Hovering disembodied over the smoggy landscape, the snowy peaks seemed more spirit than substance — an illusion that I would soon be disabused of in my treacherous crossing of the Andes, but that was yet to come. On this September afternoon, the sun had finally emerged to sharpen the watery colors of the city, and as I topped the long climb of Cerro San Cristobal, I paused under the eucalyptus trees to rest a moment. I looked over my shoulder, and I caught my breath.
There they were, painted on the back of the sky like the backdrop of an Isabel Allende novel. Just as I had always imagined them.
Santiago is a city whose charms unfold gradually — and sometimes reluctantly, for many who abhor the traffic and the caustic gray vapor that descends and holds its inhabitants prisoner, sometimes for days. But when it finally lifts, those charms are something to behold.
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