Highin&the dry andes Chile’s legendary Portillo resort now has a new way to draw you in to a Southern hemisphere vacation — the desert. By leslie anthony photographs by paul morrison
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In the morning after a heavy rain, Santiago, Chile is sort of like the basement of paradise.
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Its ubiquitous smog has been washed down gutters, the acrid smell of diesel replaced by musty garden scents and flowers. On downtown paseos, people rush from coffee and morning papers toward whatever encontradas await. Hard to imagine this cosmopolitan scene lies less than an hour from one of the world’s legendary ski regions but, much like Salt Lake City in the Northern Hemisphere, it’s indeed that close. When you can see them on a clear day like this, the Andes, towering to the east like snow-capped heaven, form a monolith of surreal scale. Back in the early 1980s I’d ski-bummed here, living in the mountain town of Farellones, skiing the neighbouring areas of El Colorado and La Parva. I wasn’t the only summer-ski aficionado — there were a handful of other Canadians, Americans, Swiss and French living what now seems an outlaw existence. The highalpine skiing was beyond our wildest expectations, and frequent closures for huge storms meant we often had it all to ourselves. Out of bounds? There wasn’t any. We went where we wanted, followed by a squadron of hopeful Andean condors. The bottomless powder we toured to in the sunshine between storms eventually became, in the ’90s, the world-class destination ski area of Valle Nevado. Other adventures we undertook that season (by train or bus) now comprise the cat-ski tenure of Ski Arpa, or near the volcanoes of the south like Termas de Chillan and ski areas over the border in Argentina (see sidebar). Things in my old stomping grounds have certainly changed considerably. Like a summer romance, however, Chile never left me. Though much of the wildness of those days is gone, the important things remain: the vastness of the Andes, their wide-open slopes, legendary snowfalls and cobalt skies. Which is exactly what I found when I returned last September to visit the one resort I hadn’t managed to get to before: Portillo. High on the Chilean-Argentine border several hours north of Santiago, Portillo (“gap”) is one of the alpine world’s great destinations and a must-see for any true skier. The resort’s mainstay is the activity-filled, cruise-ship-in-the-sky Hotel Portillo. Channeling unassailable timelessness, its storied hallways are hung with photos, mementos and framed accolades from the many national ski teams and Olympic medallists who train here during the JuneSeptember South American winter. Surrounded by this gallery of friends and ski legends (many one in the same), longtime owner Henry Purcell and family occupy their same table at dinner every night, creating a distinct sense of history unfolding.
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When you see them on a clear day like this, the Andes, towering to the east like snow-capped heaven, form a monolith of surreal scale. The cavernous dining room is paneled in leather, staircase handrails wrapped in it — so thick and well-tanned it seems like polished wood. A swarm of red-coated waiters and busboys in starched whites deliver food Euro-style in record turnaround times. Soaring rock faces and alabaster peaks pour in through floor-to-ceiling windows to accompany your meal, the drama exacerbated by weather— whether snow, sun or wind. This season, however, the former was overshadowed by the latter two as this high-altitude stalwart — where storms regularly deposit metres at a time — experienced its lowest snowfall
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in a half-century. Pockets of untracked snow, of course, could still be found with a little hiking and reading of the wind. Even on the infamous Lake Runs — accessed from one of Portillo’s notorious, high-speed, “slingshot” platter lifts (something only a racer can appreciate) — magnificent chutes that offer 650 vertical metres of 30-degree amazingness. In fact, despite the paucity of snow, almost everything was still skiable, and the hotel was chockfull of tourists and teams from around the globe: skiing, training and lounging; eating, drinking and making merry at the annual wine week (the best of Chile’s extensive wine industry in attendance); partying until dawn with Escudo beer and the local specialty, pisco sours, in smoke-filled bars like La Posada. It would be sad if Portillo and its legendary terrain were permanently affected by climate change, because Purcell notoriously pursues an eco-friendly operation: he doesn’t like snowmobiles, so there are none; the area is serviced on foot and lift by piste workers and patrollers, a craggy lot whose faces seem chiseled from the surrounding rock. Both to hedge bets and provide a broader adven-
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The Goods on South America Las Lenas, Argentina Vertical: 4,035 feet Trails: 64 km Airport: Mendoza, Argentina Consistently deep snow, great après nightlife and some of the most spectacular scenery in the world, Las Lenas also boasts steep runs, narrow chutes, cliff drops and long groomed trails. Vibe: Party time in Argentina, until 4 am. Digs: Try the luxurious 5 star Piscis Hotel. Suggest: Ski the Marte Bowl for an enormous, un-groomed, steep and powder filled skiing. Portillo, Chile Terrain: 1,236 acres Elevation: 10,859 feet Airport: Santiago, Argentina Open powder runs, tight chutes, endless powder and a few long groomed runs — serviced from unique five-person poma lifts — show off Portillo’s versatility.
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With so few guests the resort boasts powder for days. Vibe: laid-back, warm hospitality. Digs: Ski-in, ski-out at the luxurious Hotel Portillo. Suggest: Hire a guide to explore the offpiste terrain for deep powder. Termas de Chillán, Chile Vertical: 3,610 feet Longest run: 13 km Airport: Santiago, Chile Translated as “spas of Chillán”, this resort soars 1,650 meters above sea level on the slopes of a volcano, 82 kilometers from the city of Chillán. With three high-end hotels — including the 5 star Gran Hotel — the 28 trails are serviced by 11 lifts on 10,000 hectares of skiable terrain. Vibe: Family fun. Digs: The spectacular Gran Hotel features a casino and thermal spa. Suggest: Ski South America’s longest ski run (13 km): the Las Tres Marias.
ture for potential guests, however, Portillo recently put together a unique package of a half-week skiing here and a half-week at a sister resort in Chile’s northern Atacama desert, parts of which haven’t experienced rain in recorded history. Naturally I wanted to go. From Santiago we flew to Calama, home of the world’s largest open-pit copper mine, a company town that our shuttle driver labeled “the ugliest in Chile” (it’s not). After an hour and a half of stark but beautiful desert, we arrived at the old mining oasis of San Pedro de Atacama. The hotel, Tierra Atacama, is down a dusty street on the edge of town, and from its native adobe walls you would never suspect the luxury within, architecture that is at once simpatico with the
land and also a uniquely contemporary design that utilizes wood, concrete, adobe and a surfeit of glass to let in the perpetually clear azure ceiling and its horizon line of 5,000-metre volcanoes. Weather and view sell this place, but help comes in the form of a pisco sour flavoured with a local desert succulent whose taste falls somewhere between sage and licorice and which, for good reason, is called rica rica (Spanish for about as good as anything can taste). You can hang at the outdoor pool, visit the serene indoor spa, or ride cruiser bikes into the historic town, but those are the lowoctane activities. Over the next four days we experienced the otherwordly landscape in ways we’d never imagined. We climbed past herds of lithe Vicuna to the summit of 5,625-metre Volcan Toco, sipping coca-leaf tea to ward off dizziness and gaining spectacular views to the Bolivian Altiplano. We hiked the startling Valle de la Luna where crystalized salt, gypsum and calcite formations made musical notes — like a high-pitched xylophone — as the sun rose, and we visited Valle Muerte, where a huge dune creates a huge irony: in the middle of the world’s driest desert, you can actually rent ski and snowboard gear to ride these sand slopes. We watched flamingos and other rare birds during a spectacular sunset over the Atacama salt pans. But our crowning experience was descending a quebrada (canyon) formed by the confluence of a cold river (ice chunks floating down from the Andes) and a hot river (formed from upstream geysers) where the momentary condensation in the air was enough to support 10-metre, 1,000-year-old cactuses. It was a stealthy walk through the quebrada, crabbing back and forth from cold shadows into air warmed by radiation from the
Weather and view sell this place, but help comes in the form of a pisco sour flavoured with a local desert succulent …
rock. There were many small cascades, but smoothly carved rock formations provided evidence of past higher water. As we made the final climb back onto the altiplano, a large rock formation jutted from the hillside, beneath which sat ancient rock livestock pens and a human shelter complete with smoke-stained kitchen— the closest thing to cave-man living imaginable. Archaeologists have determined that these dwellings have been in use by llama shepherds and others for at least 2,000 years. Back at the hotel that afternoon, pisco sours in hand, we watched smoke trail from Volcan Putana to the north while Volcan Láscar smoked to the south, emphasizing that we were straddling some serious geology. Which we were — both belong to a roughly north-south-trending volcanic complex that covers an area of 600 square kilometres. Drinking and staring at big mountains. Isn’t that what skiers are supposed to do at the end of a good day? It worked for us.
Whistler-based writer and editor Leslie Anthony is the author of White Planet: A Mad Dash through Modern Global Ski Culture.
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