant in luscious green trees, which flock across the hilly, paved streets. An interesting cultural behaviour I noted was no one stopped at the traffic lights at night time because of the likelihood of being robbed from some poor fellow from the favela (Brazilian slums). Note: Brazilians also don’t put toilet paper into the toilet bowl in case of blocking up the tiny sewage pipes, that’s why they have little bins beside the toilet seat.

In the city centre, São Pelegrino church stands tall and erect. Not only is it the church of my friend's dream wedding, it also holds important masterworks by painter Aldo Locatelli and has enormous bronze, sculpted front doors produced in Italy depicting a mass of human bodies. Outside it is modern and minimalist, inside it is filled with amazing warmth from the colours of the frescos on the walls and ceiling.

São Pelegrino is not the only church to be found in Caxias do Sul, quite the contrary. The city also has its own version of the Jesus statue high on the hilltop in Rio de Janeiro, although their own saviour high on the Caxiense hilltop is just of Jesus' head upon a long escalating neck. His eyes are closed and his hair looks more like a hijab than hair, in fact his entire snake-like appearance makes him look alarmingly like Voldemort from the Harry Potter series.

One great inheritance from the Italians is the Caxiense lust for food. While visiting my friend, she took me to a graduation party. We skipped the actual ceremony and headed straight to the dinner, pre-paid for all the graduate's friends and family. I tried sagu de vinhu (red wine Tapioca pudding, Tapioca being starch from the cassava root), polenta (fried boiled cornmeal), abóbora moranga (a long type of pumpkin, shaped almost like a giant peanut which can actually hang around your neck, although it's a tad heavy) and the local favourite: chicken heart.

After eating, we went to a different location for the dancing part of the celebrations. Everyone was dressed to impress, which meant me once again having to search high and low for someone with the same feet size, to borrow her high heels. Half way through the evening, all the graduates gathered in the centre of the party hall decorated like a school dance, wearing amusing hats and feather boas (almost as if they were dressed for a hens night...) and danced to ‘their’ song, while everyone else watched and cheered. When the song finished, once again everyone resumed dancing. There was a stage to one side, where a male and female singer rotated singing along to the live band. The music was mostly southern style samba or songs that everyone, except me of course, knew the words to. I had never been to a graduation party quite like it before.

Sinopse das Praias

Plaia Ingleses: our beach of residence, stretching for as far as the eye can see. The shops and restaurants of the town centre encroach upon the shore, but we never ventured to that side of the beach. Instead, the path directly in front of our apartment led us to a spot on the opposite side of the beach protected by a fence of grassy, little sand dunes. The beach is split in half by the sewage drain, which leaks out dirty, murky water that tends, unfortunately, to flow upstream towards our spot. We swam a little further up in the clear surf, but mostly we used this beach to play fresco ball, drink from huge, green coconuts and also for general tanning in the sun.

We got to know the actual town centre pretty well, either for shopping or checking out the little artisan stalls along the street, or heading there for lunch or dinner. Lunch usually took place at a buffet por kilo restaurant where I made sure to eat plenty of feijão (black beans); dinnertime restaurants were more varied. One particular night, we had dinner at restaurant whose rear opened out onto the beach. We ordered camarão na moranga: an entire (yet small) pumpkin whose middle is carved out and filled with prawns and melted cheese. The idea is to grab a spoon and carve into the interior sides of the pumpkin and then scoop out some prawns and cheese along with it. This is served with rice.

Plaia Daniela: a small beach with exquisite turquoise water in the foreground, the silhouette of dark, green hills in the background. Walk around the bend and there is a series of little sandy shores, each accessible in low tide. Rocks form the bends and are covered with green seagrass and black miniature crustaceans; my friend's father calling this the hair of the sea.

We hopped on the ‘Banana’, a long inflatable yellow banana with handlebars horizontally striped across it. You really have to grab on as the speedboat zooms off, pulling you along from behind. We went crashing over the waves made from the boat, water flooding our faces and mouths, thus having to pause every so often for a breather. Enormous fun and the experience was made even better by a group of dolphins that decided to swim along with us. We stopped to watch them swim off into the distance.

Plaia Jurerê Internacional: the most expensive beach in all of Brazil and holiday destination for the wealthiest of Brazil's wealthy. Mansions border the road as you come in, each with their own swimming pool and shower to rinse off the sand from the beach. Some had their fancy cars parked in the driveway, other houses were too gigantic to see in one glance. The village centre hosts all the best designer stores and top restaurants. We could only afford to drive through here and have a look.

Plaia Brava: the surfers beach, with properly sized waves, and most comparable to Australian surf beaches, except for the large, green hills towering behind the beach apartments. It was packed with people, mostly Argentineans drinking mate. The far end was completely camouflaged with an array of different beach umbrellas from varying companies. My friend and I headed to this beach alone, playing more fresco ball and taking turns to swim. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a Brazilian walking back and forth, obviously contemplating something very serious. With all the courage he could muster, he walked up to my friend and told her how much she looked like a mermaid as she came out of the water.

We went for a freshly, squeezed juice at one of the beachside cafés, next to which stood the showers. A local shampoo company had set up their products around the showers so we took the opportunity to wash our hair for free. On the walk back along to the beach, we came across a fisherman who was unloading his net onto the sand. Tons of medium sized, grey fish sprinkled out. Brava is also a good place to fish it seems.

Barra da Lagoa: the lagoon is most notable for its nightlife, everything staying open longer during the summer so it wasn’t unusual to see a family with young kids still window shopping at 11-12pm. Apparently this is where the football star, Ronaldinho likes to come to party, especially for New Year’s Eve. We tried coming here one night but the traffic made it impossible so we tried again another night, via a different route. We checked out the sites before eating yummy mortadella sandwiches at a popular sandwich bar. I ordered a local Brahma beer, which came out as being barely larger then a shot glass. A lot of jokes were cracked. We then bought fabulous but extremely expensive ice creams because someone opened the packet first before paying, leaving no choice for us all to have one - totally worth it, luckily.

Us kids were supposed to have a night out on the town, that is until I complained so much of an itchy head we went to the pharmacy and it turned out I had lice (most likely from borrowing a hat while horse riding with my parents back in Chile).

Bobinhas: we left early one morning to leave Florianópolis and drive up the coast of Santa Catarina to Bobinhas, the usual family holiday destination. My friend’s father’s relatives were already shacked up in a rented house and we visited them for lunch as well as a lengthy walk along Plaia Bombas, which is pretty quiet and calm; more of a children’s beach then the surfer beaches back on the island. Unfortunately, I was sick with a stomach bug that was going around and I spent most of the day sleeping.

I did gather enough energy though to go with the others to visit Plaia da Sepultura, by far the most beautiful beach I visited while in the south of Brazil. We had to walk through jungle-like fauna down to the beach, which is pretty much just water and rock, with a tiny space of sand. We continued through the jungle onto another opening, where we left our shoes on the rocks and swam out into the crystal clear water. There weren’t many people around, allowing the place to retain most of its uninhabited beauty. A freshly painted yacht sailed past as well as people in hired foot-paddle boats, those scenic Brazilian hills silhouetted in the background.

Um Dia na Praia

The quintessential Brazilian beach experience is also the quintessential Latino beach experience, plus a few extra quirks like enormous silicon breasts, tiny swimwear and plenty of tall, blonds. Yes, the beaches here are jammed pack with an array of people, most are just sunbathing but others are playing in the sand, surfing or swimming in the water and plenty are selling.

Carts of fresh fruit and alcohol are pushed from one side of the beach to the other, and very often get stuck in the soggy, wet sand along the way. That's why there tends to be two people selling these ridiculously cheap and strong cocktails, and they are around all day. No problems getting a freshly squeezed pineapple and strawberry caipirinha at 10 o'clock in the morning, although I assure you we only did this once.

There are also people selling all types of foods, from giant, green coconuts (this we bought a few times) or toasted cheese, although I can't imagine why anyone would want to eat that while at the beach. And then there are the people who sell clothes. They carry huge racks across their shoulders, stacked full of dresses and skirts or the latest trend in bikinis. It's incredible how they can hold up all that weight. Every ten metres they settle their rack and somehow expand it until there are clothes on display everywhere. I encountered these vendors at every beach we visited, and we went to a new beach everyday.

Now at every beach people either brought their own beach towel or the more popular choice of a sarong, some would rent a deck chair, maybe even adding a sun umbrella. Then a man would come over with a special little device that stabbed deep into the ground and soaked up the sand, almost like a giant beach syringe. When they pulled it out, it would leave a long and slim hole where he then easily stuck in the beach umbrella, which never again flew away. Some smart people brought their own umbrella and their own beach syringe.

Another common beach activity is fresco ball, something that my friend and I like to practise everyday. We actually started to get quite professional by the end of it. Basically it's two people with a tennis ball and two solid wooden rackets. The idea is to hit the ball from one person to the other without it bouncing on the ground - loads of fun, loads of splashing about in the water chasing after that damn ball.

Do Brasil

I arrived in Brazil on my friend's birthday. It took me the entire day to travel to Caxias do Sol, starting at 3am in Santiago followed by a 5 hour flight to São Paulo where my connecting flight was delayed, and then a 2.5 hours drive from Porto Alegre to my final destination.

So what should do you do after such a long haul in Brasil? Go out and party, birthday style, of course. We headed to one of the two only decent places (according to my local guide) to party, where a famous Samba singer graced us with his southern samba rhythms. Note: Samba sounds different depending on which part of Brazil it comes from – the most well known songs coming from Rio de Janeiro. The following night, a Friday night, we headed out on the town again and slept only 30 minutes before we woke to take the 6 hour journey to Florianópolis. Let's just say that I didn't do too much sightseeing of the city those two days and had a hell of a time finding appropriate shoes to borrow for the clubs.

As we drove over the mini Golden Gate bridge from mainland Santa Catarina, an urban city centre came into view, all the best shopping centres were picked out to visit later (I was with southern Brazilians after all and we all know how much they love to shop) and many photos were snapped of the silent, still ocean sprouting tiny black islands. Florianópolis is a very large island and also capital city of Santa Catarina, one of the sunshine states of southern Brazil. It is famous for it's white sandy surf beaches, where Brazilians, Argentineans and Paraguayans like to take their holidays, although the latter has a reputation for stealing Brazilian cars and selling them for extra profit back in Paraguay.

The further south we drove, the more the island changed into a vast jungle of strong, bitter smelling plants. Maybe 40 minutes from the main city centre, my friend, her father, stepmother and I drew up to our self-service apartment at Plaia Ingleses. 30 metres from the plaia (beach), swimming pool and the two of us girls decked out on the pullout couch in the living room, we were ready of a week of total beach experience.

First things first, we dug into some fresh camarão (prawns), our food of choice for the week, at one of the buffet por kilo restaurants. Brazil seems to have a knack for economising the eating out experience because almost everywhere is a buffet paid by the kilo, from top restaurants with gourmet food to the food court in the mall, to the local ice cream parlour. The heat of the afternoon sun really doesn't make your stomach grumble with hunger so paying only for the size of your individual stomach is actually quite ideal for the beach.

Adiós Tierra Hermosa

We spent our last day in Elqui Valley soaking up the tranquilo atmosphere, either laying lazily by the pool or reading a book on one of the hammocks shaded by the trees. I made sure to snap as many photos as possible of the flowers and the grapes, the kittens and all those other shapes. I loved how the house with decorated head to toe with memorabilia from our host's travels. It oozed with their personality of bohemia and culture.

I was especially interested in the local, Diaguita pottery they had on display here and there. The Diaguita people inhabited the area from around 1000AD and were skilled in not only totemic ceramic art but also irrigation; a bit like the locals of the Elqui Valley today. The Inca invaded their land in the 15th century and although their presence is said to have improved the employment of pottery, the duck jugs of the Diaguita are forever unique. Mis padres bought me a large one for my birthday, painted with fine geometric patterns in red, black and white.

There remains only one man left who fashions these exotic jugs and it took us the entire day to catch him at home, where we found an array of pottery, differing in size, shape and colour. It was a hard decision to choose only one from amongst them all, to become part of my own collection of travel memorabilia.

We ventured down the road until it became dirt and then when the terrain was too rough we turned back, stopping every so often to take even more photos. Then the following day we had to say goodbye to our hosts, to those gorgeous petite kittens and to the landscape we had so easily fallen in love with. We got into the little red hatch back and drove the 6 hours back south to Santiago, stopping in Los Vilos for lunch. Within the small fishing town, we found a restaurant by the sea. The view of the scenic, calm water was unfortunately not enough for us to take on a liking of this town of dirty, litter-ridden streets. And the food at the restaurant only made it worse.

Gone are the days of the cute, little fishing villages it seems. Now they are forever more becoming metropolitan hubs of colourless culture. Perhaps Elqui Valley had set our standards too high. Whatever the reason, mis padres left me teary-eyed back at Santiago having spent a glorious time exploring the home of my lovely Chilean; a place so long and thin and yet so stack full of content. I am so glad they had a good time.

Montar a Caballo al Estilo Montaña

In Pisco Elqui we decided to spend the morning horse riding. Now Pisco Elqui is probably the nicest little village in the valley. It has a central plaza shaded by towering trees and where the wooden, white church sits. From here, little side streets run off where many cute little shops sell artisan clothing or jewellery. The lone policeman rides his jittery horse up and down the shady side of the street, chatting occasionally with the men sitting about. Pisco Elqui is also home to another pisco distillery, Pisco Mistral, but we never got around to checking that out.

Instead we ventured down a dirt lane to meet Ramon Luis, our guide for a 2 hour horse ride. He sported knee high shin guards, long protruding spurs, and a broad, flat, straw Chilean cowboy hat. Within the safety of the yard, he taught us to ride Chilean style. Unlike the Australian or English style of riding, to manoeuvre the horse to either the left or the right one has to also shift the entire weight of the body to that side and move the outer rein towards the direction desired, not the inner rein as I was well accustomed to. Chilean horses also apparently like a lot more kissing sounds to encourage them to further forward.

Once this was settled we trode through the village and started our ascent upon the somewhat giant, barrens hills. No room for vertigo or fear of heights. The paths were crazily narrow and practically hanging off the side of some pretty steep cliff-like ridges. A few very, prickly cactus or colourless, dry shrubs were our only neighbours. The oasis of green below us seemed so far away now.

We probably reached 20 metres up and the view was absolutely spectacular but the wind was an atrocity, our borrowed cowboy hats almost flying away if it weren't for the chord tied around our necks. The masses of hair flying in my face made it a little hard to see but once we made a sharp corner, clinging to our horses, the shear size of the hill (or mountain, whatever you want to call it) protected us.

We zigzagged our way up and down in single file, our horses somehow managing to stay balanced as the sand caved from under their feet - obviously not a place for humans to walk alone. The experience was unlike any horse ride I had ever been on. In just a couple of hours we learnt the complexity of the Elqui Valley terrain - perfectly picturesque in its unique way. The only problem I encountered - a few days later that is - was lice, seemingly from the hat I borrowed. Totally worth it though!

Returning to our B&B, we came across a feast and live, acoustic music for our host's birthday; a lovely way to spend our afternoon after using all those muscles we didn't even know we had from horse riding.

Gastronomía del Valle

Another satisfying homemade breakfast at the B&B, this time with the addition of scrabbled eggs sprinkled with Merkén: a Mapuche spicy and aromatic seasoning made from dried and smoked Cacho de Cabra (goat's horn) chilli together with salt, cumin, and coriander seeds.

We drove into Vicuña and walked around its centre square, bordered with artesian stalls. At the far corner, stands the strangely shaped clock tower whose red tower almost looks like a rook chess piece. We visited the Museo Gabriela Mistral, a place where we found the replica of the Montegrande school as well as many artefacts linked to Gabriela. First and foremost, Gabriela is renowned for her poetry but she was also an educator, diplomat and feminist. She fought for equality between the vast ridge between the rich and the poor in Chile. She felt it was important to educate everyone with the ability to read and write, not just the privileged. In fact, it wasn't until she received international recognition for her poetry, the Chilean government at the time showed any interest in her. It is said that her distrust of her native country is the cause for her long stint abroad. She eventually settled in the US where she died. Her body was flown back to Chile and was buried in Montegrande.

Further down the street, we visited a former house now museum built by a local influencial merchant in 1875. Our guide at Casa Museo El Solar de los Madariaga was the granddaughter of José Gregorio Madariaga, who had made sure to maintain the family's priceless artefacts. The house showed how the town and the family business had evolved, especially with the introduction of new technologies.

Then it was onto lunch in Villaseca, a small village slightly indented into the side of the barren hill. All around cactus of various types grew, the strong rays of the sun making it difficult for anything else to settle there. Yet because of this, the restaurant we choose to luncheon at cooked all their meals by 100% solar energy. Outside of Restaurante Solar strange orange objects cluttered the front porch, where we could see our meal cooking, wrapped in foil and inside one of these contraptions. There is a set menu of course and the meal was beautifully, organically cooked but lacked a bit of herbs and spices, to give it a kick you know.

From there we continued on our gastronomic adventure down the hill to the famous Capel pisco distillery. Unlike the other distillery we had visited, Capel produces something like 120,000 bottles a day of Capel pisco. It is also produces superior quality pisco under the labels of Los Artesanos de Cochiguaz and Alto del Carmen, as well as a range of premixed pisco drinks. We went on a short tour through the distillery, where grapes are distilled in barrels made from different materials; a good quality wood mixing in its own flavour will produce a richer texture to the pisco whereas a simple steel barrel is used for mass production. You might ask, what is the difference between pisco and brandy? The answer is that pisco is younger and not nearly distilled for as long as a brandy, which can be locked up for years. And a pisco also does not age well; it's better to use up the liquid once the bottle has been opened.

We moved from the distillery vats to the bottling line, an entire spacious room filled with copious amounts of bottles being labelled, filled and packaged, and then it was onto the tasting room. Mis padres took the opportunity to buy the limited edition bicentenary double distilled Capel pisco.

The tasting didn't stop here though as our next stop was the only beer distillery in the entire valley. The Guayacán micro-brewery is now a two-man band who handcraft their beer using their own traditional recipe with Elqui water. The pale ale, stout and pilsner are ever becoming more popular within the valley and beyond. They are hoping to expand within the next few months to cater towards the growing demand for their export.

And all this happened in just one day.

El Núcleo Magnético

By day, Elqui Valley is fragrant with juicy fruits, a picturesque landscape for the eyes to feast upon. Yet one might question: why this location? If it weren't for man's investment in irrigation channels across and up the mountainsides, nature would be left to run its dry, arid course. I am not quite sure of the correct answer but I have a rough idea.

One thing is clear with the main produce, grapes - if you want to enhance their sweet flavour simply cultivate them in a place where the sun penetrates through their skin almost everyday of the year and where the night's coolness locks in the sugar, making sure it doesn't turn stale. And what better place then one of earth’s magnetic cores, Elqui Valley.

By night, however, attention is passed from land to nature's other beauty: the sky. Elqui Valley has one of the best skies around, clear sunny days with no pollution in sight and hence clear, cloudless nights. Yes, after the bright sun goes to sleep for the day the sky becomes ablaze with an array of dazzling stars, as if someone turned on the night light. Because of this, we made sure to visit Observatorio Cerro Mamalluca.

A small van picked us up from Vicuña and we drove through the pitch darkness up the hillside. At the observatory, one of many that is situated amongst the lower hills of the valley, we were met by our very passionate guide for the evening. We discovered our galaxy and beyond in great detail on film and learnt how little our sun really is in comparsion to other suns in other galaxies. Outside, we watched Venus slowing sink below the horizon along with the sun. We took turns following the light of our guide’s torch to peer through a telescope, spotting the Southern Cross or the constellations, comparing the brightest star Sirius with the closest star, Alfa Centauri.

Inside the observatory, a tourist sized observatory that is, we used the larger telescope to further investigate the stars. We saw Jupiter and its moons; Nebula and star clusters. Inside, no one could take photographs because the flash could potentially blind any unsuspecting observer peering into a telescope lens outside. It was 1:30 am by the time we finished, although the curiosity as to where our universe leads onto still continues.

Valle de Elqui

Mi padre hired a little red hatch back and we drove six hours north, past the sandy beaches of La Serena, then east towards to the mountains that form Elqui Valley. This valley bordered with arid cliff faces is renowned to be a magnetic core of the earth and therefore has great therapeutic powers; a fine choice for someone escaping the stress of the workplace.

We arrived by night and were met at out Bed & Breakfast, Casa Puka Yana, by a charming couple of one brightly spirited English poet and her Chilean musician of a husband. Together they brought their charming old, house to life. Originally belonging to a local wealthy family, hence the multitude of rooms, they now use the old servant quarters for their own residence but spend most of their time out in the patio, shaded by a canopy of lush grape vines.

In the morning we feasted on homemade bread and jams made from the various fruit trees in the back garden: white fig, peach, black berries, pear - each day a new flavour to try. This was accompanied by fresh coffee, local natural yoghurt and plenty of avocados - a touch of South America. A young litter of kittens frolicked amongst the plants and our feet, morning energy animating their tiny limbs. Later, it would be hard to find them as they each sought somewhere well shaded to sleep through the lazy afternoon, only to return with hungry stomaches at dinnertime.

First stop: Montegrande, home of Chilean Nobel Prize winning poet, Gabriela Mistral. Here we visited the original school where Gabriela was raised and taught by her sister and teacher, Emelina. Gabriela belonged to a family of teachers, although her father left before she turned 3 years old. A replica of the tiny 2-roomed school exists in Vicuña, the birthplace of Gabriela and also located in the valley. A much larger, modern primary school for Montegrande children can be found across the street, a statue of Gabriela erected in between.

Further down the narrow, curvy road we came across the pisco distillery, Los Nichos, where we visited its antique quarters. Within the coolness of the cellar, we found a former mausoleum; pisco bottles now replacing bodies. Drunken skeletons danced merrily upon the walls and between barrels of fermenting wine; pisco being distilled from wine (almost like a young brandy). Under the warmth of the sun, we tasted Los Nichos products, which carry a much more refined flavour as opposed to the diluted, mass production of other pisco brands.

From here we ate lunch at the restaurant Miraflores whose view of the luscious valley is as succulent to the eyes as their food is to the mouth. In spirit of this area renowned for its production in pisco, we all drank pisco sours.

Driving back to Paihuano, to our B&B for a much needed, relaxing siesta, we took in the extraordinary scenery; barren hills spotted with the occasion splash of green where man has brought irrigation thus allowing the growth of grapes and avocadoes. From a distance, these fruits look like enormous flags draped across the hillside, totally unbelievable as they stand surrounded by intense aridity. Then below, flows the river from whose banks greenery unfurls. Mass upon masses of fruit production camouflages the sparse flat surface, where only the road is allowed visibility. Every few metres, a stall selling fresh fruit juice appears or a tiny village, too small to be shown in a map of Chile.

Upon return to our B&B, a tremor introduced my parents to the Chilean tectonic experience. We sat outside and drank peach punch and listened to our hosts play from their array of guitars. Life carried on as normal in this mystic valle.