There’s this thing people don’t tell you about Santiago until you’ve lived there long enough for it to weave itself into your veins. At first glance, Santiago can feel like an overly serious first date—you know, the type that shows up perfectly groomed, talks about their job in finance a little too much, and doesn’t laugh when you make a joke about their cologne smelling like your tío Raul. It’s tidy, functional, and doesn’t seem particularly eager to let you peek behind the curtain.

But then, like any relationship worth pursuing, Santiago rewards patience. And my God, when you crack through its polished shell, you find pockets of wild, unfiltered beauty—the kind that make you think, “How did I misjudge you so completely?” Growing up here wasn’t just about living in a city; it was learning how to flirt with life itself, holding space for tradition with one hand and chasing progress with the other.

Let me take you to the places, the sounds, and the lessons it taught me.

Where Time Stood Still: My Abuela’s Living Room

I grew up in a terraced house in Ñuñoa, a neighborhood of leafy streets and dogs that barked more than they bit. My abuela’s living room, however, was the beating heart of every family gathering. We’re talking potlucks overflowing with cazuela, empanadas hot enough to make you forget your own name, and enough wine to spark half a dozen passionate debates (read: arguments) over fútbol. I learned my first lessons about love here—though not in ways I expected.

Take my uncle Víctor, for example. Without fail, he was always the guy saying, “She’s the one,” before someone even asked. His whirlwind love stories were captivating to observe, like watching a telenovela with snacks that didn’t leave you feeling bloated. But for every “the one,” there was a lesson. His doomed romances taught me that charm without substance only lasts as long as the empanadas stay warm. “Find someone who not only loves you,” my abuela once whispered as she unapologetically slapped queso fresco on freshly baked marraquetas, “but who shows up to help clean afterward.”

It sounds folksy, but honestly, it’s a philosophy that’s saved me from more than a few messy entanglements. No matter how poetic the chemistry seems, does that spark linger when you’re scrubbing burnt paella off the oven?

The Rhythm of Connection: Parque Forestal

During my teenage years, Parque Forestal became a sanctuary. Picture sprawling green spaces flanked by the Mapocho River and locals with their guitars, sketchpads, or dogs named after obscure pop stars. It wasn’t just a park; it was a loop of human connection in all its awkward, wonderful glory.

It’s here that I had my first kiss with a boy who quoted Neruda poorly (he rhymed “amor” with “error”—and, wow, did that age well). It’s also where I learned the art of unspoken communication while people-watching. Some couples clung to each other like they were reenacting finales from romantic movies while others sat in companionable silence, swiping through their phones side by side.

Forestal taught me something profound: it’s not about how shiny or loud love looks; it’s how naturally it becomes part of your routine. Whether you’re picnicking with wine in mismatched glasses, catching the same bus together at sunrise, or walking barefoot on the grass after a shared meltdown about work. Quiet reliability? That’s where the magic sparkles.

Grounded by Chaos: The Santiago Metro

Though unglamorous, the Santiago Metro is a masterclass in intimacy that runs on steel rails and questionable timing. If you’ve ever been on Line 1 at rush hour, then you know what it’s like to learn someone’s shampoo brand without needing an introduction. The morning crush is aggressive, fast-paced, and unapologetically human—akin to dating in your 20s.

There was something humbling about navigating that chaos. The prediction? You’d always feel a little scattered. The takeaway? Patience goes further than adrenaline. The metro taught me to appreciate the everyday rhythms of endurance, a lesson that later translated into relationships. Love is not just fiery and dramatic; sometimes it’s about knitting the mundane together—a shared Spotify playlist on the commute, an inside joke whispered before parting ways for work.

And if you’re lucky enough, maybe you find someone willing to swap their seat for you during rush hour. If that’s not romance in an unpolished form, I don’t know what is.

Endless Horizons: The Rooftop Perspective

Santiago’s sprawl isn’t immediately sexy, I’ll admit. But climb any rooftop—especially in my favorite sprawling bohemian neighborhood, Barrio Lastarria—and the city shifts. There it is: the quiet awe of the Andes, always in the background, like a wise older sibling who sees your chaos but doesn’t feel the need to intervene.

My late 20s often found me on rooftops, wine-stained journal in hand, navigating heartbreak or indulging in that existential millennial dread that spirals after 11 PM. I remember watching the sun sink behind pastel-colored buildings and thinking about contradiction. Santiago held all of it—the crowded markets of La Vega, mixing cries of vendors with floral whiffs of cilantro, yet also the untouchable serenity of mountaintops you might never climb. Love is much the same. It’s not tidy. It’s sprawling. It’s crowded with insecurities and transcendent moments that feel borderline cinematic.

One relationship during this time felt especially seismic. I was dating someone completely rooted in their ways, and I fancied myself an explorer, a constant seeker of stories. Every rooftop moment with my restless mind began revealing stark truths about compatibility. Eventually, I let the relationship go, trading stability for the possibility of a view I'd never seen before.

Too Many Lessons, Not Enough Space

Santiago isn’t just a place that shaped me—it’s the perpetual soundtrack of who I am. From the challenge of assembling a completo (Chile’s famous gloriously overstuffed hot dog) without spill-induced humiliation, to late-night folclore jams around backyard bonfires, this city taught me that the best connections—romantic or otherwise—are more art than science. They’re imperfect chord progressions, trial-and-error recipes, and nostalgic dances onto new trails.

I’ve carried this Santiago-flavored perspective into all facets of life, especially love. Choose passion over Instagram-perfect compatibility. Notice the quiet gestures that reveal who someone truly is. Above all, remember this: relationships, like cities, are rarely perfect at first glance, but when you let them reveal their quirks, they become impossible to leave behind.

So whether you're navigating a relationship or an unfamiliar city, settle into the mess a little. You might just fall in love.