Giant volcanoes in Chile\'s wild Atacama

The Alto Atacama Hotel is nestled in a narrow valley on the edge of an oasis It is not a place where you would expect to find a pocket of luxury.But then, it is not a place where you might expect to find very much at all. A vast expanse of dirt and rock, fringed by some of the world\'s most awe-inducing volcanoes – ice-capped behemoths that crowd the horizon – Chile\'s Atacama Desert is one of the planet\'s remotest regions.
Stepping off a plane in the dust-blown town of Calama, I immediately feel the difference. After a week in Chile\'s increasingly cosmopolitan capital Santiago, I have flown north from the big city, a distance of 600 miles and around two hours.
But the knee-jerk change in terrain is sharply astounding. The wind hits like a gnarled hand, slapping and pawing at my face – and I can almost feel the moisture fleeing my skin as this arid atmosphere cracks its fingers. I am not, as someone once said, in Kansas any more. Not even close.
And yet, this craggy corner of a distant continent is not as far-flung as you might think.
This time last year, the Chilean north was splashed across television screens as the painstaking rescue of 33 trapped men at a copper mine in Copiapó became an unlikely global news event (with, thankfully, a happy ending). And while the circumstances of the mine collapse were harrowing, the media glare that shone down for four weeks provided unprecedented focus on a country that, in tourism terms, remains rather a niche concern.
Beyond last year\'s headlines, Chile is a fascinating destination – a narrow 2300-mile ribbon of a country that runs down the lower western flank of South America, pinned into place by the high ridge of the Andes on its right-hand side, and the faceless void of the Pacific Ocean on the left.
There are myriad notes of interest dotted along its thin torso – the icy fjords and glaciers of Patagonia to the south; the chic swirl of Santiago; the faded history of Valparaiso, once a key port on this long shoreline; the fertile vineyards that spread out across the belly of a nation that is an increasingly key player in the wine trade.
And yet it is the desiccated north, where Chile pushes its muscular shoulder against Peru, Bolivia and Argentina, that sounds a siren call to travellers who want to venture away from the expected.
Within minutes of arrival in the Atacama Desert, I have reached down for my camera nine, maybe ten times, its lens magnetically drawn to the incredible bulk of Licancabur, a 19,423ft beast of a volcano – its conical shape, sheer sides and frosted summit a picture of geological malevolence. It looks as if it could erupt at any moment.
This rugged realm, some 40,000 square miles in area, is scarcely the most suitable of environments for humankind. And yet man has long scratched out survival here – from the ancient peoples who made the desert their home long before the time of Christ to the Licanantay tribe who built forts and dwellings here in the 12th century, the Incas who arrived in the 16th century and the invading Spanish who cast all before them soon after.
Some might say that life has altered little here since. The Chileans who live and work in the Atacama of the 21st century still carve their existence from terrain that is hardly built for comfort.
But the inhabitants of the small town of San Pedro de Atacama have a clear advantage over their antecedents. They are now the curators of a growing tourist hotspot.
On the edge of town lies a gem. Hidden behind a miniature oasis that has long been San Pedro de Atacama\'s lifeblood, the Alto Atacama hotel is – at first glance – decidedly un-showy.
The sturdy walls of its 32 low-slung rooms blend in with the dark orange of the flanks of rock that rise on either side in its narrow valley setting – while, within the complex itself, large cacti stand among the walkways as alpacas chew at patches of grass.
But here, first appearances are undoubtedly deceiving. The Alto Atacama is one of those travellers\' rests where the emphasis is as much on rest as on travel. It is a grown-up hotel, ideal for those imbued with that undying backpacker sense of adventure, but who have long dispensed with the backpacker willingness to rough it. This much is clear in the main reception area alone.
On one side, a gourmet restaurant awaits its diners. On the other, a broad bar spreads out along one wall, shelves behind loaded with bottles and the promise of evening bonhomie. And at the far end, an open fireplace monitors the whole scene, ready and alert to ward off the evening chill of the desert with a crackle and spit of flame.
The rooms continue the theme – spacious enclaves that, without being ostentatiously luxurious in so spartan a context, provide cosiness and charm – soft double beds, en-suite bathrooms, verandas where you can sit in an armchair and gaze at the serrated edges of the world beyond, even eco-friendly lights that take care not to dazzle as they illuminate.
Not that the concepts of pampering and indulgence are neglected. The hotel\'s Puri Spa, huddled within another unobtrusive structure behind the main cluster of rooms, provides massages, hot-tubs and saunas for guests keen to rejuvenate after a day amid the harsh gusts and spiralling sand of the Atacama. An adjacent network of swimming pools offers restorative splish and splash.
And the restaurant ignores the barrenness of its setting to serve up sophisticated fare – hearty steaks, fresh pasta, gloopy soups and Chilean wines.
Of course, the hotel would be nothing without what broods beyond its doors. The Alto Atacama offers guided excursions into the desert, and over four days I am able to explore its parched landscape: the multi-hued splendour of Valle del Arcoiris (Rainbow Valley), where collected minerals of different shades veer from green to pink; the aptly titled Valle de la Luna (Moon Valley), which floats in an otherworldly haze, pillars of salt rising wanly from the ground, only oxygen and gravity making it any more hospitable a place than the moon itself.
Then there is the rare liquid of Laguna Salada, the third largest salt lake on the planet, where further outcrops of salt – hard, nuggety bushels left behind as water has evaporated – are pock-marked across the basin. And Valle de la Muerte (Death Valley) is a flinty corridor of unforgiving ridges. Here, I witness a true show-stopper of a sunset – a technicolour extravaganza where the sky flashes through endless subtle varieties of red, a furious fire.
But then it is no bad idea to gaze at the heavens here. As of this month, the Atacama Desert is the location of the Alma telescope, the most powerful ever astronomical device – a long-sighted miracle that will assess the origins of the universe by probing the far depths of space.
The reason for its siting in northern Chile is simple. The Atacama\'s dry air, altitude and light-pollution-free firmament make it the perfect place to stare at the stars.
And anyone staying at the Alto Atacama can enjoy a taste of this. The hotel has its own miniature observatory, where a 16-inch telescope allows guests to take advantage of the celestial clarity, peering into the endless black above their heads.
The Atacama Desert is certainly remote. But out here, isolated from \'civilisation\', remoteness has its rewards.