Over the moon in Chile

By a strange twist of fate I found myself in the Atacama Desert as the 33 miners were about to be miraculously and unexpectedly excavated after 69 days under the scorching earth.

Whenever I had watched coverage of the "historica rescate", it had appeared to be two stories. The genuinely remarkable story of the trapped miners — and the tale of a disparate group of journalists mining for a gold-seamed story in 30-degree heat and freezing nights trapped by the merciless glare of live 24-hour news coverage.

There seemed a terrible fear that if a major event didn't happen soon to rescue them, the above- and below-ground reality television show would be pulled off-air. And with it any interest in the earth's "driest desert".

For me this was a terrible irony because — having been to the Atacama Desert before — I knew that it was a miraculous and unexpected event in itself. So last week — while the world focused below ground — I was blithely and insensitively experiencing the joys of being above ground.

I spent four wonderful days under the biggest, bluest sky in one of the most unpolluted landscapes on earth — with the sensual curves of the Andes in every direction and salt lakes frosting the desert like frozen moonlight. I swam with flamingos in turquoise lakes, galloped across sand-dunes, dived in hot waterfalls and hiked and cycled through the burned umber landscape among llamas and cacti, and hazelnut groves.

The last time I visited Chile I had spent most of my time in Patagonia, at the southern end of this long thin line of a nation. This is a landscape dominated by spectacular volcanoes and unkempt greenery, with simple wooden homesteads scattered among meadows and hillsides of yellow gorse like fallen sunshine. I had ridden the Gaucho trail through the Valdivian rainforest and up into the Andes through the beautiful eagle-swooped Cochamo valley. I then went to Chiloe; an island of disturbing mythology and penguins.

Here people live on the sea in ice-cream coloured houses on stilts — so they can up sticks if their neighbour's child decides to learn the trumpet. It has such a cold climate that inside one of the beautiful all-wooden churches I saw a Madonna and baby statue with Jesus sporting a nice woolly jumper, tights and a matching pom pom hat. I then went from a horizon of icebergs, through the temperate vineyard region and up north to the blazing heat of the Atacama. All in one day.

However, my time there was so brief I felt I had to return. It took me about 17 hours to fly from the UK to Santiago — then another 90-minute flight to Calama airport in the desert. And then a 90-minute drive to San Pedro. But it is an unforgettable drive.

The desert has an overwhelming beauty — the light and sand combine to oppress you — as Emily Dickinson might say — "with the heft of cathedral tunes". It is supposedly the nearest landscape to Mars.

It somehow makes you self-reflective and very emotional. It gives your insignificant being a sense of perspective, but also makes you wonder if this is how the whole of the world will end up — abraded to sand and dust and ash... and pretty soon, if we don't get our act together.

I was staying in the Awasi and Explora hotels in the oasis town of San Pedro. I loved both. The Awasi is a boutique hotel utterly in tune with the environment. There are only eight rooms — mainly set around adobe huts — beautifully presented, with utter peace and quiet — a swimming pool, an open fire, fabulous food and drink and attentive service.

The Explora is also a treat, though it is larger and modern — with four swimming pools, stables and an observatory. The aim of both is to encourage guests to challenge themselves to participate in new and adventurous experiences in the desert, while offering them a secure and luxurious base camp. Both hotels offer guides, Jeeps and a range of adventures from cycling, hiking, riding and swimming to bonfire barbecues, sand-boarding and star-gazing.