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So this morning we’re at Turis-Otway, about an hour northwest of Punta Arenas. Many here take a boat to Isla Magdalena to see some of the 120,000 penguins who live at the Monomento Natural Los Pinguinos which, according to Fodor’s is one of the continent’s largest penguin sanctuaries, open only from December to February when the Magellanic penguins come here to nest and nurture their babies along the southern Chilean Coast.
We are sprawled under giant eucalyptus trees, chickens squawking as we tuck into a picnic (our trays are the tops of oak wine barrels—at the Emiliana Winery, which makes only organic wines in the Casablanca Valley—one of Chile’s big wine-growing regions about 22 miles east of Valparaiso.
The town of Telluride is so safe that local parents let 10-year-olds run around on their own. Kids routinely hop the free gondola from the mountain village for the 12-minute ride into town where they can go to a movie (there’s one movie theater), get some pizza or a burger and some gummies at The Sweet Life. “Parents just have to be willing to give them the freedom and you will see them blossom,” promises Pam Bennett, whose three children are the fifth generation to be raised here.
For the past week and a half I’ve been in Chile, experiencing a new part of the world with my husband Andy, daughters Reggie and Melanie and Reggie’s boyfriend Dan Foldes. This has been a remarkably easy trip so far. We had a wonderful time touring quirky Valparaiso and cycling around some vineyards. We made it to a famous Penguin nesting habitat, even if we were there the wrong time of day to see thousands of Penguins, we saw plenty.
Rule One: The kids are the leaders. Rule Two: We follow — happily — most of the time anyway. We all know the dirty little secret of family travel: If the kids are happy, the grown-ups are happy, and it doesn’t matter whether you are in a five-star resort in Scottsdale or a budget cabin in the Ozarks, on an once-in-a-lifetime trip to Costa Rica or camping in the nearest state park.
The three of us love skiing… hard. Silverton satisfied our collective appetite for steep slopes, open powder fields and “earning our turns.” With only one lift (not counting the bumblebee-like helicopter that pilots experts to otherwise un-gettable peaks) the Mountain has a huge variety of terrain which can be accessed only by strapping one’s skis to backpacks and trudging up in ski boots.
DAY FIVE AAH. I’m face down with soft music playing at the Golden Door Spa at the Peak’s Resort in Telluride as the massage therapist works magic on my aching muscles (after four days of skiing )
DAY FOUR — I’m standing in a ghost town—in the snow in the middle of the forest. Who says all there is to do on a winter trip to a ski resort is ski or snowboard?
Sixteen year-old Max Walker-Silverman, a Telluride native has a message for visiting teens: “Get out of the mountain village and spread our tentacles and you will find a cool historical town.”
We drive from Silverton about two hours across a mountain pass to another world at Telluride Ski Resort, where we check in to a luxe condo–so luxe I can’t even figure out the lights or the shower (do I want rain shower, multi jets…?) at The Peaks Resort
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