Valparaiso is magic. It’s got color, culture, style and grit — everything. It’s a city that seems to build itself not from specific ambitions or ideals, but simply around what and where and who it is. Houses crawl up its hills along impossibly steep streets because that’s what there was to build on. The “Plano” that is the flat centro of Valparaiso was once the sea, now filled in with earth to make the land… because where else will you put the port? For one of the most impractical layouts one can imagine, it all arrives organically from its people and its needs — needs that include the numerous ascensors (funiculars) that, for just a few cents, haul tired bodies up and down the steep slopes.

Visually, Valparaiso is astonishing and hard to take in immediately. Its patchwork of colorful homes is sometimes strong and sensible, sometimes falling apart down hillsides. Murals, posters and graffiti layer up to cover most surfaces. Tiny mosaiced street-corner parks become improvised soccer fields and performances spaces. Valparaiso is also rather filthy, liberally smeared with a patina of hand trash, dog shit and rubble. Someone opined once that “Valpo is visually a bit better from afar”, and I think the statement is sometimes true, but of course, if all you do is look then you’re missing the point entirely.

Just up the coast from Valparaiso is the town of Viña del Mar. Taken together, these two towns create an awesome counterpoint to each other — Valparaiso with its bohemian grit, and Viña which comes off kind of like a posh Santa Barbara. The gorgeous coastline between cities made a lovely long walk, with dramatic rocks, gliding pelicans, and grumpy sea lions.

The following are short descriptions of just some of our days with these tirelessly generous dudes:Valparaisos Porteños are a mix of artists, poets, lovers and hustlers that seem to exude no righteous sense of entitled ownership of their unique world, but seem to honestly feel quite lucky for it. Risking cliche, I will say that the real magic of Valparaiso must be its people — a point that I will prove true by introducing you to our hosts: brothers Vito and Nico. Some old friends from Lucy’s traveling days in Central America.

There was that first night when Vito took us out with his pal Rene, first to the oldest and diviest portside bar you could imagine – song erupted when a duo of Cueca performers started in on their fast and contagious poly-rhythmic tunes. Leaving the bar, our guides picked up the sounds of love music which lead us up to a high floor in a building full of reversal studios — we spent a half hour or more tapping our toes to a ska-infused fusion of styles, replete with horn section. Next, there was the century old restaurant with classic tipical dishes, borgoñe (red wine and muddled strawberries), and classic desserts, presided over by a crooner that landed somewhere between Dean Martin and Don Ho that had the whole crowd singing along. Of course, upon leaving we magically run into Nico who whisked us off to his flat for an intimate party with wine and conversation until the small hours.

And then there was the next night where we met Vito for a quick dinner and since we admitted to being tired and run down from the night before, he let us off easy by just giving us an hours long night tour of the high hills of Valpo.

And there was that time he took us to the underground brunch place with the all star line-up of legendary cueca fossils, dancing, borgoñe… and there were llamas.

And then there was that day where we took a walk and met up with Nico who was putting the finishing touches and a small architecture commission he was completing. The brothers, a friend of theirs, and ourselves made for the coast, where we had empanadas and beer, followed by a frightening horseback ride along the sea on pissy horses that bit me and galloped wildly in opposition to our demands… Except Nico’s, who rode fast and laid back like a gangster — still toting his messenger bag, it looked like maybe he was commuting by horseback. After that we headed back to Vitos house to pick up supplies, and back to the coast on a massive private sand dune overlooking the ocean where Vito threw together a BBQ until the sky was black.. Then around midnight we would head back to Valparaiso to a bar where Vito’s uncle was wrapping up a set on the keys, and the to his house where his jam room was overseen by a large photo of Pope John Paul II, and where we would play soul records until very late, watching Vito’s uncle smoke more weed than I would have imagined a 75 year old man was capable of.

And then there was the time Nico took us to lunch followed by a trip to the hilltop cemetery where he paid the guard off to let us in, and we sat perched on a hill overlooking the city, drinking a thermos full of coffee.

And of course, there’s the fact that we lived with Vito and his grandparents for a full week…

We left Valparaiso a little misty eyed for our overnight bus to the north — tired, happy, and completely full of thanks for our remarkable friends in Valpo. Thanks for everything guys.