The day is a Saturday and I am in the small community of Calpún, four hours south of Santiago and an hour from the nearest city, Curicó. Calpún is a blink-and-you´ll-miss-it sort of place, a scattering of houses that line a winding road in a tumble of colors. Chickens squabble on the roadside and dash from passing cars, their clucking joining the whirring of tractors and scraping of shovels. The wind blows fiercely east from the sea and causes wind dials to spin all morning and night in a cacophony of creaks and moans. The afternoon – which it is right now – is made of summer sun and gentle breezes and, combined with the smell of the barbecue coals, makes for a moment of pure bliss.