Valparaiso, Valparaiso.

The name trips off the tongue musically.

And rightly so, as this is one of the most remarkably poetic cities in South America.

It is not surprising that this city is where famed Chilean poet Pablo Neruda built one of his famous homes, La Sebastiana, the décor and architecture reflecting not only the chaotic nooks and crannies of the city, but also the naval influence of the port of Valpo, the most important Pacific port of South America. The surprises of Valparaiso make it the perfect location for the bohemian honeymoon.

When you first arrive in Valparaiso, you might not be so impressed. It looks like any other port city, with the focal point being the water, which is in fact cut off from the city itself by a railway and highway system. In fact, Valpo is actually made up of two cities: one being the "el plan", or the flat plains of vaguely ordered streets, businesses and buildings set off from the water. El Plan is blustering with activity however - from the seafood restaurants along the boardwalk to the plazas or main squares, where one can sit on a bench on a lazy Sunday afternoon and watch the children buzz around on tricycles for 150 pesos.

But take one of the Ascensors, hill side elevators dating back to the late 1800's, up the hills into the second part of the city: the Cerro neighborhoods. Set on the steep slopes of 42 cerros, or hills in Spanish, it is here where you will find the colorful corrugated iron houses sitting together in any way shape or form that they can. In fact, that is what it looks like - as if the buildings have grown organically out of the verdant hills, as if a giant vegetable patch of colorful sweet pepper houses tumbling all over each other. Many people do not get Valparaiso at first. It's not the typical honeymoon vacation choice as there are no beaches to speak of and no real luxury accommodations (though Vina del Mar, a beach and resort vacation hot spot is right next door, 20 minutes away by taxi). The true adventure in Valpo is in touring the chaotic streets of the steep hillsides, admiring the bohemian cafes, jazz bars, wine bars, Tapas bars, artisan craft shops, vintage clothing shops and more. In other words - the paradoxical art which comes not only from the artisans but also rising from the port of Valparaiso into the colorful landscape of chock-a-block town houses, dressed in corrugated iron scraps which were salvaged from the shipping crates of the early port trades.

The most unique thing about these houses is that they are not beautiful - at first. The color is faded on the original houses, and through years of weathering from the sun and salt of the ocean, the sidings of many of these houses are rusted brown and orange. But there is such beauty in the wear, in thinking about what these houses have seen, who has lived in them and what kinds of poetry was inspired by their random flashes of color. And the view from the terraces of these houses and passageways is just incredible. One can see the water, the ships, and the neighboring cerros for miles, colorful as the next. Here one can spend days, weeks, exploring the labyrinthine passageways between the houses, up and down tiny stairwells, careful not to step on the many stray dogs lazing about in the sun. Street vendors peddle their artistic wares, paintings, jewelery, and one hobbyist sells remarkable miniature models (which light up as lamps) of the stunning and puzzling architecture. In Valparaiso, you have stepped back in time to a preserved port city and one of the earliest colonial communities in Chile.

UNESCO declared Valparaiso a World Heritage Site in 2003 as a colonial city that represents an excellent example of 19th century architecture in Latin America. Neruda's fondness for this city moved him to make it one of his adoptive homes. He too could not let go of its romantic landscape of dangling houses, churches, cafes and people:

"The port is a tug-of-war between sea and nature, untamed on the cordilleras. But it was man who won the battle little by little. The hills, and the sea's abundance gave the city a pattern, making it uniform, not like a barracks, but with the variety of spring, its clashing colors, its resonant bustle." (Pablo Neruda, Memoirs, Penguin 1978).