On the outskirts of Santiago, a bachelor's modernist retreat nestles into the Chilean mountainside "He was living in a dilapidated wood shack that was literally falling apart," says architect Max Núñez, describing the first time he met his client, a young mountain climber living in a sloped valley just outside Santiago, Chile. "But here's the good thing–he also owned the land that the shack stood on," Núñez adds with a laugh. "So we showed him what the site could be." ​ Located near the Mapocho River and oriented toward the Valley of the Santuario de la Naturaleza to the north, the graded site has cleared views of La Paloma and El Altar Glaciers–an enviable vista amid rich natural forests of pine, Hawthorne and almond trees. "We didn't want to erase the vegetation," says Núñez, citing an unerring respect for the outdoors. "We wanted to keep the topography as pure as possible." ​ Núñez created a structure of cast-concrete, steel, and glass, devoid of doors and crowned on top by thick sliding walls of glass. Striking just the right balance between contrast and integration, they produced a stepped, nonlinear structure that unfurls a series of gradually extending planes, culminating in a prow-like presentation to the surrounding mountain ranges. Split into two levels, the house's more public areas–kitchen, living area, and just outside, the pool terrace–are on the upper floor. The glass-sheathed interior rooms are what the architect refers to as 'the crystal pavilion'. "The view from inside is like being on top of a mountain," says the architect, whose client, a man that has bested the summit of K2 and skis year-round, obviously feels most in his element when out of doors. Adding to the feeling of weightlessness are intentionally spare furnishings with modern lines that seem to recede into the distance, allowing the eye to travel unimpeded. There are no heavy barriers, no unnecessary gestures–architectural or otherwise– that might lessen the full force of the staggering terrain. "We wanted a panoptic situation up there," Núñez explains. "That's where the most direct relationship to the landscape occurs." Cantilevering out toward the valley is the pool terrace, just off the pavilion. This space is intended as a void, or an absence of form, in order to appreciate the upper level's transparency. In summer, light bounces from the water to the interior living spaces, transferring illumination and lending the illusion of cooler temperatures. Here, weathered teak planks form the deck surrounding the pool, while a long and low built-in bench of white cast-concrete grounds the terrace along two sides. Just beneath the bench are glass apertures, almost reverse clerestory windows, that frame views of treetops from below. On the other side of the pavilion, a slightly raised poured-concrete terrace holds trees, flowering plants and cacti accented by cut-stone pavers. This green space is mitigated by a strong and thick concrete wall that shores up one side, and inhibits views from the street into the property. There are two staircases, one inside and one out, down to the resident’s private chambers, where his master bedroom, bathroom, dressing room and library are situated in a circuitous formation, each room unhurriedly flowing into the next.  The light is not quite so brilliant, it is more calculated and judicious, making the rooms feel cozy and removed. In the bedroom, a massive wall of glass near the foot of the bed frames views of the mountains, though heavy eaves prevent a blinding glare. Other than this, though, bedroom views to the outdoors are carefully regulated, as the only other window captures a simple sliver of the surrounding hillside. Tucked behind the bedroom are the bathroom, library and dressing room, which is bordered by an almost-translucent plastic material that lends the rooms a glowing appearance. The low light and sheltering nature of the textured concrete walls throughout this floor are in direct contrast to the glass-topped crown of the upstairs spaces. "Private rooms deserve a bit more intimacy," Núñez comments. For a single man living alone in a busy city teeming with people, the chance to be isolated if he so wishes is a savored premium. Perhaps no one was better suited to articulate the inclinations of an unattached young man than Núñez, who met the client while he himself was an architecture student in his mid-twenties. This connection of youth between architect and client helps to explain the sensitivity Núñez brought to the project, especially when keeping in mind the stark exuberance of the upstairs pavilion. Perceiving it as shelter or exposure is entirely within the whim of the inhabitant. The house's relationship to the outdoors is emblematic of a young man's decision to live slightly removed from the city's center in the first place––to be closer to nature. "The house accepts the sun, but it controls it with prolonged eaves," Núñez says. "That, and the perceived continuation of materials is an accentuated extension of the interior, and as the occupier of such a space, you feel yourself thrust outdoors."