Based on the shape of Chile alone, you could tell it’s an interesting country. It’s nothing more than a sliver of South America, a string bean that squeezed its way in, but it’s as diverse as it is long. All coast on one side, the Andean chain on the other. Patagonia at one end, the Atacama Desert at the other. Some like to say that, after God created South America, he filled Chile with all the geographical leftovers – lakes, volcanoes, glaciers, valleys, desert, beaches, mountains, and rainforest.

We began at the southern tip with Nick, made our way up to Santiago, took an excursion out to Easter Island, and, though we were planning to continue our linear path up north, Julie and I decided to return to a part of southern-central Chile we flew over. We thought about hopping over to Colombia, but it’s a bit dodgy these days. The head of Rustic Pathways described it as “a beautiful land of wild birds, cultivated drugs, and some of the richest traditions in fine coffee, effective narcotics distribution, and the murder and kidnapping of the occasional visitor who goes someplace stupid.” Mom would’ve loved that!

We took an overnight bus to Pucon, the adventure capital of Patagonia in an area called the Lakes District. Max, another one of Julie’s Chilean friends, met us at the bus station in the morning. We got settled in his house before we walked around a bit and bought all the necessary ingredients for a BBQ dinner.

The most popular activity in Pucon is climbing Volcan Villarrica, a 9,000 ft volcano that is impossible to ignore. It sits peacefully behind the town, releasing smoke like an enormous chimney. It attracts scientists as well as hikers, for it is still very active. Our guide told us that, in the case of an unexpected eruption, the evacuation plan is something like “drive as fast as you can.”

In the early hours of the morning, we started our hike. The chairlift that lifts the load of trekkers by lifting them over a nasty patch wasn’t working, so we had to do it all on foot. At lunchtime, our guide suggested that Julie and I join a faster group. He said we wouldn’t want to be held back on the next section – the glacier to the summit, so he instructed us to strap crampons to our boots and chase after a group that had already left a while ago. “Excuse us,” “Pardon us,” “We’re with that group,” we mumbled apologetically as we raced past single-file trekkers, cutting corners up the icy face of the mountain.

We eventually caught up and joined our new group for the final ascent. From the giant crater at the top, we looked down on all of Pucon through the clouds. We saw carvings in the land that gushing lava had once created. When the pressure is right, you can supposedly see bubbling lava inside of the crater. In the blink of an eye, however, clouds came rolling in. One minute we could identify the lakes of Pucon, the next we could barely see our feet. The sulfurous gas that we were all inhaling was another reason for a quick turnaround.

Going up, we were all “nose-to-ass” behind the guide, carefully digging our crampons and axes into the ice to remain on the zigzag path. Going down was different. We slid and slipped all over each other, and there were even luge tracks at certain points. I tried to slow myself down with the ice axe, but usually just ended up kicking Julie's backpack and propelling her forward into the next person.

The domino effect brought us to the foot of the volcano, and a van brought us back to a restaurant in town, just in time for the Davis Cup tennis match - US vs. Chile. I was of course in the minority, so I had to keep all Roddick cheers to myself.

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