Discover the magic of Atacama: must-see moments at Chaxa Lagoon, Piedras Rojas and the Altiplanic lagoons — your charming travel guide to the desert’s jewel-toned wonders.

Chile — officially the Republic of Chile — unfurls along South America’s western edge like a long, dramatic ribbon. Stretching some 2,653 miles from the tropics to the icy south, it contains startling contrasts: the bone-dry Atacama in the north, Patagonia’s towering peaks and drifting icebergs in the south and a lively, modern heart in between.

Santiago sits at that center point, a city where contemporary galleries and rooftop bars rub shoulders with bustling street markets and family-run restaurants. From there, the Andes form the country’s spine — the world’s longest mountain range — threading together forests, mirror-like lakes, glaciers, volcanoes and open grasslands. And then there’s Easter Island, an island of mystery in the Pacific where moai — those solemn, oversized stone guardians — keep watch over ancient stories and the sea.

All this variety feeds a culture that’s rich and spirited: vivid art scenes, deep historical roots and a cuisine that celebrates both coastal bounty and hearty Andean ingredients.

Atacama feels almost otherworldly. This cool, arid stretch in northern Chile runs roughly 600–700 miles and is often cited as the driest nonpolar desert on Earth — so dry that scientists use parts of it to simulate Martian conditions. But “desert” here doesn’t mean monotonous sand: the Atacama is a patchwork of surreal landscapes.

Chaxa Lagoon, at the heart of the Salar de Atacama inside Los Flamencos National Reserve, is a premier spot for pale-pink flamingos against shimmering salt flats. Piedras Rojas — “red stones” — perches around 13,000 feet above sea level, its iron-oxidized rocks glowing like embers against the sky. The Altiplanic Lagoons glow a striking, jewel-like blue — tranquil pools shaped long ago when cooling lava from nearby volcanoes met the sky.

Chile is a place of extremes in the most beautiful sense: stark deserts beside glacial fjords, ancient islands beside cutting-edge cities and a warmth in its people that ties it all together.

Our Chile adventure unfurled over just more than two weeks — eight flights, a tangle of buses and taxis and even a ferry — carrying us from the central valley to the parched north and all the way down to the windswept south.

We began in Santiago, where the city hums with a perfect blend of polished gastronomy, deep-rooted wine culture and an art scene that insists you slow down and look. Cafés spill onto sidewalks, galleries pop up in converted warehouses and every bottle of carménère tells a story.

Then, we headed to San Pedro de Atacama, the planet’s driest landscape and a place that makes the sky feel impossibly close. Days there were a carousel of the surreal: flamingos painting salt flats pink, red-rock canyons that glow at sunset and crystal clear blue lagoons ringed with white mineral crusts. At dawn, we drove into the Andes to watch El Tatio geysers inhale steam into the cold and at dusk, we wandered Valle de la Luna, where the ground looks blasted from another world. At night, the Atacama’s darkness is a show unto itself — the stars so bright they seemed within reach.

From that stark altitude, we flew to Punta Arenas — Chile’s southernmost outpost and the traditional gateway to Antarctica. The southern chill brings a certain clarity: sea birds wheel low and history feels close at hand in the port and its weathered buildings.

Torres del Paine was the highlight of Patagonia: glaciers grinding into water, waterfalls that fall with a overwhelming roar and icebergs drifting like sculptures in frigid lakes. We hiked among windswept lenga forests and paused often, simply to watch the light shift across jagged peaks.

Finally, the ferry carried us to Chiloé Island and Castro, where myth and sea are stitched together. Colorful stilt houses line the water, wooden churches stand like icons against the sky and island folklore — full of witches, sea spirits and long-remembered tales — waits in the corners of the cafés and the stories of fishermen.

Eight flights, a thousand small moments: Chile is a country of dramatic contrasts, where deserts share a border with glaciers and every region greets you with its own flavor of wild.

What’s Inside | Roadmap

Schedule | Book local tours into the Atacama Desert; book here or here

Start the Day | Breakfast in the tiny village of Toconao

Introduce Yourself | Meet the flamingos at Chaxa Lagoon

Trek | Hike through otherworldly red rocks of Piedras Rojas

Admire | Marvel at the mirror-like lagoons of the Altiplano

Lunch | Devour a delicious spread au naturel

Read | Discover more about your bright desert sanctuary & local essentials in San Pedro de Atacama’s Serene Desert Magic

Enchanting Experiences at Chaxa Lagoon, Piedras Rojas & the Altiplanic Lagoons

Stroll along Chaxa Lagoon where flamingos wade in salt-flat reflections, then marvel at the rust-red stones of Piedras Rojas set against cobalt skies and the otherworldly Altiplanic lagoons — altitude-breathtaking landscapes that feel like stepping onto another planet.

Book Local Tours Into the Atacama Desert

Our days in San Pedro de Atacama unfolded like a tightly packed map of wonders. With backpacks slung and excitement high, we moved between two local agencies — Turismo Gato Andino and Horizons — reserving every tour that called to us. It was a whirlwind schedule but when the desert offers this much magic in so little time, there’s no other way to truly taste it all.

Tip | Feel free to explore a few different tour agencies — each one brings its own flavor and you might discover a gem you wouldn’t have found otherwise. You can also book online for extra convenience.

At dawn, we set off for an all-day adventure to Laguna Chaxa, Piedras Rojas and the shimmering Altiplanic Lagoons. The next day was even more packed: before sunrise we chased steam at the El Tatio geysers, spent the afternoon wandering the otherworldly Valle de la Luna and capped the night with stargazing in the Atacama alongside an astronomer. Tours were refreshingly affordable — about $40–$90 USD each, depending on length and inclusions.

Breakfast in the Tiny Village of Toconao

We were up at 5:30 a.m., brewing coffee and toasting slices in our hotel kitchen, when our guide, Layra Silva, arrived about an hour later to pick us up. The night before, she’d started a WhatsApp group with helpful reminders: bring cash for entrance fees, trekking shoes, at least one liter of water, sunscreen, a hat and sunglasses and a warm layer for chilly stretches. The group chat also showed live bus updates, so there was no worrying about missed rides. The tour promised breakfast and lunch along the way, and to bring us back to the town center around 5:30 p.m. — a perfect, well-paced day ahead.

Tip | Bring some cash for entrance fees, lace up sturdy trekking shoes, carry at least one liter of water and sunscreen, a hat and sunglasses — plus a cozy layer for those chilly weather.

Our first stop, after gathering the rest of the group, was a tiny plaza at the heart of Toconao — about a half hour’s drive away. Nestled south of San Pedro de Atacama in Chile’s Antofagasta Region, Toconao perches at 8,153 feet above sea level near the northeastern edge of the vast Salar de Atacama, the salt flat we planned to visit later that day.

The village’s most charming landmark is its church, with a separate bell tower that dates back to 1750 and seems to watch over the square. Toconao feels like an oasis: narrow lanes, caves and homes built from volcanic rock give the place a timeless, tucked-away quality that makes you want to linger.

We reached the plaza as morning stretched awake, its silent hush wrapped around us. The sun was still low, spilling a gentle warmth that kissed stone and skin alike. While our guide prepared breakfast, we wandered through the square, following anything curious — a weathered fountain, a cat sunning on a ledge, the first bright bloom of the day — letting the slow rhythm of the morning pull us along.

Hot pink blooms carpeted the plaza, framed by swaying palms and sculptural cacti. A graceful white bell tower of stone and clay rose nearby, its tiny wooden door lending it a dollhouse charm beneath a modest plaque. Rings of white rock outlined the plantings, shaping a tidy, sunlit desert garden.

Stray dogs wandered lazily, noses to the ground for scraps, while a few of us peered around for a discreet spot to freshen up. Eager to kick off the day, we could hardly wait to discover what breakfast had in store.

Before long, our breakfast arrived: the guide set down a sizzling hot plate and lovingly arranged fluffy scrambled eggs, crusty French bread, savory ham and cheese, a bowl of bright fresh fruit, creamy guacamole and steaming pots of coffee and tea.

Breakfast was lovely, especially the bread — freshly baked by a friendly Frenchman who lives nearby. I piled on as much as I could, assembling tiny egg-and-guacamole sandwiches that felt like early morning perfection.

Meet the Flamingos at Chaxa Lagoon

Satisfied and humming with renewed energy, our little band climbed back into the van and set off an hour southwest toward Laguna Chaxa. Nestled in the heart of Salar de Atacama, the Chaxa Lagoon belongs to the Los Flamencos National Reserve and feels almost suspended in a vast, white expanse. The salt flat — Chile’s largest — spreads outward, hemmed in by mountains and with no rivers to carry its waters away. To the east rise the towering Andes; to the west, the rugged Cordillera de Domeyko. Looming above it all are dramatic volcanoes — Licancabur, Acamarachi, Aguas Calientes — and Láscar, ever restless, which last announced itself with an eruption in 2022.

Established in 1990, the reserve unfolds across seven distinct sectors that safeguard precious high Andean biodiversity and celebrate the Likan Antay, the indigenous stewards of the Salar de Atacama. Each sector offers its own blend of terrain, plants and wildlife, making every visit a new discovery. When we arrived, a narrow path led us to a lone desert shack: the visitor center. There, we bought our entrance tickets for 8,000 CLP — roughly $9 USD — and set off to explore.

Upon arrival, guests pause at the visitor center, wondering what fuels that delicate flamingo pink. Tiny brine shrimp float in a glass bottle — smaller than any I’ve seen — alongside streaks of algae. The birds feast on this mix and as their bodies metabolize the carotenoid pigments from the algae and crustaceans, their feathers blush into shades of pink. In this dry landscape, those pigments are sparse, so the flamingos wear a softer, paler hue.

Chile is host to three of the world’s six flamingo species, which arrive each summer as they migrate north. These elegant birds favor lakes, lagoons, wetlands and salt flats — the perfect settings for courtship and raising young. Flamingo pairs are largely monogamous: during nesting season both parents pitch in to build a volcano-shaped mud nest where the female lays a single egg. Incubation lasts about 28 days and chicks hatch covered in soft white down. It takes several years and a series of molts for that down to turn the familiar pink; during a molt, flamingos shed and regrow their feathers, a process that happens irregularly but generally about once every one to two years.

Chile is home to three delightful flamingo species: the Chilean flamingo, the Andean flamingo and James’s flamingo.

The Chilean flamingo is the largest of the trio — wading with a graceful silhouette, a black bill, soft pink tail feathers and legs that blend white and pink. It’s the most widespread in Chile and shares close ties with the American and greater flamingos.

The Andean flamingo, often called the Large Parina, towers above the others. It stands out with pale yellow faces, striking yellow legs, black tail feathers and a dramatic black-and-yellow bill.

James’s flamingo, or the Small Parina, is the rarest and most delicate-looking: petite, with bright red legs and a short, stubby bill tipped in black. Each species brings its own dash of color and character to Chile’s highland lagoons and coastal wetlands.

Tip | Stay on the marked trails — Chile guards its natural treasures closely and following the rules helps keep them beautiful for everyone to enjoy.

Curious how the salt flat came to be? Imagine the Andes and Domeyko ranges pushing up like slow-motion tectonic dancers, lifting the land around them while the center gently sagged. That sunken bowl later collected layers of volcanic ash and rock, and over time those sediments and mineral-rich waters left behind the glittering salt plain we see today.

Over the years, the sunken basin slowly filled with shimmering layers of salt, building nearly 4,750 feet deep. Those crystalline deposits were born when rains and meltwater carried dissolved salts and minerals down from the Andes, where they settled and crystallized into the gleaming underground formation we see today.

In very humid seasons, shallow lagoons can swell and glisten. As those waters slowly vanish, they leave behind a fine dusting of salt. In drier times, the remaining brine pulls inward and the salts bloom into delicate crystals across the surface.

A mineral-rich treasure, the salt flat’s heart is mostly halite (NaCl) cloaked in a rugged, weathered crust. Elsewhere, the surface blooms with different crust patterns — some forming delicate hexagons where drying cracks stitch the salt plain into a quiet, geometric mosaic.

Pores and cavities glimmer with brine rich in sodium, potassium, magnesium, lithium and boron. From this saline treasure, potassium sulfate, potassium chloride, boric acid and lithium can be harvested. Here, in the heart of the Lithium Triangle at Salar de Atacama, lies the world’s largest and purest active lithium source — home to about 27% of the globe’s lithium reserves. Yet beneath this gleaming bounty, tensions simmer: extraction has sparked disputes with Indigenous communities over precious water resources and has harmed fragile local ecosystems, including the elegant Andean flamingo.

Thankfully, zoning based on environmental sensitivity helps safeguard vital bird nesting and breeding grounds — and it gave our group the chance to savor the wild beauty of this high‑altitude salt flat.

We wandered the winding trails, craning and tiptoeing along marked paths to edge closer to the flamingos. They dotted the landscape in every direction, utterly unconcerned with our presence — too busy dipping their beaks into the shallows, dining with a single-minded grace for up to eighteen hours a day.

I enjoyed watching where the flamingos chose to dine — some gathered in showy flamboyances out in the deeper water, while others strolled off alone to forage in the shallower edges.

Though most of the flamingos lingered at a respectful distance, the real magic was in the mirror-like reflections of the snow‑capped volcanoes beyond — each peak doubled on the water, turning the scene into a quiet, breathtaking painting.

Far off, tiny figures traced winding paths like dots on a map. They seemed impossibly distant. We had under an hour, so our own footsteps stayed close, promising another day to wander further.

Soon enough, our guide gathered everyone together and we strolled back toward the vehicle.

Our next stop: the enchanting Piedras Rojas, about two hours to the southeast.

Hike Through Otherworldly Red Rocks of Piedras Rojas

We paused on the way to Piedras Rojas in the tiny village of Socaire, a 40-minute drive away. Perched 62 miles southwest of San Pedro de Atacama, Socaire gazes out over the Salar de Atacama and feels like a place where time moves a little slower. The village is known for its peculiar reddish-purple potatoes and sits at a higher altitude, bringing a distinct ecosystem and surprising biodiversity. Watching over it all is Chiliques Volcano — one of Chile’s nearly 100 active giants. — rising to about 18,957 feet and crowned by a 1,600-foot-wide summit crater that holds two small crater lakes.

After freshening up in the restrooms, we bought our Piedras Rojas tickets for 15,000 CLP (about $16.50 USD) and set off. Pay attention to which tickets you choose — and even the order of sites matters. We went with the Southern Hot Water Salt Flats & Miscanti and Miñiques Lagoons package, so Piedras Rojas would be our first stop, followed by the twin lagoons.

Tip | Make sure you grab the right tickets for Piedras Rojas and the Altiplanic Lagoons — so your high‑altitude adventure goes off without a hitch.

On the way, we got lucky: a long-necked bird that could’ve passed for a distant cousin of an ostrich ambled into view and a handful of vicuñas grazed along the roadside. Vicuñas are one of two wild South American camelids that roam the high alpine Andes — the other, the guanaco, prefers lower elevations. Our guide was very protective of the vicuñas; it was breeding season, he said, and any sudden stress could cause a miscarriage. We watched from the safety of the van but they were unbothered by the road and sauntered surprisingly close, like shy neighbors peeking over a fence.

The tiniest members of the camel family, vicuñas have long enchanted people — ancient Inca nobility prized their whisper-soft, fine and surprisingly sturdy wool. After the Spanish conquest, rampant hunting for their luxurious fleece and meat nearly wiped them out. Even today, their coat remains a rare treasure: vicuñas are endangered and their wild temperament and unusual mating habits make them almost impossible to domesticate.

Across the basin from the Atacama rises a different kind of skyline: the Salt Mountains or Cordillera de la Sal. Born millions of years ago when an ancient lake bed was lifted by shifting coasts carved by rivers, glaciers and volcanoes, these ridges feel almost otherworldly. Famous for Valle de la Luna — where dunes, jagged peaks and surreal rock sculptures evoke a lunar panorama — we planned to explore it later. The range wears a rusty-red hue, modest in scale and often glints as if dusted with salt thanks to its high calcium sulfate content, patiently sculpted by the relentless sun, wind and rare desert rains.

This region is home to the world’s largest astronomical undertaking, ALMA — the Atacama Large Millimeter/submillimeter Array. Sixty-six gleaming radio dishes form an extraordinary interferometer, tuning in to the faint whispers of millimeter and submillimeter wavelengths. Perched high on the Chajnantor plateau at 16,500 feet, the site’s thin, dry air and sweeping skies make it one of the planet’s best natural observatories — a place where the universe feels astonishingly close.

At the edge of Salar de Aguas Calientes sits Piedras Rojas — literally “red stones” — a breathtaking volcanic scene in the heart of the Chilean altiplano. Towering crimson rock formations contrast with the glassy salt flats and the shimmering Aguas Calientes lagoon, part of the vast Talar salt lake that spreads across 18 square miles at an altitude of 12,960 feet. The scene feels otherworldly, as if the earth itself painted a masterpiece in bold, rusty hues.

Salar de Talar, tucked into the Central Andean dry puna, feels like a page from a windswept highland storybook — clumps of hardy grass punctuate the stark landscape and the air is arid and crisp, with barely six inches of rain each year.

The early afternoon air shimmers with heat and dust; everything feels sunbaked and dry. The trail climbs higher and with that thin, breath-stealing altitude comes a warning — lightheadedness, nausea, a heavy, sleepy feeling, even shortness of breath. Move deliberately, sip water often and pace yourself. Wear lightweight layers in the hot sun, slick on sunscreen and wear sunglasses — small comforts that will keep the sudden, fierce heat from stealing the day.

Arriving at Piedras Rojas is easy with a guide, though ticketing can sometimes be confusing — double-check your passes before you go. After the little stone visitors’ hut, follow the dusty trail on foot and feel yourself stepping straight into the middle of nowhere. A gentle 30-minute descent into the valley is lined with small stones and clear graphic signs, guiding you toward the otherworldly landscape below.

The wide, flat plain unfolds beneath a ring of towering mountains and snowy summits, their silhouettes cutting the sky in every direction. Scattered rocks and soil blush in warm shades of red and terra cotta, adding a painterly contrast to the austere highland. Perched on the northern Chilean Andes’ high plateau, Salar de Talar is one of a chain of salt flats tucked at the feet of a row of volcanoes that trace the eastern edge of the vast Salar de Atacama.

The closed basin of Salar de Talar spans almost 185 square miles, reclining beside the shimmering basins of Laguna Miscanti, Laguna Tuyajto and Salar de Capur — the first of which we’d explore next. Long ago, this plain was filled by a vast lake that once linked it to Salar Purisunchi, a quiet reminder of the landscape’s watery past.

The salt flat sits nestled between two dramatic neighbors: to the west, the Caichinque volcanic complex, which rises between Salar de Talar and Salar de Capur; to the east, the sculpted slopes of Cerro Medano. Cerro Medano wears a palette of greys and browns that pops against the salt flat’s blinding white expanse and the delicate powder-blue and sea-foam-green ponds that rim its edges. Remarkably, lava from Caichinque once flowed into this basin, piling up into two distinct nodes that reach out into Salar de Talar like cooled fingers of dark stone.

Framing this breathtaking scene is the majestic Cerro Miscanti, or Ipira. This volcanic giant in Chile’s Antofagasta Region watches over Laguna Miscanti, its 15-square-mile form bearing the dramatic evidence of a westward collapse that peeled back the volcano’s heart. Within that exposed scar another cone rose — so any future rumblings would likely spill their lava toward the lagoon’s glittering shores.

The distant mountain range crowned by three dainty, snow-dusted peaks is Cerros de Incahuasi. What you see today is a graceful remnant of an ancient volcano that once stood taller — partially collapsed long ago. One of its neighbors, Incahuasi Sur, erupted about 10.5 million years ago and belongs to a volcanic belt and fault line that sweep southeastward, a quiet geologic story etched across the landscape.

Piedras Rojas feels like a scene borrowed from a dream. A looping trail leads you from one irresistible viewpoint to the next — each more enchanting than the last. The path starts with a bold, straight stretch into the wild, opening onto a lookout that overlooks a shimmering white salt plain and a soft, green-tinted lake that seems almost mirage-like, as if the landscape itself were quietly showing off.

The red rocks, born from iron’s quiet oxidation, pop brilliantly against the aqua waters and the white salt crystals. Their rounded shapes look as if they were flung down from another planet, making the scene impossible to forget. A slow 360° turn reveals endless vistas in every direction.

One of the first stretches we reached shimmered with a dusting of white salt, especially along the lake’s drier edges. We could only admire it from a distance but the view felt quietly magical. A steady wind races through here, so tuck scarves and cameras away — nothing wants to stay put for long.

Perched on a tiny cliff at the water’s edge, it’s the perfect spot for a photo — with the stunning Cerro Miscanti rising majestically behind.

We drifted onward along the path, veering left and leaving the giant teardrop rocks for the next curious wanderers to discover.

In the trail’s second half, the path opens to a view of Cerro Medano — a brown‑grey ridge that seemed to have been lightly dusted with powdered sugar along its base.

We shifted a little nearer to the Cerros de Incahuasi, their triple snow-capped peaks rising like a quiet crown above Sico Pass on the Argentina–Chile border.

We paused at another breathtaking overlook where the salt flats spread like soft pale cream and the lake glowed a sea-foam green, all set against the dramatic, rust-red outcrops of Piedra Rojas — a vivid postcard of color and contrast.

From the safety of the trail, we lingered at a perfect lookout and let the landscape mesmerize us — towering red rocks, wind-sculpted formations and endless desert light that kept revealing new details the longer we watched.

Do keep in mind this spot can get busy when several tours arrive at once. I tried to stay just a step ahead or linger a little behind to snag photos without the crowds, often turning around to catch the view from behind — those unexpected perspectives felt like little rewards.

By then, we were nearing the trail’s end. Loop complete and pleasantly spent, our group trailed back to the little stone shelter — eager for shade, a breather and the promised relief of a proper restroom.

Tip | Remember to enjoy the pace on this hike — the sun can be fierce, the air surprisingly dry and the elevation will make its presence known. Take water breaks, feel the breeze when it comes and let the landscape unfold slowly; the reward is worth the steady pace.

Our next stop brought us to the Altiplanic Lakes, where the twin lagoons of Miscanti and Miñiques sit side by side like two peaceful mirrors in the high plateau.

Marvel at the Mirror-Like Lagoons of the Altiplano

Laguna Miscanti sits high on the altiplano of Antofagasta, cradled beneath the looming silhouettes of Cerro Miñiques and Cerro Miscanti. This shimmering lake is one of the seven enchanting sectors of Los Flamencos National Reserve, where wind-sculpted landscapes meet sky-bright waters and flocks of flamingos dot the shore.

Five square miles of deep, heart-shaped blue settle into a basin carved by a volcanic fault. The water, clear and faintly brackish, plunges to about 33 feet, a startling oasis in the arid landscape. At first glance the lake feels almost magical — an unexpected splash of life and color in a world otherwise dust-dry.

Once one sweeping lagoon, Laguna Miscanti now rests as the larger of two shimmering basins — a striking expanse among the Atacama Altiplano’s grandest lakes. Ringed by dramatic peaks, Cerro Miscanti rises nearby to about 18,445 feet while Cerro Miñiques towers to roughly 19,390 feet, framing the water in a breathtaking high‑altitude embrace.

A rocky peninsula juts from the lake’s northern shore, where an ancient lava flow skirts the water and splits the otherwise flat bottom into two peaceful basins. Just south of Miscanti nestles Laguna Miñiques — a sister lake kept apart by that same ice-age lava, as if the land itself once drew a slow, deliberate line between them.

Rainwater and warm underground springs keep the lagoon fresh, while water slowly escapes through seepage and evaporation; in winter its surface turns into a solid sheet of ice.

In the rolling hills, vicuñas dart and leap with their families, graceful and shy. Quick as a breeze and easily spooked, they’re an elusive subject for photos. Their warm, tawny coats drift into the landscape, making them look as if they’ve sprung from the earth itself. Can you spot any in the image below?

Birds stitch the sky into motion — plumes of color and shadows dipping and rising above the mirror-still water. Our guide pointed out one especially vulnerable neighbor: a species so deliberate and meticulous that building a nest can take an entire year. That patient labor turns nesting into a craft and the slow, careful process makes these birds a reminder of fragility and persistence in this high, hollowed landscape.

We crested the hill and rolled down to the quieter, emerald pool of Miñiques Lagoon.

This time, we lingered at a respectful distance, watching the lagoon shimmer like a secret kept just out of reach.

The whole lagoon felt like it could be held in a single frame. Along its rim, a few vicuñas lingered, tiny specks cooling off in the dry heat. As of late, the climate here is arid and crisp but the meadows and sparse vegetation around the lake still beckon birds and mammals to the water’s edge.

Flamingos paint the waters in blush tones, while the Andean coot, horned coot, Andean gull, crested duck and silvery grebe add lively splashes of motion and song. On land, curious mammals — Highland tuco-tuco, Southern viscacha, Darwin’s leaf-eared mouse, culpeo and elegant vicuña — peek from rock and scrub. The lagoons themselves play a starring role, serving as a vital breeding sanctuary for the horned coot.

Leaving the lagoons behind, we climbed into the van and felt the sweet promise of downtime settle in — time to breathe and recharge.

We’d be wandering off to a new spot for lunch.

Devour a Delicious Spread Au Naturel

A short ride later our guide spotted a clearing with a postcard-perfect view and announced it was time for lunch. We scrambled up a sun-warmed rock pile and sank down to rest. Before we could fully take it in, he and the driver had laid out a rustic, colorful spread — irresistible and utterly inviting.

Each of us picked up a mason jar filled with tender chicken, pasta, sweet beets, crunchy carrots and crisp lettuce, all crowned with bright oregano, a squeeze of lime and a drizzle of oil and vinegar. On the side: crusty French bread, creamy homemade hummus and two playful juices — zesty lemonade and tropical pineapple kissed with rica-rica.

Rica-rica, or kore, is a fragrant shrub from the high Andean Altiplano, especially abundant in Chile’s Arica y Parinacota, Tarapacá, and Antofagasta regions. Bright and minty on the palate, it lends a refreshing, aromatic lift to teas, infusions and any drink that could use a touch of mountain air.

I can’t quite put into words how delightful lunch was — one of the sweetest moments of my day. It felt like the restorative shavasana after an intense hot yoga session: a long-awaited surrender, a gentle reward for all the effort I’d just given.

Another highlight of our tour was the delightfully unique local music. Our guide shared a playlist featuring Poranguí, Rodrigo Gallardo, Matanza, Nicola Cruz and Indómita and it felt like an invitation — a warm, rhythmic welcome into the heart of the Atacama Desert. The sounds made the landscape sing.

Bone-tired but glowing with contentment, we made our way back to town, were dropped off by our guide and collapsed into the welcoming embrace of our hotel.