Santiago

Santiago keeps the Andes at the end of every street, a wall of snow so constant that santiaguinos stop seeing it and visitors never do. It is the orderly capital of a long, improbable country: coffee runs on schedule, the metro gleams, the vineyards begin at the city's edge — and then, on a clear day after rain, the mountains lean in and the whole grid becomes a balcony.

The sensible traveller starts at the Plaza de Armas and the Centro's fading grandeur; crosses to Lastarria for the museums and the long lunch; climbs Cerro San Cristóbal at golden hour, when the city lights up against the wall; and gives the night to Bellavista. With one more day, choose a valley: Maipo for the reds, Casablanca for the whites, or the Cajón for the mountains up close.

The Guide's honesty: winter inversions can hide the Andes for days — if the air is clear, drop your plans and go up something tall —; earthquakes are a fact the city engineers for, not a reason to stay away; and the best pisco sour argument in the continent is settled here nightly, in Chile's favor, at the bar.