And so it is that we continue to slowly make our way further and further south. Perhaps contrary to expectation it doesn’t get warmer the further south we go, it gets colder. Peru was like a boiling cauldron, whereas Chile is quite a bit more on the temperate side. In fact, many of us are going ashore sporting long sleeves now, and soon many of us will dig into the backs of wardrobes for actual jackets. We are, after all, on our way to Antarctica.
The journey to the “Lady in White” is a long one, and not necessarily all that easy. The weather has been getting steadily rougher, and a few days ago I was reminded of what lay in our path: the Drake Passage. The knowledge that the Drake Passage is looming in front of us makes the little bit of rough seas we’ve been going through now look like child’s play; the Passage has nothing to block the wind and it is somewhat notorious. Wide open and freezing cold it will likely bat us around like a toddler playing with a bathtub toy; but it’s the only way to get to Antarctica so we don’t really have much choice but to brave it.
Did I mention we’re also rounding the Horn this contract? Yup, there will be many green apples consumed I’m sure.
But we’re not there yet. Getting closer, but not quite there.
First we have ports in Chile to call in, many of which are small tired looking places. Our first Chilean port of call reminded me strongly of walking through a video game, although the waterfront market was full of tempting random knick-knacks: bubble wands and t-shirts, knock-off sunglasses and “My small horse” figurines. All brightly coloured and all sold at “the best price”…I always wonder how many passengers buy things like this and then end up getting back to the ship and saying “how did I end up with this?”
Then again, I ended up with a water tumbler with a snowglobe in the bottom (it’s Amras’ fault!!!!) so I can’t really talk….
Then there are others that are even more unusual: Puerto Montt for example, bears the scars of what looks like a disturbing instance of civil unrest; every statue has been defaced in a way that makes it appear to be weeping blood out of one eye. I was trying to figure out why this was so unsettling – graffiti normally doesn’t bother me, and the area where the statues were did not feel remotely unsafe. I think it’s to do with the violence implied in the act, I have no problem at all with rebellion, or with voicing one’s thoughts against a regime that isn’t just – but I’m a fan of words over weapons and blinding something, even symbolically, is just so…violent. Of course, that was probably the point, I imagine that – whatever caused it – the act was meant to set people’s teeth on edge, to make them sit up and pay attention.
That said, Puerto Montt did boast a surprisingly quaint little café and bar, tucked in on the main street like a diamond in the rough. So we wandered there for an hour or so and drank lattes and ate strawberry cheesecake. And then wandered back past the crying statues along the waterfront back to home.
There are some ports that are beautiful and some ports that are just not quite as shiney. Not every port can be a Rio or a Buenos Aires. One thing travelling teaches you is just how different every culture is from the next, and what might be totally acceptable in one is looked askance at in another. You could travel your whole life and still never learn all the cultural rules and expectations so all you can do is your best to stay as open minded as possible.
And so onward we go…eventually to get to the bottom of the world.