Andean Adventures: Comparing Hiking Trails Near Santiago and Arequipa

Santiago sits in a valley surrounded by the towering Andes, creating one of the most accessible urban-to-alpine transitions I've experienced worldwide. Within an hour's drive from downtown, you can be tackling serious elevation on trails like Provincia and Manquehue.

My favorite Santiago-adjacent trek remains Cerro Provincia (2,750m), which begins in the upscale Las Condes neighborhood and quickly ascends through distinct ecological zones. The initial dusty chaparral landscape might seem underwhelming, but persist past the halfway point and you're rewarded with alpine meadows, southern beech forests, and eventually panoramic views that stretch from the Pacific to the Argentine border.

What makes Santiago's trails unique is their proximity to urban life. You'll encounter a mix of serious mountaineers and weekend warriors, creating a community vibe that's both welcoming and motivating. I struck up a conversation with a local corporate lawyer who hikes Provincia weekly as his moving meditation—a reminder that these mountains serve as both playground and sanctuary for Santiaguinos.

For multi-day adventures, El Morado National Monument offers glacier views and challenging terrain about 2 hours from the city. I spent two nights camping beneath stars so clear they seemed artificially enhanced, my ultralight tent barely necessary in the dry spring conditions.

If Santiago's trails offer accessibility, Arequipa's deliver drama. The White City sits beneath three volcanoes—El Misti (5,822m), Chachani (6,057m), and Pichu Pichu (5,664m)—each presenting serious high-altitude challenges that demand proper acclimatization and preparation.

After five days in Santiago, arriving in Arequipa meant adjusting to the immediate altitude jump (2,335m). I spent two days exploring the colonial center while hydrating constantly with my trusty insulated water bottle before attempting any significant climbs.

El Misti stands as the iconic centerpiece of Arequipa's skyline—a nearly perfect volcanic cone that beckons adventurers. The two-day ascent begins in arid, Mars-like terrain before transitioning to volcanic scree that tests both patience and quad strength. Unlike Santiago's relatively green trails, Misti presents a stark, otherworldly landscape that feels almost lunar.

What struck me most was the spiritual significance these volcanoes hold for local communities. My guide, Carlos, performed a small offering to Pachamama (Mother Earth) before our ascent, a practice dating back to Incan times. This cultural dimension adds layers of meaning to the physical challenge, transforming the hike into something approaching pilgrimage.

For those seeking less technical options, the Salinas y Aguada Blanca National Reserve offers spectacular day hikes with vicuña sightings and salt flat vistas. The high-altitude sunlight here is intense—I was grateful for my polarized sunglasses which prevented snow blindness while enhancing the surreal landscape colors.

The contrasting environments of Santiago and Arequipa demand thoughtful gear adjustments. Santiago's Mediterranean climate means scorching days but relatively mild nights, while Arequipa's high-altitude conditions create extreme temperature fluctuations and thinner air.

For Santiago trails, moisture-wicking layers proved essential as I generated significant heat on the steep ascents. My hiking pants with zip-off legs offered versatility as temperatures changed throughout the day. The relatively stable weather patterns meant I could pack lighter, though afternoon thunderstorms occasionally rolled in during spring.

Arequipa's volcanic terrain demanded more specialized equipment. The loose scree on El Misti had me grateful for my trekking poles which saved my knees on both ascent and descent. The altitude also necessitated additional cold-weather gear despite hiking during spring—nighttime temperatures dropped well below freezing at higher camps.

One piece of equipment that proved invaluable across both regions was my GPS watch. Beyond tracking routes, its altimeter helped me monitor my ascent rate to prevent altitude sickness in Peru, while its navigation features proved useful on less-marked Chilean trails.

Regardless of location, sun protection becomes critical at altitude. The UV index in the Andes is notoriously intense, especially when reflected off snow or light-colored volcanic rock. Beyond sunscreen, I relied on my sun hoodie which provided UPF 50+ protection without overheating during strenuous climbs.

Beyond the physical challenges and gear considerations, what draws me repeatedly to mountain environments is their capacity to enforce presence. Both Santiago and Arequipa offered distinct mindfulness opportunities that I've integrated into my hiking practice.

In Santiago's more accessible mountains, I found myself practicing what I call "transition awareness"—paying close attention to ecological shifts as I gained elevation. Starting in urban parks, moving through Mediterranean scrub, and eventually reaching alpine environments creates natural mindfulness markers. I'd stop briefly at each transition zone, close my eyes, and note the changing sounds, smells, and air temperature.

One morning on Cerro Manquehue, I sat for twenty minutes watching Santiago emerge from morning fog while listening to my ultralight speaker playing ambient nature sounds that complemented rather than competed with the environment. This juxtaposition of urban sprawl below and natural silence above created a meditation on interconnection I still return to mentally months later.

Arequipa's volcanic landscapes, by contrast, invited a more elemental mindfulness practice. The stark, sometimes barren terrain of El Misti eliminated distractions, creating space for what mountaineers sometimes call "the void"—that mental state where exertion, altitude, and isolation strip away everyday concerns.

During our final push to Misti's summit, our guide Carlos encouraged periodic breathing exercises to manage both the thin air and mental challenges. These simple practices—four counts in, hold for four, eight counts out—became a rhythmic meditation that matched my footsteps on the volcanic soil.