As a photographer and brand consultant, I often find myself chasing light, whether it’s golden hour through a vineyard in Sonoma or hazy pink sunrises over the Malibu coast. South America has long been part of my orbit; I travel frequently to Brazil to visit my wife’s family, and it’s become something close to a second home. But Chile was new territory, and when the light finally pulled me there, far south, to the windswept extremes of Patagonia and the wild elegance of its coast, it did not disappoint. I flew from Los Angeles to Santiago, barely catching my breath before boarding a flight straight to Punta Arenas, the southernmost city on the continent and one of the last frontiers before Antarctica. From there, we rented a car and drove north through the heart of Patagonia, a land twhere the roads stretch to infinity, sheep outnumber people by the thousands, and the soundtrack is made up of howling wind, creaking fences and silence.
El Calafate
We crossed the border into Argentina and made our way to El Calafate, a charming town on the edge of Los Glaciares National Park. Our first night felt like something out of a dream, or an archaeological journal. We joined Nativo Expedición / Patagonia Profunda for a guided trek to prehistoric cave paintings, handprints and markings left by Patagonia’s earliest inhabitants, before settling in for a candlelit dinner cooked over open fire beneath the Patagonian sky. A surreal, grounding start to the adventure.The next morning, Christmas Day, we joined a Say Hueque expedition into Los Glaciares National Park and drove an hour and a half toward the mighty Perito Moreno Glacier. Spanning over 97 square miles, it’s one of the few glaciers in the world still advancing. We strapped on crampons and set off across its creaking, blue-and-white surface, ducking through narrow ice tunnels and scrambling over ridges, the scale of the landscape shrinking us into insignificance. On the boat ride back, a final surprise: a glass of Calafate liqueur poured over ice chipped from the glacier itself. The berry, found only in Patagonia, comes with a promise. If you eat one, you’ll return.
Puerto Natales & Hacienda Dorotea
From Calafate, we crossed back into Chile and landed in Puerto Natales, a quiet, windswept town that serves as the unofficial gateway to Torres del Paine. Just outside of town, five kilometers from the center, sits Hacienda Dorotea and I cannot recommend it highly enough. This is not a hotel that performs authenticity; it lives it. The main building is a lovingly restored antique sheep-hide dryer from the 1970s, constructed with recycled materials salvaged from sheds on Riesco Island. The rooms are spacious, thoughtfully designed, and built from noble reclaimed materials drawn from the surrounding landscape. But it’s the spirit of the place that stays with you. Guests are genuinely invited into the gaucho way of life, the farming traditions, the land, the animals, all cared for with dignity and purpose.
The owner gave us a tour before introducing us to a full Patagonian Día del Campo: an immersive experience complete with Doma India, the breathtaking, choreographed dance between horse and rider, and sheep herding carried out with the precision of a ballet. The horses are beautifully trained, the ropes hand-braided, the saddles worn smooth with age and use. If you’re traveling through this part of Patagonia, Hacienda Dorotea is the place to anchor yourself.
Torres del Paine
The next day, we rose at dawn and boarded a bus arranged by Hacienda Dorotea for the two-hour journey through the mountains, a seamless way to get there, and another reason the hacienda makes such a perfect base. We joined a guided group for the hike itself, but if I were doing it again, I’d go independently and set my own pace. Torres del Paine is not for the faint of heart, and a guided group has a way of revealing exactly what kind of shape you’re in because they won’t stop, and keeping up becomes its own ordeal on top of an already punishing trail. The terrain is unforgiving, the wind relentless, and the final stretch is a steep, calf-destroying scramble up a boulder field. Do yourself a favor: go at your own speed, take the breaks you need, and let the mountain reveal itself on your terms. Because once you reach the top, once those granite towers emerge from behind the clouds and reflect in the glacial lake below, you understand why people travel across the world to feel this small.
The reward for all of it was dinner at Tierra Patagonia, perched dramatically on the edge of Lake Sarmiento with the towers still looming in the backdrop. We didn’t stay this time, but we will next time. Their kitchen champions local produce sourced from nearby estancias, led by a chef who honors the traditional flavors of the extreme South while adding a contemporary hand. King crab, Patagonian lamb, native rhubarb: the kind of cooking that makes you feel deeply located in a place. After a day like that, it was exactly right.
Zapallar
We returned to Santiago for a quick stop, then drove north through the Andes to Zapallar, Chile’s answer to Palm Beach. Exclusive, unhurried, and beautiful in that particular way that only old money seaside towns manage to be. Red-tiled villas dot the cliffs, wild cypress trees frame the Pacific, and the seafood is pulled from the ocean just hours before it hits your plate. We rang in the New Year here with friends who welcomed us like family, in a home perched above the crashing surf. It was one of those nights that unspools slowly: champagne, conversation, and the kind of laughter that comes only after weeks of being outdoors.
Santiago
Back in Santiago for our final days, the trip shifted into a different register entirely. This is where the dining really came alive, but also where the city itself opened up in unexpected ways.
We based ourselves in Las Condes, doing an Airbnb in what turned out to be a genuinely lovely neighborhood to land in. Residential, easy, and with excellent dining options right on the doorstep. A particular highlight was Pizzeria Tiramisù, a trendy pizza spot just opposite our place that became an instant favorite, and directly across from it, El Toldo Azul, which serves some of the best gelato I’ve had in a long time. Save room.
We also made a point of visiting Interdesign, a remarkable design showroom that’s been a Santiago institution since 1980, founded by Eduardo Godoy after a formative experience in Belgium, where he discovered the power of designer furniture to transform how we live. That revelation became a mission to bring the finest European design to Chile, from German brand Interlübke to iconic Italian pieces and beyond. The showroom itself, located in Las Condes and designed by Christian de Groote, winner of Chile’s National Architecture Award, is an architectural experience in its own right. A space where design can be looked at, touched, and genuinely felt. Well worth an hour of your time.
For a proper sit-down meal with a view, Mestizo in Parque Bicentenario delivered on both counts. The food was excellent, but the setting is the real reason to go. Parque Bicentenario is Santiago’s Central Park, and it is stunning. Lunch here with the park stretching out around you is one of those quietly perfect travel moments.
We made a point of visiting the Centro Artesanal Pueblito Los Dominicos, a crafts market like no other. One hundred and forty workshops represent every region of Chile, spanning fabrics, lapis lazuli, copper, Mapuche art, Chiloé ceramics, wood carvings, jewelry, and antiques. It’s a family-friendly walk in the foothills, steps from the Metro and close to the mountain range, with rescued cats wandering serenely between the stalls. It was the perfect place to find things to bring home, the kind of objects that actually mean something. Then we gave ourselves over to the city’s extraordinary food and wine scene in earnest. First stop: Bocanáriz, one of the finest wine bars I’ve encountered anywhere in South America. It’s part encyclopedic wine library, part deeply considered restaurant, the kind of place where you can spend an entire evening working your way through Chilean varietals you’ve never encountered, paired with local cheeses and beautifully executed small plates. For anyone serious about wine, it’s essential.
Then came the true highlight: dinner at La Mesa. Our dear friends Mai and Rodrigo, Napa-based winemakers who happen to be Chilean, were back home over the holidays and we made a point of connecting. Their recommendation was La Mesa, the personal project of chef Alvaro Romero, a friend of theirs. Alvaro studied design and gastronomy in Chile before moving to France, where he absorbed the discipline and rigor of European kitchens. Back home, he made his name opening The Singular Lastarria Hotel, where his restaurant drew both national and international acclaim, before launching La Mesa in 2019. The menu is small and careful, shaped entirely by what’s seasonal and local, with a direct relationship to his suppliers that you can genuinely taste. Over grilled octopus and carmenère, we raised a glass to a journey that had taken us across glaciers, through pampas, over Andes passes, and into candlelit caves.
By the end, I felt what so many do after traveling through Patagonia and Chile: changed, in some quiet but permanent way. Because it’s not just about what you see. It’s about what you feel when the world strips itself back to its elements, and lets you stand there, windblown, dusty, awestruck.
I’ll be back. (The berry said so.)
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