Hey there, fellow wanderers!

I’m Jack, and welcome to Patagonia to Atacama – my little corner of the internet where I share the incredible journey I’ve been on exploring every nook and cranny of Chile for the past eight years. If you’re wondering how someone ends up dedicating their life to chasing sunrises over the Andes and camping under some of the clearest skies on Earth, well, grab a cup of coffee (or a glass of Chilean wine) and let me tell you my story.

It all started with what I thought would be a simple two-week vacation back in 2017. I was burnt out from my corporate marketing job in Denver, desperately needing a break from endless spreadsheets and conference calls. A friend had just returned from a trip to Patagonia with these absolutely mind-blowing photos of Torres del Paine, and something about those jagged granite towers just called to me. So I booked a flight to Santiago with barely any Spanish under my belt and a hiking backpack I’d used maybe twice.

Those two weeks changed everything.

I still remember my first morning in Torres del Paine – I’d hiked up to the base of the towers at sunrise, completely unprepared for the physical and emotional impact of standing in front of those massive granite spires as the first light painted them gold. I literally sat there and cried. Not because I was tired (though I definitely was), but because I’d never experienced anything so raw and beautiful in my life. The scale, the silence, the way the wind seemed to carry stories from centuries past – it was like nothing I’d ever encountered.

But here’s the thing that really hooked me: it wasn’t just the famous spots that captivated me. During that first trip, I took a wrong turn (my Spanish was terrible, remember?) and ended up in this tiny village where an elderly gaucho invited me to share mate with his family. We couldn’t really communicate through words, but we spent hours just sitting, watching the sunset paint the pampas in impossible shades of orange and purple. That night, sleeping under more stars than I knew existed, I realized I’d found something I didn’t even know I was looking for.

When I got back to Denver, I couldn’t stop thinking about Chile. My desk job felt suffocating. I’d catch myself researching bus routes through the Atacama Desert instead of working on quarterly reports. My friends got tired of hearing about how the Milky Way looks from San Pedro de Atacama (spoiler alert: it’s absolutely incredible). After six months of basically living for my lunch breaks when I could read about Chilean destinations, I made what everyone thought was a crazy decision – I quit my job, sold most of my stuff, and bought a one-way ticket back to Santiago.

The plan was loose, maybe irresponsibly so. I had enough savings for about six months, some basic Spanish I’d picked up from language apps, and an ambitious list of places I wanted to explore. I figured I’d travel around, take photos, maybe write about my experiences, and see what happened. Looking back, it was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

Those first few months were rough, I won’t lie. I got altitude sickness in the Andes more times than I care to admit. I spent three days in Valparaíso completely lost because I was too proud to ask for directions. I tried to camp in Valle de la Luna during a windstorm and learned very quickly why the locals thought I was insane. My Spanish was still pretty terrible, leading to some hilarious miscommunications – like the time I accidentally ordered cow brain instead of beef steak in a small restaurant in Pucón. (Plot twist: it was actually delicious.)

But with each mistake, each wrong turn, each awkward conversation, I was falling deeper in love with this incredible country. I started documenting everything – not just the Instagram-worthy sunset shots, but the real experiences. The bus driver in Arica who shared his lunch with me when mine got stolen. The family in Chiloé who taught me how to prepare curanto in a traditional earth oven. The park ranger in Lauca National Park who spent an entire afternoon showing me how to spot vicuñas through binoculars.

About a year into my Chilean adventure, I was camping near the Marble Caves when I met Maria, a local guide who’d been taking tourists through Patagonia for over a decade. Over a shared bottle of wine (Chilean, obviously), she told me something that stuck with me: “Most travel writers come here, check off the famous spots, and leave. But you’re different – you actually listen to the stories these places want to tell.”

That conversation was the real beginning of Patagonia to Atacama. I realized I wasn’t just exploring Chile; I was falling in love with its stories. Every destination had layers that most visitors never discovered. The Easter Island moai aren’t just mysterious statues – they’re connected to complex Polynesian navigation techniques and ongoing cultural preservation efforts by the Rapa Nui people. The colorful houses of Valparaíso aren’t just pretty backdrops – they’re testament to the city’s resilience through earthquakes, economic changes, and social movements.

I started this blog because I wanted to share these deeper stories. Sure, I’ll tell you how to get the perfect sunrise shot at Torres del Paine (get there early, bring extra batteries for the cold, and prepare to be speechless). But I also want you to know about the conservation efforts protecting those granite towers, about the gaucho culture that’s been shaped by this harsh landscape for generations, about the small family-run refugios where you can experience genuine Patagonian hospitality.

What sets my approach apart is time – lots of it. While most travel writers might spend a week in each destination, I’ve had the luxury of returning to places multiple times, in different seasons, getting to know them like old friends. I’ve watched the Atacama Desert bloom after rare rainfall (twice!), witnessed the northern lights dancing over Punta Arenas during a particularly strong solar storm, and spent countless nights learning about Mapuche traditions from elders in Temuco who’ve become like family to me.

My photography style has evolved alongside my understanding of Chile. Early on, I was all about the dramatic landscape shots – and don’t get me wrong, I still love capturing the raw power of an active volcano or the impossible blues of a Patagonian glacier. But now I’m equally passionate about the smaller moments: hands preparing empanadas in a Santiago market, the concentrated face of an astronomer at one of Coquimbo’s observatories, the weathered textures of a palafito in Castro.

Writing has become my way of processing these experiences. I’m not a trained journalist – my background is in marketing, remember? – but I’ve learned that the best travel writing comes from genuine curiosity and respect for the places and people you encounter. Every article I publish goes through multiple drafts, not just for grammar and flow, but to make sure I’m representing these destinations authentically. I’ve scrapped entire pieces because they didn’t capture the true spirit of a place, or because I realized I needed to spend more time understanding the local perspective.

The technical side of blogging has been a learning curve. I taught myself photography through YouTube videos and countless hours of practice. My first attempts at editing were pretty rough – I may have oversaturated more sunsets than I’d like to admit. But gradually, I developed an eye for capturing Chile’s unique light, from the ethereal glow of the Atacama’s salt flats to the moody atmosphere of a Chiloé forest.

SEO, social media, website design – all completely foreign concepts when I started. I’ve made plenty of mistakes (posting content at completely wrong times for my audience, using hashtags that made no sense, accidentally deleting entire photo galleries), but each error taught me something new. The blogging community has been incredibly supportive too. Other travel writers, both in Chile and internationally, have shared advice, collaborated on projects, and become genuine friends.

What drives me every day is the responsibility I feel to these places and communities. Chile is experiencing massive growth in tourism, which brings both opportunities and challenges. I’ve seen the positive impact when visitors support local businesses, respect cultural sites, and travel sustainably. But I’ve also witnessed the damage that can occur when tourists treat destinations as mere backdrops for social media content.

That’s why every article includes practical information about responsible travel – which local guides to hire, how to minimize environmental impact, ways to support indigenous communities respectfully. I partner exclusively with Chilean tour operators and accommodations that demonstrate genuine commitment to sustainability and community benefit. It’s not always the most profitable approach, but it aligns with my values and ensures that tourism helps rather than harms these incredible places.

My typical day varies dramatically depending on where I am and what season it is. When I’m researching a new article, I might start before dawn to catch the perfect light at a location, spend the afternoon interviewing local guides or artisans, and end the day writing notes by candlelight in some remote refuge. Other days are spent at my home base in Santiago, editing photos, responding to reader emails, and planning future expeditions.

The physical demands of this lifestyle took some getting used to. I’ve hiked hundreds of kilometers through Patagonian wilderness, acclimatized to altitude changes from sea level to over 4,000 meters, and learned to sleep comfortably in conditions ranging from Atacama Desert nights (surprisingly cold!) to humid coastal towns. My gear has evolved significantly – I’ve learned which camera equipment can handle Chile’s extreme environments and which hiking boots actually work on volcanic terrain.

Financially, this hasn’t always been easy. The blog took nearly two years to generate any meaningful income, during which I lived pretty minimally. I learned to cook simple meals on camping stoves, became an expert at finding budget accommodations, and mastered the art of Chilean public transportation (which, by the way, can get you to some surprisingly remote places). Gradually, through a combination of affiliate partnerships, sponsored content (always clearly disclosed), and selling photography prints, I’ve built a sustainable income that allows me to continue this work.

The most rewarding aspect isn’t the stunning landscapes or adrenaline-pumping adventures, though those are pretty amazing. It’s the connections I’ve made with people who’ve shared their stories, their knowledge, and often their homes with me. From the astronomy guide in San Pedro de Atacama who taught me to identify Southern Hemisphere constellations, to the vintner in Elqui Valley who explained how Chile’s unique geography creates perfect conditions for pisco production, to the Mapuche weaver in Temuco who patiently showed me traditional techniques passed down through generations.

These relationships have transformed how I understand travel. It’s not about checking destinations off a list or collecting passport stamps. It’s about approaching each place with genuine curiosity, respect, and openness to learning. Some of my most meaningful experiences have happened when plans went completely wrong – missed buses that led to discovering hidden hot springs, language barriers that resulted in hilarious charades sessions, wrong turns that revealed spectacular viewpoints no guidebook mentions.

Looking ahead, I’m excited about several upcoming projects. I’m working on a comprehensive guide to Chile’s lesser-known national parks, collaborating with local photographers to showcase hidden gems that deserve more recognition. There’s also a documentary project in early stages, focusing on how climate change is affecting Chile’s diverse ecosystems and the people who depend on them.

I’m particularly passionate about promoting off-season travel to help distribute tourism more evenly throughout the year. Chile’s shoulder seasons offer incredible experiences – Patagonia in autumn has a mystical quality that rivals the famous summer months, while winter in the north provides perfect conditions for stargazing and hot springs.

Education remains a core focus. Through partnerships with Chilean universities and research institutions, I’m developing content that goes deeper into the geological, ecological, and cultural significance of the destinations I cover. Recent articles have explored topics like the astronomical importance of the Atacama Desert, the conservation challenges facing Chile’s endemic species, and the ongoing efforts to preserve indigenous languages and traditions.

Social media has become an important platform for sharing real-time experiences and connecting with fellow travelers. I try to balance the inevitable “wow” factor of Chile’s landscapes with more authentic glimpses into travel realities – the long bus rides, the early mornings, the occasional challenges of communicating across language barriers.

What I hope readers take away from Patagonia to Atacama is inspiration to explore Chile thoughtfully and sustainably. This country has given me so much – incredible experiences, lifelong friendships, a completely new perspective on what it means to live authentically. Through my writing and photography, I want to share these gifts while encouraging others to travel in ways that preserve and respect the places and communities that make Chile so special.

Every sunrise over the Andes, every star-filled night in the Atacama, every conversation with locals who’ve become friends – these experiences have shaped not just my blog content, but who I am as a person. Chile taught me that the best journeys happen when you’re willing to get lost, make mistakes, and remain open to whatever adventures await around the next bend in the road.

Thanks for joining me on this incredible journey. Whether you’re planning your first trip to Chile or you’re a seasoned traveler looking for new perspectives, I hope Patagonia to Atacama helps you discover the magic that makes this country so absolutely unforgettable.

¡Hasta la vista, and happy travels!

Jack