The day I found myself trudging through a remote Chilean vineyard at midnight, armed with nothing but a notebook and an aging flashlight held together by duct tape, I had to pause and ask myself: Carmen, how did we get here? There I was, soaked from an unexpected downpour, trying to chase one last quote for a story that wasn’t even about wine—and to this day, I’ll swear I heard the ghost of Pablo Neruda urging me forward. But let me back up a little, because as strange as that moment was, it might just be the weirdest thing I’ve ever done for a story.

The Set-Up: When Romance Meets Research

It all began innocently enough. I was tasked with writing about how spaces—bars, plazas, vineyards—shaped Latin American love stories, a topic I was equal parts giddy and intimidated by. As someone who grew up watching couples salsa their way to love at neighborhood block parties, I knew how much place mattered in building connection. But I couldn’t rely on theory or novels to carry the piece. No, I wanted texture: real places, real people, and a narrative that made readers taste the salt of a first seaside kiss or smell the jasmine blooming on a moonlit patio.

Naturally, I went where I knew stories tend to bloom: friends-of-friends. I cast a wide net, asking everyone within arm’s reach if they knew someone who’d fallen in love at an iconic location. By the end of week one, I had three delightful interviews and enough steamy courtyard anecdotes to make Isabel Allende proud. But three stories weren’t enough for me. Perfectionist tendencies, remember? Then, like the plot twist in a second-act rom-com, a friend casually mentioned an old tale about a man who proposed in a vineyard after “a beautiful yet totally bizarre chain of events.” I didn’t need more details—my literary heart was hooked.

The Chase: From Santiago to Espiritu Silvestre

Here’s the thing no one tells you about chasing a story: the more absurd the situation, the more irresistible it becomes.

Getting to this vineyard—Espíritu Silvestre—was not exactly straightforward. Nestled on the outskirts of a small town hours away from Santiago, it was just obscure enough that Google Maps didn’t fully trust it existed. I ended up borrowing a car from a cousin (more accurately, a barely-working Ford that, like many flings, had “character”) and set off with vague directions and an even vaguer sense of timing.

By the time I arrived, the vineyard was deserted—or so it seemed. My friend’s “source,” Miguel, was running fashionably late. I spent the first hour wandering vineyards with rows so neat they looked like they’d been ironed into the earth. But just as I started doubting Miguel’s existence, he appeared, wine-stained overalls and all. His first words? “I hope you’re not scared of the dark.”

Vineyards and Other Romantic (or Abruptly Terrifying) Locales

Miguel’s story was everything and nothing I anticipated. The man he spoke of, Jorge, had crafted an elaborate, swoon-worthy vineyard proposal for his girlfriend, Alicia, that hinged on a hidden bottle of vintage wine—one she only needed to “coincidentally” find during a tour. But here’s the kicker: Jorge didn’t actually work at the vineyard, nor had he gotten official permission to bury said bottle on the grounds. What followed was a comedy of errors that involved Jorge being mistaken for a grape thief at midnight, Alicia accidentally discovering the proposal early, and an engagement still being sealed with laughter and—believe it or not—a bottle of Sprite because the wine got confiscated.

When I asked Miguel why this couldn’t have been recounted over coffee, he simply said, “It wouldn’t have made sense without seeing it.” That, and we apparently needed to uncover “the spot” where Jorge had buried the infamous wine for full effect. Which, surprise, is how I ended up squelching through a vineyard at midnight, Miguel cheerfully recounting Jorge’s escapades like he was reading me an audiobook.

Fun fact: Vineyards are not romantic at night. They’re gothic. The whisper of leaves shifts from inviting to eerie, and your only companions are shadows and the occasional stray cat that looks like it might be auditioning for a Guillermo del Toro film. Still, standing there, flashlight beam catching a crooked post where Jorge made his unorthodox commitment, I felt…moved. Messy as it was, the tale had charm. You don’t need the perfect plan or setting to spark romance—just heart and a willingness to laugh when things inevitably go wrong.

Lessons from the Grapevine (Literally)

By some miracle (or sheer stubbornness), I made it home with enough vineyard dirt in my boots to start my own garden and a story that still makes dinner guests howl with laughter. But you’re probably asking yourself what I gained from this wild goose chase beyond a draft deadline and one incredibly dramatic French fry craving at a roadside diner.

So here, dear reader, are some takeaways from my oddest journalistic escapade and how they surprisingly apply to your own love life:

  1. Imperfect Planning Is Still Planning
    Sometimes in love (and writing), we overthink the details. Jorge’s proposal didn’t go according to plan—but Alicia said yes, not because everything was flawless but because it was heartfelt. The effort outweighed the chaos. Remember this when you’re tempted to agonize over which restaurant to pick for a date or which emoji to punctuate your text with. Authenticity trumps perfection.

  2. Don’t Be Afraid to Chase the Story
    Whether it’s venturing to a vineyard at midnight or making the first move, sometimes you have to take a leap—and maybe even embarrass yourself a little. Risk is part of connection, whether that’s weaving a narrative or flirting with someone intriguing. Worst case? You’ll have an incredible story to tell.

  3. Space Matters, but People Make the Magic
    The vineyard was beautiful, but its romantic legacy existed because of Jorge and Alicia, quirks and all. It’s a solid reminder that, sure, candlelit dinners or scenic hikes have their place, but what makes a moment shine is the emotional effort behind it. Finding love isn’t about checking off a box or recreating a romantic movie scene; it’s about showing up, being present, and sharing pieces of yourself.

Conclusion: Writing, Romance, and Revelations

Weeks later, when the piece finally went live, one reader messaged me saying they’d taken their crush to an offbeat outdoor space to “make their own questionable vineyard memory.” Whether or not they succeeded, I’ll never know. But what I do know is this: sometimes, we all need a bit of reckless inspiration—whether chasing a story, a kiss, or the poetry life tends to serve us only after midnight.

Would I trudge through a vineyard again? Absolutely. After all, the weirdest thing you’ve done for a story might just lead to your best one yet.