First point. Chileans are warm and gregarious hosts, keen to share the wonders of their homeland with everyone, as if it were a giant meze plate left out for greedy tourists.
Second point. Beware the Spanish phrase “el centro''. It's subjective and can be interpreted to mean anything from its literal translation of “town centre'' and “industrial centre'' to “arts centre'' and even perhaps “strawberry creme centre''.
We're introduced to the elasticity of this term upon our arrival into Chile's beautiful port of Valparaiso, one of Latin America's most distinctive and vibrant cities.
Baffled bunch
With no prior reservation, we're the perfect baffled fodder for the gaggle of housewives that turn up at every bus terminal in Chile, offering their lodgings to travellers.
“Está en el centro?'' I ask an eager homeowner who talks to us in a friendly, if persistent, manner.
Meaning “is it at the centre?''. “Si, si, señor!'' she purrs, sweeping us into a waiting vehicle and whisking us to her abode nearby.
While well placed with good access to buses, her house is 20 blocks shy of the city's colourful and cultural epicentre. We tuck tail and guiltily leave, apologising profusely.
Valparaiso. La perla del Pacífico: The pearl of the Pacific, as dubbed by the Spanish. Or “Cocker spaniel city'', as my fiancée suggests, referring to the breed of dogs that call the town home.
It's a dazzling technicolour city, literally and metaphorically. The rolling hills of Valparaiso are populated with vibrant colonial homes, as if a tornado had ripped through the Valpo Paint Expo 2008.
Nothing is spared: hostels, shops, churches, cafés and private houses are all bathed in a rainbow of magenta, lemon, fuchsia, tangerine, scarlet and turquoise.
It's as if a parental committee redecorated the city with the express purpose of creating colour-coded beacons for their wayward kids returning home in the wee hours.
Two sides of the city
The city is conveniently split by a wave-cut cliff wall that yawns 200 metres back from the shoreline. If Chile is a tale of two cities (Santiago and Valparaiso), Valpo is a tale of two city halves.
The demarcation is clear: industry and residency; commerce and culture. The business quarters are connected to the nest of private dwellings and museums by a network of ancient ascensors, or funicular elevators.
Near-vertical cable cars ferry gawping tourists and locals up dizzying 50- to 70-degree slopes every few minutes. Like the wondrous cities of Buenos Aires, Cuzco and Rio, Valparaiso embodies far more European flourishes than its location near Patagonia would suggest.
The streets of Valpo are as chaotic as a torn cobweb. While the city wraps its long, svelte body around the bay of the same name, avenidas fan out from the ocean like sunrays buckling over the port's geography, curling into a labyrinth of dead ends, blind corners and spilt streets.
Lost and found
It's dangerous to attempt a stroll without a map. Luckily, most of the locals are like walking, talking signposts — only that even they are sometimes confounded, such is the nature of this hilly warren.
We ask a girl in a café uniform the location of our lodging. She doesn't know but persists trying to help, hunting down a storekeeper who might be able to help us. Servicio instantáneo — with a smile!
Third point: No matter how lost you are, you can always count on the amiable Chileans to point the way.
The streets are worth a walking tour; most hotels arrange these for a modest fee (around $10 or Dh37 each). Every cerro of the Valparaiso landscape unlocks yet another vibrant world of discovery, each with its own distinctive character.
Cerro Concepcíon, where we're staying, is a tight tangle of churches, cafés and provocative street murals — some abstract, others creatively political.
Local eateries reflect its irreverent artistry. Colour Café is a funky hole-in-the-wall establishment with friendly service and tasty pastas.
Cerro Bellavista is more laid-back and entirely residential but worth a visit for the Museo á Cielo Abierto, an open-air museum.
Random art
In 1963, university students and local artists dreamt of transforming the city into an art gallery. And this is the result: more than 20 murals adorning the walls of the hillside.
They range from intriguing free-form shapes to figurative works — all in various stages of decomposition.
The older pieces are particularly faded but the collection is constantly evolving and being added to. However, I prefer the delightful street graffiti near Casa Aventura on Cerro Concepcíon, with a distinctly Latino concept — a socialist exhibition, free of pretension and available to all. Gratis.
La Sebastiana, the former holiday home of the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda, is located further uphill and tourists can wander at will, checking out artefacts and the cultural centre.
Another popular spot is the public wharf Muelle Prat, where you can experience boatmen attempting to lure you to a harbour cruise for a fish's-eye view of the city.
It also contains more postcard shops per square metre than anywhere else in Chile. It marks our first encounter with the national churro — a deep-fried pastry rope cut into bite-size chunks and filled with dulce de leche, a caramel-like sugar-milk paste.
Desserts are a way of life here and part of every major meal. This is no exception: very sweet and very Chilean.
Once the excitement of running up and down hills on the ascensors wears off, the lure of Viña del Mar takes its place. This lively seaside resort is now the chief attraction of the area for Chileans and an essential part on any tourist's itinerary.
A 20-minute bus ride takes one around the eastern headland to the famous summer retreat. Casinos and high-rise buildings loom over a heavenly stretch of sand like a South American surfers' paradise — just nicer and 10 degrees cooler.
Icy blunder
Even though we're here in November, the onset of the Chilean summer, it will take a few more months before the ocean water sheds its frosty coat and reaches temperatures suitable for swimming.
After all, the Patagonian icecap is just two states south. While the air is toasty, the water is strictly a toes-only affair.
Plenty of people line the shore, soaking up the rays, but most refrain from venturing into the water.
Yet I choose to neglect this, not having seen a decent beach in almost four months, and dive headlong into the briny blue. But the water is so cold I have to feign an ecstatic attitude. However, my tortured thrashings fool no one.
Finally, I think: “Tim, these are locals. No one's going to believe you're enjoying this!''
Fourth point: Never go swimming if the locals are avoiding the water.
A convenient escape is found in the nearby Quinta Vergara public park. The magnificent old residence of the wealthy Alvarez Vergara family has been transformed into a wonderfully landscaped park — part botanical gardens, part untamed woodlands.
Peppered with youngsters and romantic old folk, it contains the municipal Fine Arts Museum and the odd bulbous Chilean palm.
National spirit
On our final night, Chile is playing Paraguay in Latin America's Copa de Oro, the Golden Cup. We descend to a main-street café to watch the football match and soak up some national spirit.
The café is jam-packed with home supporters, who grab every opportunity to break into Latino sports anthems. The match is pretty pedestrian but the atmosphere is intoxicating and well worth the excursion.
The triumphant ambience builds exponentially, all the way until the final five minutes, when Paraguay scores the only goal and goes on to win the match 1-0. Silence drops like a lead brick.
All that can be heard is the click and whirr of a camera, as my fiancée stands to capture the moment of disappointment.
Necks strain to see who the insensitive, non-Chilean soul is.
The final, and most vital, point. No matter how strange it seems, never try to record a Latino football fan's disappointment for future “cultural'' reference.
Though we escaped the café in one piece, the mob's restraint in the face of such shutterbug insensitivity is testament to the forgiving nature of the Chileans.
— Tim Brothers is a UAE-based freelance writer
Go there ... Valparaiso ... From the UAE ... From Dubai
Santiago is one of the closest airports. It is about 667km east of Valparaiso.
Air France flies five days a week via Paris.
Fare from Dh8,205
— Information courtesy: The Holiday Lounge by Dnata.
Ph: 04 4380454
Information
Emirates offers connecting flights to Santiago, Chile, in conjunction with LAN Airlines via Sao Paulo. Return economy tickets start at around Dh9,800.
Frequent coach and taxi services are available from Santiago to Valparaiso, which takes 90 minutes.
Maritime memories
Established as a port in the early 19th century, “Valpo'', as the Chileans call it, is the country's second-largest city after Santiago, the capital, which lies just 100 kilometres southeast.
The trade of Chilean wheat during the California Gold Rush initiated a boom period for Valpo in the mid-1800s, which was complemented by a steady stream of ships stopping there on their journey around Cape Horn.
While the opening of the Panama Canal put a stop to most maritime traffic, its proximity to beach resorts such as Viña del Mar lured many a young Chilean from the hectic capital city.
Soon, Valparaiso gained a reputation for nurturing a vibrant artistic scene. Indeed, it has a more laid-back and funky air than the frenetic business tempo of Santiago — more San Francisco in flavour than Los Angeles.
One can feel something brewing behind the sharp eyes of the chic, black-attired youth who congregate in the town's many trendy cafés. Revolución, perhaps? Not necessarily political but cultural, artistic and literary.
