roofs that adorn the arc of the harbor. Two cruise ships more than quadruple the population of the entire archipelago and all the citizens rush to the port to capitalize on the financial opportunity. For twenty dollars a head we were shuttled to Gypsy Cove to see some more Magellanic burrowing penguins and the odd goose. There are guns emplacements standing on the bluffs and landmines are still found on the beach. The trip to the cove was well coordinated, but re-boarding the busses needs some work. Most cruise aficionados don’t dine on shore, preferring to rush back to the buffet on board, but we cherished the opposite, seeking every opportunity to eat non-ship food. The Falklands’ tourist guide advertised one place that was overtly non-smoking―I don’t know if that was common policy or not―but given the brevity of our time on shore we opted for it without further searching and were not unhappy with the extremely British fare.
It was bitingly cold and windy when we attempted to walk to the museum, but on checking the map, realized we would never reach it before the last ship’s tender departed the pier, so we bought post cards and sent them to the kids from the bottom of the earth, or thereabout.
February 6, 2010 Cape Horn:
A few hours on terra firma had a therapeutic effect on Sandy and by daybreak she was civil once again. The sea was moderate and the motion of the ship only rarely perceptible, but the air at 56º south was piercing so we passed most of the day in the forward observation lounge where the population ebbed and flowed. We were scheduled to round the horn at six-thirty so we secured seats with a view and were soon overwhelmed by fellow “hornies” who completely blocked our view. (Hornies being the cute term for anyone who has rounded the horn and is not necessarily a reflection of their libidinousness.)
I found it interesting to learn that the term Cape Horn is a corruption of the Spanish name, Cabo de Hornos which means “Cape of Ovens” and has nothing to do with horns. Am still working on what ovens have to do anything.
February 7, 2010 Ushuaia:
Ushuaia, Argentina, is called the End of the World. No one would doubt it. Furthermore, it is a word that can’t really be pronounced in any language. Try: oo-shoe-WHY-ah, although I also heard oo-SHWAY-ah. It is the southernmost city on earth―there is a village farther south but it doesn’t get to call itself a city. This is the hottest month of the South American summer and our faces were slapped with sleet as we returned to the ship. The town rises in terraces from the water front to the enclosing mountains which are covered with snow. In a brave, if futile, attempt to paint a summery face on things, there are numerous flower gardens punctuating the wet and shabby cityscape. We had too little time on shore to do anything significant, but we were determined to get a couple of real meals before being forced back to the trough on the Norwegian Sun.
We noticed that it was Super Bowl Sunday and that the game would be shown in two of the ship’s venues. I doubted if I would be able to cope with my fellow passengers long enough to enjoy it.
February 8, 2010 Punta Arenas:
At Punta Arenas the Chilenos proved to be more appealing than their Argentino counterparts. The people were more engaging, and the air was slightly less frigid. They have a marvelous cemetery there filled with as many Baltic, especially Croatian, names as Spanish. The museum is mainly devoted to local fauna and anthropology and is worth the few pesos and forty-five minutes that it requires. Lunch was excellent, and I don’t say that by way of comparison to the ship’s food. We ate at La Luna on Avenida O’Higgins. That’s right: O’Higgins; Bernardo O’Higgins was one of the founding fathers in the region, and there is even a national park named for him. I wondered how these people ever managed to settle on a language.
February 9 & 10 Fiords:
For two days we negotiated the channels of the Chilean fiord district. Many of the passages were called canals and were usually a mile or less wide. I assumed the term ‘canal’ indicated dredging but never heard anything to confirm it. The surrounding hills were abrupt and desolate with many cascades even when there was no snow cap. Blind channels wove between the peaks and I think it would have been interesting to explore them in a small boat and a warmer climate. The rain continued intermittently with fog rising and settling. On Tuesday we saw a school of tiny dolphins chasing the wake. It was the first sign of sea life seen from the ship—I was hoping for right whales. Some snotty woman reminded me that right whales were at Antarctica this time of year. I didn't bother to advise her that migrating whales exhibit wide individuality. We have seen California gray whales off Baja months out of their migration cycle. Wednesday before daybreak we briefly entered the open ocean where the wind battered the port side with a magnitude that seemed impossible. The ship listed enough to slide you toward the foot of the bed, and when the bow fell from the crest to the trough the hull shuddered which kept us from sleeping. This did not suit Sandy.
Two days with nothing to distract us from the misfortune of being under the control of Norwegian Cruise Lines moves me to describe in some detail the minutia of the experience. The cabin itself was adequate with a comfortable bed and the service of the stewards at least unobtrusive, leaving the door ajar and forgetting the towels notwithstanding. The shower was noteworthy. It was a cylindrical space about forty inches in diameter having a curb around the aperture perhaps two inches tall. The curtain was reinforced with fiberglass stays and worked well to prevent leakage. The shower head was on a flexible metal hose installed in a niche with shelves, grab bar, and dispensers of Euro style bath gel. I just don’t understand the concept of bath gel. You squirt some onto your palm and before it gets to the targeted body part it runs down the drain. Are Europeans ever actually washed? The water pressure was surprisingly strong, owing I suspect, to good German bilge pumps; however, the temperature varied widely. This I attributed to the huge demand for hot water at any one time. It varied from cool to scalding, except of course, if you started with cool, then it was from frigid to tepid. If you started with hot, naturally you were going to die.
The food continues to be laughable and the service insulting. I was incensed to discover that the largest dining room was restricted at breakfast to the use of those who sprang for balcony cabins, while the only other breakfast venue that was open to those of us who figured a balcony above 50º of latitude was a waste of money usually had a lengthy wait. The only place to eat that was always available was the buffet, and I surely did not pay for passage on that scow to eat at a buffet even if it were a good buffet, which it decidedly was not. We took to sharing tables at mealtime except when Sandy considered my mood too antisocial, and the result was the acquaintance of characters from a broad spectrum. I usually held my peace and relied on my hearing loss to excuse me from the irritating repartee. One exception was a farmer from, I think, Minnesota who had a good attitude. He informed us that he successfully operated his farm with no employees and that there is no rational need in the U.S. for farm subsidies. I liked the guy.
February 11, 2010 Chacabuco:
Donde estamos…Chacabuco is the name of the ship used by Henrique Simpson (yes, Simpson) to explore the fiords of southern Chile in the nineteenth century, and it is the name of the non-place that we visited on this date. It seems that changes in the terrain forced the relocation of the port from Aiyen to Chacabuco, and perhaps that’s the reason that Chacabuco has the look of a place that isn’t exactly here yet. The houses are makeshift for the most part. There are no shops or services—none. I mailed a post card from a post office in somebody's house. There is a modern hotel, but one wonders why. The entire population is 1450. This was the only place that we visited on the voyage of the damned that moved—nay forced—us to return to the ship before lunch.
Life on board continues to sink into the morass of international incompetence. At first I was convinced that the entire service staff was Filipino and Indian, but on closer observation I feel comfortable to malign several more nationalities. Almost the entire crew that ran roughshod over those disembarking and returning to the ship of fools is from Nepal. Twic
e today our food server was from Romania, once to our pleasure and once otherwise. The thing that no longer amazes me is that nobody on this barge ever asks how we are enjoying the cruise. Apparently they have learned that if you don’t want to hear the answer you shouldn’t ask the question.
After weighing anchor the passage was quite beautiful and the water like glass. Sandy was ecstatic, well that might be an overstatement.
February 12, 2010 Puerto Montt:
Puerto Montt is one-hundred-thousand times larger than Chacabuco and there was some sun in the sky when we tendered to the dock around nine-thirty. There were a few volcanoes, some lakes and a national park in the area so we decided to find a tour on shore. We only pre-booked one shore excursion through the ship and were gratified to discover what we suspected, that the same tour could be had for about half the cost on shore. It was not difficult arrange a trip and it was reasonably priced. We were soon very happy that we did not spend the day trekking around town. The region inland from Puerto Montt is a simulacrum of