From El Calafate our journey down to Tierra del Fuego took us south, back over the border into Chile to visit the Torres del Paine National Park. The park is known as one of the best in the whole of South America on account of its spectacular scenery and epic hiking trails. It has only recently acquired this reputation, as before 1959 it used to be one great big sheep farm, before being bought back by the Chilean government.

The nearest town to the National Park is Puerto Natales, a ramshackle collection of buildings that are really little more than shacks, stitched together from plyboard, corrugated iron and plaster, leaning against each other to keep out the cold. Dumped in the centre of town after a 6 hour bus ride we were a little unsure what to expect of our hostel, and were most pleasantly surprised when we arrived to find we had booked ourselves into a very well run B&B with warm rooms, TVs and big comfy beds.

We had no time to take a rest though, as we frantically ran around town trying to sort out our hiking trips for the next couple of days before the shops shut. Most people only stay in Puerto Natales for one night, heading off into the National Park the following morning to 'Hike the “W”' - a four day trek taking in the main sights in the park, camping en-route or in mountainside refugios. We neither had the time, equipment nor the inclination to put ourselves through that ordeal, so had to work out the best way to see as much as possible in the few days we had. After checking the weather forecast we decided to take the bus into the park the next day to hike one leg of 'The W' route – the most impressive stretch up to the namesake 'Torres del Paine' peaks – then take a rest day before taking on a one-day minibus tour of the other main sights.

At 7am the next day we clambered onto the bus taking us into the park. We slept most of the way to the base camp, waking up in time to be shoved off the bus at 10am, at which point we realised we had a 26km round trip ahead of us, and not that much time to do it in. Off we went! The first hour we walked along a broad flat plain, then up a mountain path that wound round into a steep river valley. There were a few dark clouds around, but for the most part the entire valley was lit up by the sun and we were soon down to wearing just our T-shirts. As we walked up into the river valley though, the weather flipped from nice to nasty. An icy wind kicked up and it started to rain and sleet. By the time we reached the first refugio at 12:30 we were soaked, freezing and thoroughly demoralised at the thought of another 10km ahead of us, mostly straight up, before we reached the end of the trail. To make matters worse the clouds had come in and the entire range was covered in a thick white mist, so we didn't even know if we would be able to see the Torres when we got there.

We sat in the refugio debating the best course of action over our soggy sandwiches. As we counted kilometres and looked out the window up at clouds, we found that we were sitting next to an English couple who were making the return trip from the Torres. They assured us that it was worth the trip, and as they had camped on the mountain the previous night before setting off at dawn, we felt like complete wimps for considering turning around halfway. So we set off again.

Luckily the weather cleared up almost as soon as we set off after lunch. The track was also a lot more easy-going and sheltered from the wind inside a shady forest. We kept up a good pace too, so found ourselves an hour ahead of our planned time as we broke free of the treeline and found ourselves at the foot of the final ascent. This last hour was to be a scramble straight up over a scree slope of boulders, sand and gravel. As Sarah has achieved true 'Mountain Goat Status' through our hikes in China, Borneo and Peru, we had no problems (well, maybe a couple of vertigo panics, but nothing serious). The view of the Torres del Paine when we reached the top of the scree slope was breathtaking. Three spires of granite laced with streaks of basalt, soaring above a hidden glacial lake you can only see when you reach the summit.

The way down actually took us longer than the way up, carefully treading down the mountainside till we reached the safety of the forest. The clouds rolled back in again, and we walked through more rain to make it back to the pick-up point with two hours to spare. To Sarah's disgust, I insisted we walk a further 7km back to an earlier drop-off point. She sulked for the first few kilometres, before I made the error of suggesting that the empty gravel road ahead looked like something out of a pop video: Cue Sarah's interpretation of 'That Don't Impress Me Much' by Shania Twain, followed by countless other karaoke classics, all the way home.

After a much needed rest day, lying in bed till noon massaging our aching legs and watching Friends re-runs, we were ready for another crack at the National Park. This time, we would be doing it from the comfort of a mini-bus with minimal hiking. It was a long day – over 12 hours of touring – but took us around all the sights we would have missed. We saw more mountains and glacial lakes, waterfalls, rheas (ostrich-like birds) with their chicks and lots of guanacos (another llama spin-off).

The two highlights for me though, were a trip to a giant milodon cave and a short walk to Lake Grey to see the glacier. Milodons were prehistoric plant-eating mammals that look kind of like giant sloths. They were about 10 feet tall, and were the preferred food of the hunter-gatherer tribes that used to inhabit the area. The first stop on our bus tour was an enormous cave hollowed out by an ancient sea, within which Victorian archeologists discovered a Milodon skeleton and human artifacts from around 5000 BC. The discovery of the Milodon skeleton caused quite a bit of excitement at the time – the Daily Mail even sent a team of explorers over in 1909 'To capture a live milodon to exhibit at London Zoo'. Ambitious.

Glacier Grey was the last stop of the day. We actually only caught glimpses of the glacier from the southern end of the lake, but the shore was crowded with massive icebergs that had broken off from the glacier and floated downstream with the wind. We nearly didn't make it to the lake itself as the wind blowing down from the glacier was so fierce - it regularly reaches over 100km/hr, knocking you off your feet and ripping the heat from your body. We definitely felt like we were close to the Antarctic, and were very glad once we had taken our photos and sprinted back to the bus. We were even more pleased as we sat back in our heated seats ahead of the rest of the group, and it started to pelt it down with rain, then snow.

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!

As our first stop on the South American leg of the tour, we were very excited to touch down in Santiago. We were suffering a little as the result of a 16 hour time difference between NZ and Chile (meaning we landed before we left, despite an 11 hour flight) but were determined to press on regardless and make the most of our few days in the capital.

We were staying in the Barrio Brasil, the artsy (cheap) district, and on our first day we kept our explorations within that neighbourhood. Starving after the long flight, we grabbed empañadas for lunch – deliciously hot, although with surprise fillings including an olive and a slice of hard boiled egg. From there we ventured on to the newly-opened Human Rights Museum, which documents the period between Pinochet's coup in 1973 and his eventual defeat in 1990's first democratic elections in years. During this time, more than 3,200 people, including many children, were killed or disappeared and over 28,000 people were arrested, many of whom were tortured until they agreed to all manner of 'war crimes.' Over 1500 of these people are still missing, with no answers forthcoming as to their whereabouts. The floor to ceiling montage of their photos was very moving and served as a stark reminder of Chile's relatively recent dark past.

On a lighter note, the next day dawned bright and sunny and so we headed into the city centre proper to explore. As we wandered around the main squares, Plaza de Armas and Plaza de la Libertad, we were struck by how familiar and strangely European it felt: surrounded by ornate buildings and statues of figures on horseback, we could easily have been in Madrid, Paris or Rome. Except perhaps for the Chilean flags adorning EVERYTHING, ready for the Bicentennial celebrations of the founding of the country on the 18th September. This was a pretty big deal – 5 days of national holiday were planned to mark the occasion, and there was a really festive atmosphere in the capital in the days leading up to the big day.

It was too nice a day for museums, and so instead we headed for the parks, starting with Cerro Santa Lucía. Formerly both a convent and a military bastion, today it offers one of the best viewpoints of the city, the snow-capped peaks of the Andes rising majestically behind modern skyscrapers. It's an impressive sight, and it's only up here that we got a feel for how vast and sprawling the capital is. From there it was on to the Parque Metropolitano, the largest open space in the capital. Its highest point is Cerro San Cristóbal, reached via a very rickety cable car. At the top we were greeted with yet more stunning views, and also an enormous open-air church, complete with statue of the Virgin Mary and slightly creepy choral music played from hidden speakers in the trees. Apparently during the Spanish conquest, crosses were often placed on top of hills to show that the area had been 'won' for Christ against the infidels, so I guess this is the modern-day equivalent.

The following day was a little more overcast: perfect for museums! We initially had little success on this front – the first place we went to (the Palacio Cousiño, one of the grandest houses in Chile) was shut for refurbishment, and the second (the Palacio de la Moneda, the site of Pinochet's 1973 coup) was closed for Bicentennial celebrations. But it was 3rd time lucky with the Palacio de Bellas Artes (art musum to you and me). The incredible building was modelled on the Petit Palais in Paris, and was built to commemorate Chile's centenary in 1910. To celebrate the bicentenary, there was an exhibition featuring artists from 20 different countries ruminating on what Chile meant to them. A lot of it was crap. Better were the portraits of the improbably-named Bernardo O'Higgins, who is considered one of Chile's founding fathers. We also paid a visit to the Precolumbian Art Museum, a collection of artefacts from civilisations which predated the Incas. We were fascinated by the chinchorro, cadavers subjected to a form of mummification where the internal organs were removed and replaced with plant matter, before the skin was sewn back on. Nice.

But probably the best bit for us about Santiago was just wandering around, trying out our pigeon Spanish and getting used to being in a new continent after more than 2 months in the 'familiar' Antipodes. We discovered several cafés con piernas (literally: cafes with legs) where the female waitresses don short skirts in order to show off their assets to the largely male clientele. The cafes grew up as a reaction to both the strict dictatorship and the conservative religious norms here, but today they just look rather sweet and innocent, especially in comparison to the exponentially more filthy strip clubs which have sprung up more recently.