A drive from the crazy port of Valparaíso to the verdant vines of the Colchagua Valley
“Valparaíso, how absurd you are,” the great Chilean poet Pablo Neruda wrote of the colorful, chaotic port city where he kept one of his three homes. “Life has always surprised you.” My husband and I are prepared to be surprised ourselves, having rolled into town from Santiago without dinner plans—or even a hotel booking. The steep, narrow streets feel barely wide enough for our rented Toyota Corolla Cross, but we make our way to the hilltop neighborhood of Cerro Alegre with a sense of victory, especially when we slide into a perfect parking space right in front of Zero Hotel. Fate!
At least one of the hotel’s nine rooms is open, and soon we’re checked in and looking out our Victorian windows over the UNESCO-protected historic district’s crooked rainbow of rooftops. Primed for some exploring, we stroll corridors emblazoned with street art, hidden stairway shortcuts, and labyrinthine warrens of shops, galleries, and bars. At the bottom of the hill, we happen upon one of the city’s famed ascensores (funiculars) and, for a handful of change, catch a lift back up for rooftop pizza and a cozy locals’ scene at Allegretto.
The following morning, after breakfast on the hotel balcony, we hit the road, heading south through pine forest, mountains, and farmland. About two hours into the drive, we turn off for Parque Tricao and discover a sprawling nature preserve complete with trails, botanical gardens, and an aviary. We barely have time to explore, though, because we’re excited to get to the city of Pichilemu, the self-proclaimed “capital mundial del surf.” The surf is, indeed, up, and lessons are available, but we pass on trying to ride the waves in favor of watching them crash against the coast from the breezy beachside restaurant La Sal. We partake in oysters and ceviche while a bongo ensemble called Mama Conga plays on the small stage.
We walk off lunch at Punta de Lobos, a high, rugged spit of rock lined with juice bars and hostels, from which we can watch the surfers in the water and the red-legged cormorants nesting in the cliffs. Back in the car, it only takes 20 minutes to reach the salt-producing village of Cáhuil, where we pick up some artisan salt from a barn bedecked with hand-painted signs: Don Arturo’s La Bodega de la Sal.
The afternoon takes us inland, through the hamlets of Lolol and Santa Cruz. Cowboys on horseback lope along the roadside. Ancient buildings show scars from the 2010 earthquake. We crest a hilltop, and suddenly we’re surrounded by green: The vineyards of the Colchagua Valley sprawl before us.
Our destination is Clos Apalta, the Chilean outpost of French winemaking family Bournet-Lapostolle, who, generations ago, created Grand Marnier. Until recently, the estate’s luxe, modern guest houses were invitation-only, but now they make up the 10-room-and-villa Relais & Châteaux Clos Apalta Residence. At the heart of the property is the winery, an architectural marvel with a facade inspired by a bird’s nest. We take an early evening vineyard tour in a golf cart and enjoy an alfresco dinner that includes octopus, vegetables from the house garden, and an artful marzipan dessert. As the Southern stars come out, a Grand Marnier pisco sour makes for the perfect nightcap.
