Travelling beyond the sprawl of Santiago towards the coast is a downhill ride past scrubland, scratch-built commuter suburbs for the upwardly mobile and barren looking vineyards. Once you reach the outskirts of Valparaiso, the descent becomes even steeper as you roll down into the bowl of the bay - a natural amphitheatre in which a thousand pastel-coloured buildings crowd for a view of the sea.

Late afternoon our coach dumped us in the centre of town next to a smelly market and a smokey bus station. Compared to Santiago, the crowds were noticeably poorer - older clothes, heavier loads – but the same bicentennial buzz was definitely in the air. People were looking forward to a weekend of partying.

Valparaiso avoids direct comparisons to its rich neighbour Santiago by calling itself the 'cultural capital' of Chile. This makes the most of the city's rich history, and the least of its current position as Chile's poorest city.

Valpo used to be the number one port in South America, where wheat was exported to fuel California's gold rush growth, and local guano was sent all over as the world's finest fertiliser. The wealth of these industries has left a scattering of sooty looking colonial buildings around town, as well as a number of ingenious 'escalators'.

The escalators are essentially Victorian-era funiculars built to ferry rich people up and down the town's many hills. Improbably, most are still running today. As we paid our 20p fare and walked through the polished wood turnstiles to board the escalator to Concepcion, I was reminded of restored seaside attractions at Brighton pier. Climbing into the creaking wooden box that would carry us up the 45 degree incline I was instead reminded of un-restored rollercoasters in Porthcawl that have a tendancy to break, maim and kill holidaymakers. We were sharing the box with an American student and her local host. As the engine in the base station whirred to life, she asked if the escalator had ever broken down. Her host cast her mind back for a moment before replying, 'Yes, it broke last week, but no-one was hurt and they fixed it quickly'. The ground I could see between the planks beneath my feet seemed further and further away.

Another proof-point for Valpo's 'cultural capital' claim is the presence of nearby Isla Negra – famous poet and national icon Pablo Neruda's favourite home. Having heard that it was definitely worth a visit, we set off down the coast the next day to take a look. Out in the sticks, the festival weekend had a more traditional slant. Groups of young boys wearing spurred boots, black hats and matador jackets were making their way across the fields to various parties.

Eccentric is a label applied to those who are both crazy AND rich. It is label most apt for Mr Neruda. For example, his sea-view living room was crowded with giant figureheads salvaged from ships, which he travelled the world to collect; he built an extra entrance hall off of one side of his house as a 'stable' for a large plaster horse that he liked; and his bedroom was modelled on a ship's cabin. As I haven't yet read his poetry I was unsure what to make of all this, however I was firmly won over when I discovered that Pablo owned a large collection of tweed jackets and smoking pipes, and had built his own bar underneath his bedroom. Architectural genius aside, I think what impressed me most about Pablo Neruda is just how famous he is in Chile. I think it's great that an entire country can be so proud of one of its intellectuals. Can you imagine the same status being afforded a poet in the UK?

Our last day in Valpo we took another bus to the next town up the coast – Vina del Mar. This is where the rich Chileans go for some sun, sand and surf. Being a holiday weekend, the boardwalk was packed with families feeding their kids ice-creams, teenagers showing off their fancy gelled haircuts and gay men carrying small dogs in handbags. Sarah and I spent an hour watching the procession from under a coffee-shop's umbrella before making our way back to Valpo. That evening we decided to treat ourselves to a nice meal and made our way (by foot) back up to Concepcion. The restaurant we originally planned on visiting was fully booked, but they recommended another one nearby. We weren't sure we had found the right place at first – a large white house with a large oak door but no sign or menu outside. We pressed the buzzer in hope, and were rewarded with a warm welcome (well, warm after the owner's initial skepticism that two dirty backpacker types would be able to afford to eat there) and were escorted up to a first floor glass conservatory with a view of the entire bay. The view was perfect, the meal incredible, and the waitress that served us was lovely. Sitting over our arty-looking desserts Sarah reminded me that the last time we had eaten out 'properly' was in March after we had got engaged - 6 months ago already!