The earthquake on Wednesday was the kind of thing that gets into the walls and stays there. A 4.3, apparently, about twenty kilometres out, and at 1:25 in the afternoon, which felt rude because the whole city was mid-lunch. I was in the old town, near the Plaza de Armas, and the first jolt was more of a deep, groaning shudder than a shake. Windows rattled in their frames, a few people stepped out of the cafes, and then, just as quickly, it was done. But the city hasn't quite let it go. You hear it in the queues at the bakery, in the way people greet each other. It is not alarm, exactly, more a kind of shared reference point. Everyone here has their own small story of where they were when the floor moved.
There is something about a seismic event that sharpens your sense of place. It reminds you that this coast, for all its gentle winter sun and long Pacific horizons, sits right on the edge of things. The Andes, that great cordillera, is not just a scenic backdrop. It is the product of the same forces that make the ground shift under your feet. And so I spent this morning walking the city with that awareness. I went to the Museo Arqueológico again, not for the textiles this time, but to sit with the Diaguita pottery and think about the generations of people who have lived with this land, long before the Spanish arrived and founded this place in 1544.
La Serena is Chile's second oldest city, and the layers of that history are visible everywhere. The stone churches, the arcaded streets, the whole colonial core protected as the country's largest zona típica. It was rebuilt and refounded in 1549 after being destroyed, and then reshaped again in the 1940s under President Gabriel González Videla's Plan Serena, which imposed that uniform Spanish colonial style you see today. They call it the city of the belfries, and on a clear day, with the light coming in off the ocean, you can count 29 stone churches rising above the low rooftops. It is a handsome, deliberate kind of beauty.
But my mind is already on the road north. I cannot help it. The Atacama desert has been pulling at me since Vicuña, since I stood in the Elqui Valley and watched the river run swollen with winter rain. An observatory cluster that includes Cerro Tololo and Las Campanas is just inland, and the thought of those domes against the high desert sky is a strong draw. I have booked a daytime visit to Cerro Tololo for later in the week. They do free tours on Saturdays, by reservation, and I am told the four-metre Víctor M. Blanco telescope is worth the trip just to stand under its bulk.
There is a practical side to all of this, of course. I checked the exchange rate this morning over a coffee at La Taza near the centre. The peso is sitting at around 943 to the dollar, which means a cheap lunch of an empanada de pino, a baked beef and onion pie, is about 2,000 or 2,500 pesos. That is roughly two and a half dollars. A proper meal at an inexpensive local restaurant runs around 7,500 pesos. The city feels noticeably cheaper than Santiago, perhaps 25 to 50 percent less for food and beer, which is part of why it is becoming such a destination for remote workers.
I had a simple lunch at Donde El Guaton, a no-frills spot a few blocks from the Plaza de Armas. A plate of fried fish, a salad, and a drink came to about 8,000 pesos, which felt fair for the freshness. The Humboldt Current offshore keeps the seafood abundant and excellent. After that, I walked down to the waterfront, where the sea was a deep winter grey under a sky that could not decide whether to drizzle or clear. The light drizzle came and went, one millimetre over four hours, the forecast said, and I barely noticed it. The winter crowds are gone. The 6 kilometres of Avenida del Mar were nearly empty, just a few dog walkers and a couple of surfers who do not seem to mind the cold.
The beaches here are not for swimming, not really. The surf is rough and dangerous along much of this coast, the undertow strong. Locals will tell you to go to La Herradura, over near Coquimbo, for a calm dip. So I walked instead, watching the waves and thinking about the camanchaca, that dense sea fog that rolls in off the Pacific and settles over the city. It is the same fog that makes the desert bloom with life just inland. The relict forest in Parque Nacional Fray Jorge survives entirely on that fog, a ghost of green in the middle of a semi-desert.
I am also told, though I cannot verify it myself, that there has been bioluminescence in the water this week between Cuatro Esquinas and Peñuelas. Families have been going down to the shore at night to watch the waves glow electric blue. It is a winter phenomenon caused by micro-organisms, and it seems to come and go. I may try to catch it one evening, if the clouds cooperate. Failing that, there is a more predictable celestial event in a few days. A partial lunar eclipse, visible from La Serena on the night of the 27th, beginning around 9:21 in the evening with maximum coverage shortly after midnight. Anyone with a clear sky and a basic pair of binoculars should get a good show.
The observatories are, of course, the real draw for anyone interested in the sky. This region hosts the densest cluster of major research observatories in the world. Cerro Tololo, Gemini, Las Campanas, La Silla all within a few hours. I am told that the night tours at Observatorio Mamalluca, up near Vicuña, are the classic tourist outing, a chance to peer through a moderate telescope at Saturn's rings and the Magellanic clouds. But I am after something quieter, the professional grade. Saturday at Cerro Tololo, assuming the reservation goes through.
This afternoon, I returned to the city centre and visited the Japanese Garden, the Jardín del Corazón. It is a strange, lovely thing on this coast, laid out by a landscape architect from Tokyo and dedicated to La Serena's sister-city relationship with Tenri. Koi ponds, bonsai, and a pair of swans that look thoroughly unimpressed by the whole affair. It is a peaceful spot, and a reminder that Chile's connections reach far beyond the Pacific. I sat there for an hour, watching the light change, and the camanchaca rolled in again, softening the edges of the garden until it felt almost dreamlike.
Earlier, I had stopped at La Recova, the central artisan market, to price some things. Lapis lazuli is the local stone, mined up in the Andes, and the jewellery is striking. A simple pendant was going for about 15,000 pesos, roughly fifteen dollars, and I almost bought one, but I have learned to wait until the end of a trip to buy souvenirs. They tend to accumulate otherwise. The pisco, too, is everywhere. The Elqui Valley produces Chile's pisco, and you can find a decent bottle for around 6,000 pesos at any supermarket. I have had my share of pisco sours since arriving.
For those thinking about a longer stay, the practicalities are worth understanding. Most Western passport holders get a 90-day tourist permit on arrival, which can be extended once for a fee. But you cannot switch from tourist to resident status from inside the country, except in special circumstances. That means if you are serious about staying, you apply for a residence visa before you come, through the government migration service online. An apostilled criminal record check is the document people most often trip up on. And once you are a resident, you will need to get your Chilean ID card from the Registro Civil, which gives you the RUN number you need for everything.
The banking follows from that. Tourists cannot open a standard account without the Chilean ID. Once you have it, BancoEstado is the easiest place to start for a basic account. For me, I am still in a bit of a limbo. I have my RUT number, but not yet the cédula, so I am operating on a mix of cash and my international cards, which work at most ATMs. It is a reminder that moving anywhere takes patience, and the paperwork has its own rhythm.
The evening I spent at a small bar in the Barrio Inglés in Coquimbo, the old English merchant quarter, now the liveliest corner of the conurbation. I found a jazz club, appropriately named Club de Jazz, and sat with a glass of Chilean red wine, about 4,000 pesos a glass, and listened to a trio play standards. It was the kind of evening that reminds you that winter on this coast has its own pleasures. The crowds are gone, the prices are lower, and the local scene comes into its own.
Walking back to my guesthouse, past the silent beaches and the shuttered summer rental towers, I felt a real affection for this city. It is not flashy. It does not try to impress. It is simply here, on the edge of the Pacific and the edge of the desert, with its colonial squares and its crumbling stone churches and its stubborn, friendly people. The earthquake was a reminder of what lies beneath, but the calm of the days since feels like the city's real character. A steadiness, a kind of weather-beaten resilience.
Tomorrow I will drive north, along the Pan-American, toward the Atacama. The weather should hold, clear and cool, with temperatures in the mid-teens. I am told the first desert flower blooms are already showing inland near Vallenar, a sign that spring is not far away. But for tonight, I am content to sit on the balcony of my room, a room at the Hotel Chagual, and watch the lights of Coquimbo flicker across the bay. The air smells of salt and damp stone. The sea breathes in the dark. And somewhere above the camanchaca, the stars are doing their slow, silent work.
I am also told that the traditional Pampilla festival in Las Compañías, the big Fiestas Patrias celebration, has been cancelled again this year, with funds redirected to repair storm damage. It is a disappointment to many, but it speaks to the priorities of a community that is still recovering. The summer crowds will return, the apartment towers along the beach will fill up, and for a few months La Serena will be a different city. But I am glad to see it in its winter coat, when the streets are yours and the quiet carries the sound of the sea. Everything I have mentioned, from the observatory tours to the bioluminescence and the eclipse, is in the episode notes.
Good night from La Serena, where the light is fading and the desert is waiting.