What surprises most first-time visitors to Patagonia is not the landscape. It is the silence. The horizons in southern Chile widen until reference points disappear, and the absence of background noise — no traffic, no aircraft, no distant city — produces a quiet that takes a day or two to fully register. Once it does, the silence becomes part of the experience. So does the wind. Together, they explain the place better than any photograph.

Mérida does not announce itself. A first walk through the centre often leaves visitors slightly puzzled. The streets are low-rise. The colours, while rich, are not theatrical. There is no cathedral square that resolves the city's identity in one image. For travellers arriving with the expectation of an obvious tourist set-piece, Mérida's first hour can register as quiet to the point of underwhelming.

The Atacama looks the way it does because nothing softens it. The light is sharp, the air is thin, and the geology has not been weathered into approachability. Lagoons appear chemical-blue against pale flats. Volcanoes rise without foothills. Roads cross terrain that, photographed, would not be believed.

Most international trips to Mexico land at a coast and stay there. The country's reputation rests overwhelmingly on its beaches — the Riviera Maya, the Pacific resorts, the bay sequence of Tulum, Cancún, and Playa del Carmen. None of these are wrong reasons to visit. But they account for a fraction of what the country is, and for travellers willing to look slightly inland, the most rewarding Mexico tends to live in its cities.