January 2002
Cheryll and I have just returned from our latest South American odyssey.
Our first destination was Easter Island, which
is located 2000 miles west of
mainland Chile. It is probably the most
remote place on earth with regularly
scheduled air service. The Chileans call
it Isla de Pascua and the Polynesian natives call it Rapa Nui. It’s in the same time zone as the eastern US,
but it required four flights and 35 hours from when we left home until we
checked into our hotel. We found a nice hotel
with a pool and our own personal gecko.
Still delirious from all the travel, Cheryll demanded that the reptile
be killed immediately. I refused, and
instead, I named him Larry. Larry the
lizard. Larry spent the week stuck to
the wall in a corner near the ceiling.
He never moved more than a foot from the same spot during our stay and
kept the area completely spider-free. He
was a fine pet. We spent the week
touring the island ringed by hundreds of 1000 year-old statues called
maoi. We visited the quarry from which
the maoi were cut and were amazed that primitive man could erect these huge
stone statues over ten miles from the quarry.
The temperature got into the 80´s each day and we hiked to an ancient village
where the Birdman Cult once thrived, had a picnic on a high cliff overlooking
the sea, and enjoyed beautiful sunsets.
One day we rented a four-wheel drive jeep and, at the suggestion of the
agent, drove off-road to the highest point on the island. It was the first time I ever went four wheeling
in a rental car. There were only around
100 tourists on the 20-mile-long island and the solitude was a real treat
compared to most tourist destinations.
We flew back to Santiago and it shocked our systems as the pace of life jumped
from slow island time to the hustle-bustle of a big city as shoppers scurried
to make their final purchases before the Navidad. We stopped at a few museums and climbed a
hill to an old fort for a 360-degree view of the high desert valley which
contains Santiago. The next day it was a
two-hour bus ride to the port city of Valparaiso where the Norwegian Dream, our
home for the next two weeks, was docked.
We checked into our cabin and strolled around the city. It has several ascensores which are rickety
trams which climb the cliffs that surround the central city and offer scenic
views of the city and the bay.
We docked on Christmas day in Puerto Montt and took the local bus to the small
resort town of Frutillar. With the
seasons reversed, Chileans are fond of spending Christmas day at the
beach. The views of the Osorno Volcano
appearing to rise out of the lake were surreal.
Our next day was spent cruising the Patagonic Channel. It’s a lot like Alaska’s Inside Passage. There were huge glaciers, high waterfalls and
steep-walled fjords. We stopped in
Puerto Chacabuco and hired a cab to take us to the city of Coihaique, high in
the Andes. The wind that gives these
latitudes the nickname of the "roaring forties" was certainly present
and the next day at sea got pretty rough.
The next cruising grounds were in the sheltered waters of the Straits of
Magellan, or for those who prefer the uncorrupted Spanish version, estrecho de
Magallanes. This area is more barren
than Alaska. There were a few short
trees bent over in the constant westerly wind and the snow on the mountains was
reaching even lower altitudes even though it was the middle of summer.
Punta Arenas is Chile’s southernmost city.
We docked next to an Antarctic research vessel fitting out for its
journey south. The area is beautiful and
we hope to return someday for a trip to Torres del Paine National Park a few
hundred miles north of Punta Arenas.
It’s ranked as one of the top ten hikes in the world. The 50 mph winds kept us pinned to the pier
and delayed our departure for several hours.
Did I mention that I brought along another
woman for the journey? I was very good
last year and Madge was a present from Santa.
She’s a handheld GPS receiver and has a built-in database which includes
a basic world map with all cities, towns, paved roads, and lighted aids to
navigation. She’s very accurate, but
some of the Chilean lighthouses are mispositioned by as much as a mile. As we approached the border between Chile and
Argentina in the Beagle Channel, Madge showed that the captain made an abrupt
180-degree turn just before entering Argentinean waters. The captain headed up a fjord and pretended
to be sightseeing. Rich got him to admit
that the real reason was that the Argentinean pilot was late in arriving. Madge is wonderful.
Our next stop was in Ushuaia, Argentina. We had spent the last week watching the
Argentinean economy melt down on CNN.
There had been riots in Buenos Aires and they went through four
presidents in two weeks. We were a
little nervous, and some people were quoted as blaming this problem on the
world’s favorite scapegoat, the good old USA.
Despite our fears, the people we talked to were all very polite. They seemed concerned and worried about the
future, but nevertheless pleasant. The problem
is centered on the fact that the Argentinean Peso´s value has been pegged by
the government for the past ten years to be equal to that of the dollar, but
the underlying market doesn’t support that valuation.
Ushuaia is on the island of Tierra del Fuego, and we hiked up to a glacier at
2500 feet in the nearby National Park.
Ushuaia also is the site of a former remote Argentinean Prison called
the Presidio. It houses an interesting
museum. Cruise ships to Antarctica leave
from here and we hope to return someday for a trip even further south to the
seventh continent.
The next day we rounded Cape Horn. Madge said that Cape Horn is at 56 degrees
south latitude. The surrounding waters
have a reputation for being the windiest, roughest place with the toughest
sailing on the face of the planet. Not
for us. It was relatively calm, and the
Captain said that it was the quietest he’d ever seen it. He brought the ship in close and we were able
to see the monument on shore to all of the sailors lost in these waters over
the years. A secret ceremony was
conducted for those of us luxury cruise ship passengers rounding “The Horn” for
the first time who found the experience to be a little too comfortable. I’m not at liberty to discuss the details,
but it involved the Norwegian captain in a plastic horned Viking hat, a trash
can full of icy cold genuine Cape Horn water, and some condiments.
Our next scheduled stop was Port Stanley in the Falkland Islands. The winds
were high and we were unable to get into the harbor which the Captain later
admitted is the case 60% of the time.
The next few days were spent at sea and we got
to meet the stars of the ship’s Argentinean gaucho (cowboy) review. One of the gauchos is a seamstress from
Buenos Aires and the other works in a seat belt manufacturing plant. They taught us the fine South American art of
drinking “mate”. It’s a rancid warm tea
which is sucked through a special straw.
I’m sure that it’s an acquired taste.
You’ll be greatly relieved to hear that we didn’t want to take a chance
with Customs and we didn’t bring any home to share with our friends. In the most surprising accomplishment of her
life, Cheryll won the ship’s “Name That Tune” competition. All the singing I’ve done for her over the
years is really starting to pay off.
Our next stop was in Puerto Madryn. We arrived to news that Argentina now had
it’s fifth president in two weeks and that there was violence in Buenos Aires
600 miles to the north after the government announced its plan to devalue the
peso by 40 percent. We joined a group
and hired a driver to take us to the Peninsula Valdez National Park. We saw many penguins, sea lions, and elephant
seals. Our driver/guide spoke little
English and I was able to make good use of my broken Spanish. I didn’t understand all of his answer when I
asked him about the political/economic situation, but it was clear that he felt
the rich countries of the world owed the poor countries more support. He dropped us off in the city center and we
enjoyed a few beers at a beach bar.
Mar del Plata was added to the itinerary as a
substitute for the Falkland Islands.
It’s an Argentinean beach resort not accustomed to cruise ships. There were thousands of little cabanas set up
to rent a small portion of the windy beach.
The people were very friendly, and many of the locals came out to take
pictures of the ship. There were over a thousand lining the pier to wave
goodbye when we pulled out. We were
disappointed to miss the Falklands, but Mar del Plata was a nice alternate.
Our next stop was in Montevideo, Uruguay. It’s a crumbling old colonial town with a
more modern city which has grown up around it.
We spent a rainy day wandering the streets and plazas. One day seemed to be plenty of time for
Montevideo. The situation at the
Uruguayan money exchanges was interesting.
The previous day in Argentina, they insisted that the Argentinean peso
and the US dollar were equivalent. That
day in Uruguay it was worth 47 cents if you were selling and 95 cents if you
were buying. There was clearly no
consensus on the value, and the moneychangers were making it clear that they
didn’t want to deal in Argentinean pesos.
Our final day before our eleven-hour red-eye
flight home was spent in Buenos Aires.
The streets were calm on this Sunday morning, but the previous week’s
violence was still evident. The Casa
Rosada (President’s residence) and the Congressional building were surrounded
by hundreds of police. The people on the
street appeared resigned to the situation and were mostly studying the
newspapers and analyzing the impact of the devaluation on their personal
situation. Most will wake up tomorrow to
find that they only have two-thirds of their previous wealth, but the banks will
be required to convert debts up to $100,000 from dollars to pesos. The banks will be reimbursed for their losses
through some new tax on petroleum. As is
the custom in South America, the banks have the biggest, grandest buildings
with lots of columns and marble. All of
the bank buildings we saw were either boarded up with steel panels or had their
windows smashed. Some of the ATM
machines had also been destroyed. It’s
clear that the Argentineans are quite frustrated. We saw one money exchange store with a sign
offering 1.40 pesos for a dollar, but they weren’t open. Today, the official exchange rate is one for
one. Tomorrow it will be 1.40 pesos for
1.0 US dollars. It’s probably good that
we won’t be there to witness the excitement.
Argentina now joins Zanzibar and Ecuador as countries we’ve visited
during political meltdown, not to mention the trouble in New York before our
recent visit. I assure you that we don’t
plan this. In the words of Evita Peron
and Madonna; don’t cry for me,
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