Sarah:
Departure day! The luggage left the hotel at 9:30am but we weren’t boarding the ship until 4pm, so spent the morning in the hotel trying to read email – without much success as the internet here is ridiculously slow. After a few hours we gave up and went into town to do such useful things as organise a B&B for after we get back from Antarctica, then spent the rest of afternoon in Ramos Generales again, writing postcards, reading email and having nice drinks and cakes.

At 4pm we headed down to the pier, cleared security and customs with no fuss and climbed the gangway onto the RV Akademik Ioffe – our home for the next two weeks! This is SO exciting! We had to hand in our passports at the door; I hope the ship does not sink or anything…

The good ship Akademik Ioffe	Our cabin, 501	View of Ushuaia

Our cabin is very nice, on the 5th floor, right opposite the sauna and next to the outside deck door. We have our own bathroom – or rather shower room; there’s no bath, obviously, and I rather think that perhaps we are expected to shower whilst sitting on the toilet, since there’s no room to do otherwise, but it is still more luxury than I expected – as well as desk, fold-down bunk bed, sofa and minibar fridge, in which we have stashed the year’s supply of chocolate that Lee bought yesterday (presumably in the unlikely event that we are trapped in the ice and have to spend the winter here before being able to return to the land of Dairy Milk and honey).

Having found our cabin, investigated the sauna (not yet on), checked the bounciness of the beds (actually quite comfortable) and tested the loo for Lee-proofness (so far so good; I will keep my fingers crossed), we headed down to the Dining Room (ooooo this IS exciting!!) for a welcome glass of champagne and a rather delicious buffet afternoon tea including smoked salmon and crab cakes. There are about a hundred other passengers and apparently about 40 Russian crew as well as a dozen-odd Quark expedition staff; it’s going to be interesting sharing a ship with them for two solid weeks! I wonder how many of them we will know by the time we disembark?

Pre-dinner entertainment was provided by the lifeboat drill, in which we all had to simulate a lifeboat emergency response by getting into our warm and waterproof gear and assembling at the lifeboat muster stations. Conveniently for us, our muster station is just outside the deck door by our cabin; I think if there is an emergency we’re going to need all the time we can get, because Lee seems to have confused “wear warm and waterproof gear” with “put on every single item of clothing you own”…

Lee is ready for lifeboat drill!	Goodbye to Ushuaia	The mountains of the Beagle Channel

Throughout all of this excitement, we were still moored up at the dock in Ushuaia. The locals must have been very amused at the site of us all gathering in life jackets to evacuate a ship that was still in port… We finally left port about 7:30, during dinner; there was a cheer as the ship began to move and we went up on deck to wave farewell to Ushuaia. After a rather lavish three-course dinner (which I didn’t want much of, being still full of smoked salmon, but had at least to sample) we returned to the top deck to observe our passage through the Beagle Channel, which will lead us to the open ocean and the (reputedly dire) straits of the Drake Passage. Sadly we didn’t see any seals or penguins, not for want of keen looking, though I did spot what might have been a dolphin. As Ushuaia receded into the distance, the sun set behind us and over the mountains we saw the moon rising, huge and cratered.

Oh, and I am not seasick yet!

More mountains	Dusk in our wake	Upward, behind the onstreaming it mooned

Lee:

We spent the morning waiting around the hotel for our laundry so far, and then for the bike hire man to come and collect the bikes – *there*’s a down side to the service I didn’t factor yesterday. Today, however, is the Big Day – the ship leaves at 5pm, and we are expected to be On It from 4pm. So, one last wander around downtown Ushuaia to sort out our accommodation when we get back, and do some last-minute shopping for replacement sunglasses (I had to get oversized clip-ons, eurgh). We have followed a recommendation from the Lonely Planet to stay with the Familia Zaprucki on our return, although I keep forgetting the name and accidentally referring to them as the Familia Zapato (translates to shoe family). The old lady who answered the door was very nice and showed us around one of their several cabins set up in their rose garden at the back of their property, chatting away in Spanish which I only understood half of. Still, I *think* I have secured us accommodation for three nights on our return. Our original plan was to head over to the Rio Grande when we got back, but the Lonely Planet’s brief really doesn’t sell it to us as anywhere we are interested in going, so looks like we are stuck in-and-around Ushuaia.

And then it was boarding time! By electing to spend the day in town rather than at the hotel, we had to make our own way along the pier to the boat. How do customs even work when you are getting on a boat? There were no signs, no anything, so we just ignored and wandered past an office marked ‘passport control’, through a little hut where they scanned our bags, and again ignored and went straight past another cabin with customs markings, up to the glorious Russian research vessel which would be our home for the next two weeks. Boarding the ship carried a buzz of excitement, although on the way in we had to surrender our passports to a box with a slot in the top, almost like voting. Apparently “The Captain likes to know who’s on his ship, and the Argentinians want to make sure you’re coming back” – well, with such lax passport control on the gate, I’m not surprised!

Lee is on deck, yo	View through the porthole	Lee with mountains

Our cabin was 501, on the 5th (luxury) deck next to the life boats and sauna. Bunk beds and a sofa, a fridge, an ensuite shower – luxury indeed! At this point I should explain that this really wasn’t me being swanky with my retirement money – back before the credit crisis when I booked the trip, these things tended to sell out well in advance of the departure date. My original plan was that we would be doing the cruise in November after I finished work in August, but the places were all sold out, so I dropped back to February, only to find them almost sold out as well and the only two slots left being our luxury cabin. I knew I wanted to go, and couldn’t be sure of my situation if I left it another year, so luxury in February it was…

The ship is very exciting. There are six decks, the first two below the hull and the next four in a kind of apartment block structure sat on top of it. the lowest deck contains the presentation room where we will be briefed on our voyage across the sea. Deck 2 is off limits and we’ll speculate about what goes on there later. Three contains the bar, restaurant and some cabins, Four is completely residential, Five is the sauna, outdoor pool (empty so far), library and clinic, as well as our luxury cabins, and six is the bridge and the *super* luxury cabins! Of course, tremendously exciting as this all was to begin, one of the expedition team members commented that ‘it’s really not so massive – you’ll know it like the back of your hand by tomorrow.’

After embarkation, we had a delicious welcome buffet, met some other passengers, and were told what the rest of the day would hold – sailing out of Ushuaia along the Beagle Channel with an Argentinian pilot, and reaching open ocean about 1am tomorrow. We were also told there would be a lifeboat drill before we left. Despite being in the cabin next to the lifeboats, we were by no means the first people out (actually about 2/3 got out before us), due to my insistence that, as per the instructions we were given, I dress for the worst, whilst Sarah jumped up and down by the cabin door wearing what she had on already and demanding I hurry up. I maintain that the 2/3 cheated as well, and would have all frozen to death after a couple of hours in the lifeboats whilst I would have been toasty warm.

Ed:I think this photo is so funny, I’ve included it twice!	Watching the scenery slide past	Sunset in the Beagle Channel

One lady came to our side of the ship instead of the side she was supposed to be on, and wasn’t identified as being in the wrong place until the end of the roll call, at which point I couldn’t resist calling out to the group “too late – your lifeboat has gone already!” This, of course, identified me as some sort of troublecauser/comedian, and attracted the attentions of a US ex-marine named Hank, who referred to Sarah and I as John and Yoko for the rest of the day. The lifeboats themselves were tiny 50-man affairs, which seal up tight once you all pack in them like sardines, so that they can roll over in the rough seas without any water getting in. Apparently they have emergency rations, GPS locators, and a little navigational power, but if the worst happens and we have to use them, it is likely to be the most unpleasant experience we will ever have – the aforementioned rolling over allegedly brings on immediate seasickness, the seal cannot be cracked barring emergency or rescue so people throw up into the boat, on each other, and quite possibly mid-roll so that it ends up everywhere, prompting more people to throw up. Nothing can really be done about that, so you then drift the ocean stinking of vomit, causing more people to throw up, and when you are finally rescued the stench is usually enough that the rescuers join in with a bit of vomit of their own. Plus, everyone will be freezing, with only body heat keeping the little boat warm.

On the subject of sea-sickness, the boat so far seems absolutely fine. The doctor gave a five minute presentation encouraging ‘better living through chemistry’, but we have met a chap from the Netherlands, Alfred, and he and I have agreed that although we have brought seasickness medicine, we’re sure we’re tougher than that and we’re not going to take it unless it gets really bad.

Finally, Dinner was served, and then the hour of departure came, and everyone piled up onto the upper decks to watch the beautiful sunset and mountainous scenery as we sailed the Beagle channel. Sarah and I stayed out quite late looking at the stars, the motion is still no problem, and the night sky is amazing, just like on Easter Island. On the way along the channel we passed an island which is inhabited by Magellanic penguins, but didn’t see any, and Puerto Williams, which is the southernmost *town* in the world and is in the Chilean part of Tierra del Fuego. The only person who stayed out later than us was Camera Guy, who sounded to me like the Brooklyn accents you hear in films. He has brought more camera equipment than Sarah, and seems really keen – when there were no penguins to be seen as we passed the island, he couldn’t stop going on about it, to anyone who came near!

Tomorrow the onboard programme will begin in earnest, with talks on photo techniques, wildlife spotting, and antarctic geology. So, To Bed, there are adventures coming!

Sarah:
One of our ideas for “what to do in Ushuaia” was to visit the Tierra del Fuego National Park; another idea we came up with while wandering round town yesterday was to hire bikes. So we decided to combine the two – hire bikes and ride them to the National Park. Our trusty Lonely Planet guidebook lists the park as being 12km from town, while the airport is 4km from town, and since our hotel was further from town than the airport, I figured it would only be about 8km. Unfortunately the Lonely Planet says nothing about gradient or elevation, so what I hadn’t counted on was it being 8km uphill all the way, and on dirt roads for more than half of that! Yes, RN3 (Ruta Nacional, ie one of their major national roads) is a dirt track. Argentina continues to amaze me.

Despite repeatedly having to get off and push, I rather enjoyed the trip there: once we got out into the hills, riding along through a landscape of soaring mountains, clear rivers and wild horses was quite beautiful, and all we had to worry about was the choking dust stirred up by the occasional passing bus or truck. We passed the Estacion del Fin del Mundo, home of the Tren del Fin del Mundo (of course!) which is an old steam rail that winds amongst the mountains to the park – rather like Melbourne’s own Puffing Billy, I suppose – and would have been a fun way to get there, except that it leaves from nowhere in particular, so we would still have had to get ourselves to the station 8km from town to catch it. And anyway the bikes were fun.

Off for a hike	Beech forest	Fallen logs

On arrival, we parked our bikes safely under a convenient tree by the start of the trail and set off. We hiked through beech forest down to the coast for a mile or so; then came out on the beach and followed the shoreline round some 8km, over rocky beaches and through coastal forest, all the way to the wide and peaceful waters of Lago Roca and up to the tourist centre. By this time, what with all our stopping to watch birds, take pictures and consume an impromptu picnic of a cheese and bacon and cheese and ham and cheese sandwich (that I, with what I consider to be great foresight, had made at breakfast that morning and stowed in my bag against precisely that eventuality) and assorted drinks and snacks pilfered from the minibar (no Iron Wine though), it was almost 7pm and we had to start thinking about how we were going to get back to our bikes, which were still way back at the start of the trail where we had left them. Fortunately there are shuttle buses that run through the park; fortunately we still had an hour until the last one; and equally fortunately our combined language skills were sufficient to find out this information and that we would thus have time to walk a little farther around the lake before picking up the bus at a more distant stop!

This last stretch proved to be well worth doing, as it afforded some of the day’s most scenic stretches of landscape: mossy hills, blue-green waterways and a family of white-headed shelgeese. There was a moment of concern when we couldn’t find the bus stop, but if I can make a Magic Bus stop at a stop when it doesn’t want to, then I can certainly make an Argentinian bus stop wherever I want whether it is a proper stop or not. In fact the drastic measures sometimes required to flag down Magic Buses (ie stepping out into the road as the bus is approaching and playing chicken with the bus driver) weren’t even required; the simple expedient of waving a hand was enough to get the bus driver to stop and pick us up at the side of the road. From here we got to go along for the ride to the end of the road, another couple of stops, before the bus turned around for the run back; so we have now been right to the end of RN3, which stops in the middle of the National Park, some 3086km from where it begins in Buenos Aires. Wow.

Lago Roca	Hiking the inland waterways	Back at the hotel, whew!

We found the spot where we had parked our bikes without too much difficulty and the bus driver was kind enough to let us off right there. Dusk was setting in rapidly and it started to rain, so we had to head back to town in short order, though there was plenty more in the park to see, if we had had time or daylight to spare. The ride back was even more pleasant (albeit somewhat damp) as the rain damped down the dust from the road and best of all, it was mostly downhill: I only had to get off and push once! We stopped at the local supermarket to stock up on provisions – Antarctica tomorrow! whee! – and had a quiet dinner in the hotel restaurant again, followed by a long soak in the rather nice bath to ease tired muscles after the day’s riding and hiking exertions. Now… bed!

Lee:
Since Sarah bought her bike back in manchester, we have been getting out and about on our bikes a lot more, and so the existence of bike hire places in Ushuaia put the idea in our head to hire a couple of bikes and make the 8km journey to the national park under our own steam. Warning to potential visitors: do not do this. The road becomes a dust track not very far in, and every car which passes kicks up such a storm that you end up choking. To top it off, the park is really designed for hiking and not cycling, so we had to leave our bikes near the entrance and pay a shuttle later on to bring us back to them. Finally, just as we got under way on the return trip, it poured down. at least the rain stopped the dust.

Hiring a bike in Ushuaia, however, was great. You phone up the man, and he brings them to you, along with helmet, locks, water bottles, spare innertube and tyre changing kit! The city is a good size for getting around on a bike, and as long as you don’t decide to go out to the national park, the roads are good. The downside is if you want to go to the suburbs – the mountains pretty much rule in Tierra del Fuego, and Ushuaia has been built on what little land is available as they slope down to meet the Beagle Channel. What I’m trying to say, is expect to go uphill. A lot. Or, if you’re a ‘glass-is-half-full’ kind of person, downhill…

On the beach	Ashy-headed sheld-goose (male)	Flowers

Tromping around the national park on foot, we must have covered about 15 kilometres during the day, and at one point I started shivering and Sarah had to translate my body for me as ‘needing food’. I thought this was absolutely crazy as since leaving the UK we have been eating far more than I normally do, but Sarah told me a wonderful story about how the body needs to eat in order to have something with which to start breaking down the fat stores, and if you suddenly start exerting a constant energy output for an extended time, this is what the body will try and do. Whatever the reason, after eating I felt much better and was able to finish the hike(s), and cycle the 8k back to the hotel, in relative comfort. So much comfort, in fact, that I remembered an imposition placed upon several other students and I in primary school by the headmaster. The playing field had become a bit littered, so we were each instructed to go out there and fetch back five pieces of litter. The first couple were easy enough, but then I ended up in competition with the others in order to meet my quota. By the end of the exercise, the field had been picked clean. The whole point of this memory, anyhow, is that the national park is a *natural* reserve, and there’s nobody covering the vastness of it just to pick up litter. On the way in, they beg you to take your litter with you, but I decided to go one step further and take out any litter I found! What an environmentally positive chap I am…

For most of the trek, the national park was a chance for Sarah to look for (translation: photograph) wildlife, and other than that take in some of the beautiful mountain scenery around the channel. The real beauty of the park, for me, came right at the end, on one of the smaller official hikes. We’d been fairly alone all day as it was, barring the odd other hiker, but on this last hike there wasn’t a soul in sight. We rounded a corner and encountered this beautiful silence, on one of the islands in the park. The channel was flowing right by us, and the trek took us up along the waterline past beautiful pools with crystal clear water. As I have mentioned already, this is as warm as Ushuaia gets, and it’s far too cold to go diving in, but they were the sort of pools that people write about as oases of calm after long treks without water. Due to a marvellous attitude regarding the space, the Argentinians allow camping in the national park, and a bit further around the channel, people actually had set up to spend the (or indeed, several) nights here. Which is just, wow. After the last shuttle goes back to town from the park, the light stays for a good couple of hours, and comes back again in the morning way before anyone gets here. You’d have the place to yourself. And even when anyone does come, it’s hardly in droves. No, this is a marvellous place at the end of the world to get away from everyone and everything. And here we are, doing exactly that. The other thing I found of interest in the park was the remains of some structure, which looked awfully like it was probably someone’s house. What I couldn’t figure out, and will have to look up when I get home, is why it doesn’t exist anymore – I can’t see them coming all the way out to demolish it, but it’s pretty razed. Was there a war, and it was bombed? Or a natural disaster? In any case, I promptly claimed it as my house and forbade Sarah entry, which is why you don’t see her in it in any of the pictures, and also why I walked with a limp for the next half hour.

By the shores of Lago Roca	Remains of old pier	Lee in his house

On the way back from our marvellous day out, we decided to stop in at the supermarket at the bottom of our hotel’s hill, as I had convinced myself that for the next fortnight there would be no chocolate – just basic meals. Whenever I manage to convince myself I will be away from civilisation, I get like this about my sugar fixes – once, when I was about 13 or 14, a friend’s parents took me on holiday in Scotland. I was convinced there would be no midget gems in Scotland, so promptly bought three-and-a-quarter pounds of midget gems to take with me (back in those days, a quarter-pound of midget gems was the standard portion and cost 36p). On arrival in Scotland, it turned out that the holiday camp we would be staying at had a shop five minutes walk from it, and they were quite well stocked with midget gems, thank-you-very much.

But, this time, I am sure I am right and there will be no blocks of chocolate on the ship. That would just be silly. So, we bought three hundred-gram blocks of dairy milk, 500g of fruit jellies, 100g of some native white chocolate, a couple of bars of argentinian milky way, and a peach each. Sarah wanted to buy lots of wine, on the grounds that it was astoundingly cheap, and lots of other admittedly fun-looking foods, but I stopped her on the grounds that our luggage was already over-weight, and we had no means of cooking the fun foods at the hotel. No matter. We have chocolate. Now, we are *ready*.

Nearly forgot, it’s my job in these blog entries to explain the quote of the day. Well, wandering around for 15 km, my mind tends to wander as well. I thought about what a marvellous landscape we were seeing, and what wonders were to come in remote Antarctica. I thought about what kind of holidays I would have to take in order to top this one – Virgin, for example, will now take you into orbit for £110k or so. I thought, by the time I save up that much money, there will probably be someone offering trips to the moon, which would really be something. Explorers on the Moon. Which took me to Tintin. He went to the moon, in the aptly titled graphic novels ‘Journey to the Moon’ and ‘Explorers on the Moon.’ I hadn’t even thought about those books since reading them as a child – I’d certainly never considered them in an adult context. It occurred to me to wonder who the hell Tintin thought he was, anyway, and what qualified him to get to go to the moon? He was only a bloody Journalist! I found myself slightly wound up at the injustice of it all, and turned to tell Sarah so. From sarah’s point of view, however, I had just been wandering quietly along for fifteen minutes in deep thought, and she had no idea where I was coming from, making ‘What qualifications did a plonker like Tintin have to qualify him for going to the moon’ possibly the most random thing to come out with whilst wandering around the Tierra del Fuego National Park. So, today’s quote’s for Sarah, who remains so tickled by the random junk which floats around in here and surfaces from time to time

Sarah:
Santiago Airport is a veritable bureau of misinformation. This morning we arrived to find an even greater conglomeration of people waiting to check in, forming endless queues that snaked back and forth and didn’t go anywhere, with the usual confused muddle of bags, dogs and kids strewn about. What we didn’t find was any information about our flight, which was not listed on any of the screens or boards.

At least the self-check terminals worked (unlike the ones at Manchester) and we were relieved to find that our flight was still leaving at the scheduled time (never a guaranteed thing with South American airlines, as we have already discovered); and, as on so many flights this trip, our seats were nowhere near each other. Maybe they have a thing about unmarried couples travelling together? this is a Catholic country, after all…

While Lee waited in the international bag-drop line, I went to see if I could get our seats changed, only to be told that for Ushuaia we needed to go to the domestic flight counters. Even though it’s in Argentina. And did I mention that when we departed Santiago for Easter Island, even though it is part of Chile, we had to go to the international check-in counters? Apparently in Chile some things are not as you might think.

Yet another plane…	The mountains at the end of the world	Ushuaia is a long, long way from anywhere else

On arrival in Ushuaia, we were pleasantly surprised to find a Quark representative waiting to meet our flight, hand us our pre-departure notes and point us in the direction of a taxi to Hotel Los Nires. This is a luxurious establishment indeed! the stone-tiled bathroom is equipped with a deep bath and a bidet, the carpet is an inch deep, and the room is heated within an inch of its life – yes, Ushuaia is cold! Brrrr! – but we had to turn down the radiators and open the windows, it was so warm in here. After some confusion over whether the minibar prices were in pesos (about AR4 to £1) or US dollars (getting ever closer to $1 to £1, alas!) we worked out that yes, the minibar actually was that cheap! I was both brave and foolish enough to try something called “Iron Wine”, which came in a can (yes, yes, I know; I should have been warned – by that fact if not by the name!), cost AR5 (so, about £1.25) for the 375ml can and tasted just like you are probably imagining it would.

Having survived the Iron Wine experience, we took the free hotel shuttle into town for a look around. Ushuaia appears to be a) tiny, b) designed exclusively for the adventure tourist market and nothing else, and c) mostly closed on a Sunday afternoon. We tried to organise some kayaking practice but no luck… I am getting a little worried about this Antarctic kayaking business! However we did manage to buy binoculars and rechargeable batteries, visit a shop of fun biscuits and mini-scones for some snacks, and find what is seemingly the only bar in town for a drink. After realising that if we stayed in town for dinner we’d be stuck there until the last bus at 11:30pm, we decided to head back to the hotel, where we amused the waiter and other dinner guests by playing Fluxx over our antipasto platter and salad.

Ushuaia nestled at the foot of mountains	The lake next to our hotel, from the dining room verandah	Playing Fluxx

Lee:
I was completely amazed by a female Japanese passenger on the plane wearing a medical grade facemask, although sarah insisted it was normal in Japan and to avoid picking up all the germs from the filthy foreigners, recycled around the plane by the closed air.

My impression of Santiago airport is that it is a miracle anyone actually manages to get anywhere from it. There are no screens telling you where to go, you just have to find the desks which correspond to your airline. Apparently the important classification is whether your flight is national, or international, which might seem reasonable, until you realise that the distinction between national and international here is not necessarily the same as the one you might find on, say, Wikipedia.
Let’s have a tutorial, boys and girls: if you’re not leaving a country, then your flight is national, right? and if you’re leaving the country, then you should be international. Got that? OK. So, Easter Island, which country is that in? Chile. And which country is Santiago in? Chile. So, do you check in at the national, or international desk? What’s that, you say? National? Oho! We got you there, it’s an exception, un caso especial, for this one you need international. So, now you’re checked in, do you do through the national or international departures gate? Well, the check-in was international, so surely the international gate? Ho Ho! wrong again, Easter Island is clearly a national destination, you must be a particularly stupid gringo extranjero if ever I saw one.
Round two: Which country is Ushuaia in? Argentina. Got it. nternational departure, this time for sure. But NO! After queueing for half an hour in the international line, we were told by the man at the front that we needed to be in the national line. “But, ” I protested, “Argentina *is* another country!” Apparently Ushuaia is a special case. I spot a theme forming here… The only thing I can think of is that, owning as much of the Tierra del Fuego as they do, perhaps Chile have secret plans to annex Ushuaia, and have based their air travel arrangements around them…

More mountains	The picture window in the stairwell at Los Nires	View of lake

On landing, my first thought was that Easter Island should never be used as a prelude to Ushuaia – you risk a bit of a shock to the system. It’s the Ushuaian summer, and the max temp is about 10 degrees Celcius! The climate is grey and bleak – feels a bit like home, in fact. The only thing which reminds you it isn’t are the picturesque mountains which surround the city. For those who don’t know, Ushuaia is the southernmost city in the world, frequently referred to as the fin del mundo. If this really is the end of the world, we’re about to step off it!

Stopover-wise, the town seemed to me at first glance to be a bit of a dead end as well – the history of the place is that it was a prison colony before the tourist industry moved in, bars are limited to two irish pubs and a chain which seems to be rapidly taking over the city, although if you stretch to bar-restaurants then there’s a bit more choice. And we have cleverly booked three more nights here after the antarctica trip finishes! At least today we managed to locate a laundrette for after we get back, and to buy some binoculars and just-in-case seasickness medication. In the end we settled into a nice tavern on the waterfront to wait for the free shuttle to the hotel, and Sarah had a(nother) pisco sour whilst I drank hot chocolate submarine style – the hot milk comes and there’s a slab of solid dark chocolate on the side, for you to make your own! The posh cruise hotel was great though, very rustic mountain resort. We played cards at the dinner table, much to the amusement of the waiter, who rearranged the furniture and kept adding more tables as we kept taking up more and more room and ordering more and more snacks.

Sarah:
Our last day on Easter Island – three days here is only barely enough! We had just enough time after breakfast to charter a taxi for a drive up the slopes of Rano Kau to see the remains of Orongo, the birdman village, and to get a glimpse of the extinct volcano’s huge crater. The panoramic views from the top across the island would have been worth the trip in themselves, but the crater was something else again: vast, filled with fresh water, with sunlight dappling its inner slopes, a patchwork of reeds on the water’s surface and a faint mist rising in the morning light.

The village at Orongo has been reconstructed to show the tiny stone huts in which the inhabitants lived, barely big enough to crawl into, let alone stand up. The most notable feature here is the rock carving: petroglyphs of strange half-bird, half-man figures, probably images of worship for the cult that arose after the downfall of the moai religion. Orongo was also the original home of the Hoa Hakananai’a’ moai, which was apparently among the village’s most precious objects. The statue is, as well as its importance to the locals, of immense archaeological significance, since although it was carved in the form of the heads of the moai era, the back of the statue is covered in petroglyphs relating to the birdman religion, thus representing a link between the two cults. As such, it was removed by a British survey ship (some of the islanders say “kidnapped”, though that may be retrospective resentment) and now resides in the British Museum. Hurrah for appropriation of important cultural artefacts…

View from the summit	Petroglyphs at Orongo	The crater of Rano Kau

Then it was time to say goodbye to Easter Island, not without a little sadness, and to make our way to the airport, thence back to Santiago. Our hostess Lili gave us traditional good-luck charms made from cowrie shell and feathers, saying that if we wore them until we were out of sight of Easter Island, one day we would return. I hope we do… it is a wonderful place. (I also hope we don’t get arrested by customs for violating CITES regulations on our way back into the UK…!)

Tonight we are staying in the airport hotel, since tomorrow we depart early for Ushuaia – our jumping-off point for Antarctica!

Lee:
This morning I realised I’d left my sunglasses in the hire car, which by then had bee rented to someone else. Rather cutely, the hire car lady phoned some of her friends who lived on the island to see if anyone had seen that car in the last hour or so, and to find out if the people who had rented it would mind dropping my sunglasses back with me! Now *there*’s service you don’t get back home. Unfortunately, nobody had seen them, so I will be off to the glare of antarctica without sunglasses.

Whilst this went on, we took a whistle stop tour of Orongo volcano, in which I got into a brilliant discussion in Spanish with the taxi driver about who the original authors of the song ‘wish you were here’ were – I kept trying to tell him Pink Floyd, whereas he insisted the reggae remix playing on the radio by Alpha Blondy was the original and best. I’ll let Sarah describe the marvellous volcano itself, she’s much better at that sort of thing!

Another view of the crater	In the garden at Tadeo and Lili’s	No, this time the stone huts really were that small!

Our last piece of sightseeing was followed up by me blocking up the loo in our room as we left. The loo in our chalet was this superb construction made entirely of plastic and just balanced on the floor, held only in place by its connection to the waste and water pipes. Our host’s comment on check in was “it’s not like Europe here” followed by a detailed introduction to the chalet’s absorbent sponge reserves. The effort of turning the handle to flush the loo physically wobbled the entire installation and felt like it was going to break something. I should also mention that the bathroom had no door. Cyber-stalkers who have read everything I have ever blogged (so probably nobody, then) may recall previous rants of mine about bathrooms without doors. Bathrooms need doors. Bathrooms are the last retreat of the hounded man with a short read. Plus, smelly.

Finally, rather embarrassingly, on arrival at the airport, I couldn’t find my passport for trying. It turned out to be in the dirty laundry bag. I suspect Sarah.

I felt a lot better, however, on arrival at the airport hotel in Chile, where a sign in the lift notes that they ‘offer you excuses by the annoyances they can cause you’. I think this sums up my unintentional interactions with most of the people on the planet quite nicely.

Sarah:
I forgot to mention yesterday that apparently in Chile it is acceptable to eat milk caramel spread on bread for breakfast. What a great place this is!

Today was full of fun and excitement – well, for me anyway, as I persuaded Lee to accompany me first on a three-hour horseriding trek to the centre of the island and then on a snorkelling expedition to the Motu islands. I am not sure Lee had quite so much fun…

The horses are kept by Tadeo, the other half of Tadeo&Lili. Lili is a Frenchwoman who fell in love with Easter Island and Tadeo and stayed to open the B&B here; Tadeo is a native Easter Islander descended from the once-ruling royal tribe. As such, he is well-versed in the legends and traditions of the island, from native medicine to tales of the origin of the moai, and is willing to share this knowledge generously with visitors, in a mixture of French, Spanish and a little English – as well to correct archaeologists who may be attempting (albeit based on scientific evidence) to construct a different version of history. But more about that later.

Lee on a horse	Me and my horse	Hat swap!

The two of us, along with two others who had come to join the trek, were driven in Tadeo’s van to the inland field where his horses are stabled and were waiting for us saddled and ready. I had a lovely light roan gelding named Tiel-Tiel, who very quickly learned what I was asking him, despite my lack of experience with neck-reining, and had a beautifully comfortable slow trot and smooth canter. All the horses are superbly trained, responsive to both their riders and to Tadeo’s vocal commands (they really do know he is boss, and listen to him), and very steady and good-natured. Altogether one of the best riding experiences I have had on any trail ride!

We rode slowly for some time until we came to the foot of a hill. This was Puna Pau, a site with several pukao scattered down it, many half-buried. It is thought that the pukao may have been quarried here and then rolled down a road, the traces of which are still visible as a depression in the hillside, then across the land to be mounted on the top of the heads, a process accomplished with the help of pulleys and ramps. How much certainty you place in this theory depends largely on whether you are an archaeologist who is venturing cautious theories on the basis of painstakingly-gathered and still-emerging evidence, or a local who knows these things to be true!

Pukao at Puna Pau (say it three times fast!)	Helpful archaeologist	Look, Manchester!

Indeed, we met a team of archaeologists excavating one of the huge stone pucks. They were examining the buried surfaces carefully for petroglyphs, to assist with dating the carving; and proudly showed us the selection of tools and artefacts, fashioned from various types of stone, that they had unearthed at the site. We were chuffed to discover that some of the team were from the University of Manchester; and more, that Lee had actually met one of them (though the man didn’t remember it) in the course of doing Faculty IT Support! Meanwhile, Tadeo, with the help of translation from our French Polynesian companions, was explaining to the archaeologists (who didn’t appear to speak French or Spanish) how the tools were made and the moai and pukao carved, according to the legends of his people. Some of this corroborated the archaeologists’ findings, some did not; as the dig leader explained in a whisper to us as we lingered a little longer, there are so many traditions and tales surrounding them that they no longer know what is true. But then, there is scarcely any more archaeological evidence to prove the facts; does anyone?

Another interval passed, as we rode along enjoying the sunshine and the calm and quiet of the inner island; then another stop, higher this time. Here there was a shallow stone basin built to catch rainwater and stone steps leading up to another ahu. The moai here is ancient, perhaps more than most, and unique: the carving bears not two but four hands, folded with fingers over the figure’s midsection. Why this should be is not known; but what is known is that the figure faces the rising sun on midsummer day; some sort of astronomical significance, most likely.

Four-hand moai	Local vegetation	Lee and his horse

We trekked back through fields and along dirt tracks and got some nice chances for a canter on the way back before we said goodbye to our horses and headed back to town. The spare couple of hours before our boat trip came in handy for some shopping – postcards and stamps, a book about Easter Island and some assorted snacks – and then it was time to go snorkelling!

The snorkel boat took us out from Hanga Roa amidst some very exciting surf, round to the south-west past “The Cave that Eats People” (possibly a reference to a cannibalistic cult, or maybe not – who knows?) and the cliffs at Orongo. This was the site of the “Birdman” cult, where each year young men from the village would climb down the steep cliffs and swim across to the nearby Motu islands in a race to be the first to claim and return with a newly-laid frigate bird egg. The successful competitor won the right for his clan chief to lead the people for one year… that or a cave full of virgins (our boat driver only spoke Spanish, so we aren’t quite sure of the translation!).
The Motu islands comprise Motu Nui and Motu Iti, where the frigate birds nest, and tooth-shaped Motu Kau that rises out of the ocean like a spear. Although the diving here is reputed to be some of the world’s best, there wasn’t as much to see snorkelling as I had hoped – some damselfish and butterfly fish, a couple of yellow and blue wrasse, some small coral growing on the walls and sea urchins. About the only sighting of note was a large pipefish, perhaps a metre in length, towards the end of the trip. Oh, and Lee was seasick…

The cave that eats people	The Motu islands	Frigate birds nesting

Our last dinner was at Pea by the Sea, the third-nearest restaurant to our cabin. For a change, Lee had fish, while I had a strange craving for steak. But I stole his mashed potatoes anyway.

Lee:
My renewed efforts to be as funny in Spanish as I am in English resulted in the gem “And also, no mothers or fathers to go yap, yap, yap.” which I threw into conversation on our afternoon speedboat tour of an unpopulated island just off Orongo which we were later to scuba dive. Our driver was noting, in Spanish, that there was no cable TV, no internet, no e-mail and no electricity, and I thought my comment would be a nice piece of surely universal humour which fitted with the theme. It must have come out wrong, however, as it just left him looking at me blankly.

Lee snorkelling	The cliffs of Motu Nui	Sarah snorkelling

I am getting better at administering sunscreen, but obviously still not good enough. In the morning, Sarah made me ride a horse for the first time in my life, which combined with the afternoon’s snorkelling and yesterday’s hiking have all added up to a number of injuries. Starting from the bottom, I now have:

- blistered toes from wetsuit flippers
- sunburned ankles which I have itched in my sleep and drawn blood from
- weals on the inside of my calves from horse riding
- chafing in my groin area from inexplicable amounts of sand in my underwear
- grazing on my right hip from being dashed into rocks by the sea the night we arrived and needing to be rescued by Sarah
- sunburned hands on the back
- blistered left palm from holding onto the horse pommel
- a beautifully sunburned dog collar imprint where I missed with sunscreen

and I have thrown up.

I am not coming on holiday any more. We haven’t even got to the hard part yet!

Sarah:
Our plans for today to rent a quad bike and go trundling around the island were slightly hampered by the fact that the rental place had no quad bikes! So instead we rented a jeep and trundled in that. No dogs or small children died and we were even on the right side (in both senses of the word) of the road, most of the time anyway!

We started by driving the coast road to the south, a route lined with the remains of numerous ahu, the ceremonial platforms on which the moai were erected. Apparently when Easter Island was first sighted by Europeans in 1722 (by Dutch explorer van Roggeveen) these huge monuments were still standing, their backs facing the sea, perhaps warding their people as the ancestors they may have represented. Over the centuries that followed, a combination of weather, earthquakes and tsunamis, tribal warfare and maybe even the clans themselves combined to topple the moai from their ahus until, possibly as early as the 19th century, all the moai were fallen and the cult of the ancient stone heads extinct.

The southern coast of Rapa Nui	Fallen moai at Hanga Te’e	The once-buried moai

At the first ahu we came to, Hanga Te’e, all eight moai were indeed fallen – pushed over to lie face-down on the cobbled stones. Some distance away, a single head stands watch; once buried and covered by grass (so the story goes), its location was known only to one old tribesman who, just before his death, revealed the secret to his descendants, who in turn unearthed and restored the statue.

Further remains of ahu in various states of preservation are dotted along the coast, but (lacking time to stop at every one) we pressed on to Rano Raraku, the volcano from whose slopes most of the island’s moai (some 700 or so over nearly eight centuries) were quarried. Almost 400 statues, in stages from partially shaped to almost complete, remain on the hillside – some upright, some lying face-up or down, some still half-formed from the stone beneath. Walking around the outer slopes of the mountain, we encountered these vast forms, so familiar from legend, film and photograph yet still a wonder to see first-hand. Why did their makers abandon them? Was it war, famine or other hardship that led them to turn away, in the very midst of crafting these megaliths, and leave them unfinished and scattered here?

Moai at Rano Raraku	The slopes of Rano Raraku	A half-finished moai

Later, following a side-path mostly ignored by the other tourists thronging around, we climbed a steep track cut into the ochre soil and emerged with startling suddenness into the crater of the volcano itself. Long since extinct, Rano Raraku is one of three volcanic mountains that mark out the three corners of the roughly triangular Rapa Nui. Now, the caldera forms the basin of a large shallow lake with patches of reed-beds breaking up the wind’s ripples on its surface. The walls of the crater surrounding the lake are red soil on one side, grassy on the other higher side, with the moai half-finished, left, forgotten, still standing or tilted at odd angles embedded in the earth. A strange and magical place…

Inside Rano Raraku	Sunken heads	View of the crater

Leaving Rano Raraku and its mysteries behind, we drove the short distance down to the coast where Ahu Tongariki stands. At this emblematic site, a line of moai stand on their ahu on the shores of a bay flanked by towering cliffs, restored from their long-fallen state less than 20 years ago by a Japanese construction company (possibly keen for some good publicity!). The trade-off for this massive project, which cost over a million dollars, was a loan of one of the moai, who went “on tour” to the Japanese expo and now, safely returned, stands by the road watching over his more exalted companions. The moai at Tongariki, with the sea and the cliffs as backdrop, are endlessly photogenic; but eventually even I had enough pictures to satisfy me. And besides, I think Lee was getting bored…

Tongariki from afar	Moai wearing pukao	Ahu Tongariki

Feeling a bit headed-out, we decided it was time for the beach – a safe swimming one, this time! The road became increasingly pitted with potholes as we headed north and then west, avoiding the herds of semi-wild horses that roam the island, grazing by and sometimes standing in the road. A cove that looked very appealing turned out, on closer inspection, to be a tumble of sharp rocks pounded by metre-high surf; so we moved on to Anakena beach. This was perfect: classic swaying coconut palms, smooth sand, no rocks, only mild surf and no current, an ideal place for swimming (though very few fish to see with snorkel) and lying in the sun. It also features (yet) another ahu, this one in an almost complete state of restoration, with almost all the statues wearing their pukao, big round cylinders with a smaller bump on top, carved from red stone and probably representing the traditional topknots or headdresses worn by islanders.

Palm trees at Anakena beach	The view from the water	Mmm, pineapple

There is one more detail, however, that is still missing from all the moai on the island but one. The excavations at Anakena during the restoration of its Ahu also turned up an astonishing find: a huge coral eye with an obsidian pupil. It seems that in their original state, once erected, the heads were fitted with eyes – explaining, perhaps, one of the names traditionally given to the island, Te Mata Ki Ranga: the eyes that watch the sky. The only moai left who now watches the sky is at Ahu Tahai, on the western coast of the island; and this was where we arrived not long before sunset.

Rapa Nui west coast	Silhouette at sunset	Wild horses grazing

The road from Anakena back towards Hanga Roa was remarkably smooth, but we deviated to take an extra loop via dirt roads and Ahu Akivi (an inland group of heads in the foothills of Maunga Terevaka and Rano Aroi), then round to approach Tahai from the north. Our jeep rattled and bumped but didn’t fall apart or roll over (to my relief), and we observed some spectacular coastal views as well as a few glimpses of native birdlife. Just before reaching Tahai, we found another solitary moai – or rather not quite solitary, as there was a woman seated at its foot, in its shadow grown long with the late evening, apparently communing with it or with nature. We tiptoed around her, took some surreptitious photos of the moai and the horses in the field (the light at sunset was fabulous) and drove on to Tahai. Here there was no chance of a quiet communion, since Tahai at sunset is apparently the place to be, for us and dozens of other tourists. The fully restored moai here, with its red pukao and its coral eyes, is certainly arresting; I can only imagine the effect of an entire line of heads staring down from the platform and across the hills!

Tahai at sunset	Te Mata Ki Rangi	Silhouettes of moai

We got back to Hanga Roa at dusk to see Venus appear in the sky high overhead. (The stars here are incredibly clear, though not entirely familiar. We lay on the small balcony outside later and watched them shine, and one or two of them fall.) Again, after the day’s adventures, we were disinclined to venture any further than the next restaurant out, Hakahona, which proved to be a more lively and stylish venue, its terrace tables filled. We snagged a table from a departing Irish couple who were travelling the world with their 20 month old baby (!) and enjoyed the by now ubiquitous pisco sours, as well as an exceedingly good pina colada. Hot, puffed-up pillows of lightly fried bread came accompanied by an exceedingly tasty tomato-onion salsa and olives; for my part I couldn’t resist the fried fish I’d seen someone else having when we arrived. Lee had some beef steak thing and I stole his purple sweet potatoes. (The steak was actually rather good, too…)

Back at the cabin, I would have stayed longer watching the stars but we were exhausted and fell asleep.

Lee:
It is very nice here. Arriving at the airport yesterday, we were greeted by locals playing guitars, and a crazy old lady who wanted Sarah’s hair for herself. Whilst this was all well and good, we were actually supposed to be being greeted by the people we were staying with, but they were nowhere to be seen. In the end, I managed to negotiate an ingenious trade of the day’s Chilean newspaper (obtained free on boarding the flight) for a taxi drive to their place, although I suspect that may have been a fortuitous side effect of my disastrous Spanish rather than any real negotiating skill on my part. At least this time it didn’t cost £60!

Our trusty car	Moai in profile	Lee does tai chi

It is very nice here. We tried to hire a quad bike today (anyone who knows anything about my driving track record will be on the edge of their seat at this point) but, possibly fortunately for Sarah, they didn’t have any, so instead we hired a car and for the first time in my life I got to drive on the wrong side of the road for the right reasons. I say road, although there are actually only two roads on the island apart from in the main village, the rest being dirt tracks. Of these, one of them is in pristine condition, apparently because it goes to the beach. The other is full of potholes and tours the coast, bringing one into contact (Ed: Not literally! I hasten to state that we did NOT crash the car into any ancient archaeological monuments!) with many Heads, or Maoi as they are more properly known. This, unfortunately, led to us stopping the car every 30 seconds of driving for more photos. It’s worth mentioning at this point that Sarah has gone photo mad on this trip and has brought three digital cameras with her. Coupled with both our mobiles, this means we are in possession of five pieces of equipment with photo capability. Whilst this greatly simplifies the taking of panorama-at-an-instant shots, we haven’t done any of those, and instead there seems to be a lot of technical theory behind which camera we use, whether it needs to be in a waterproof box, which lens needs to be attached, how long an exposure is required, and which day of the week it is. I despair as to whether my sunscreen is up to this…

Sarah with camera	More moai	A moai wearing Lee’s hat

It is very nice here. The Maoi are an important preserved find, so you’re not supposed to touch them, climb up on their platforms, or try to take home their hats. People being what they are, however, we saw several tourists “giving the big ‘ol heads a good ‘ol hug.” In the major sites, guides yell at people to stop doing this with their megaphones, but in the more remote areas of the island there are no guides. This doesn’t, however, stop dedicated locals from having a go at tourists from a distance, in some cases three or four fields away. I am embarrassed to have been the recipient of one of these rebukes, although as is so often the case with the snap judgement of authority figures, it was ill deserved. I had decided to try one of my signature ‘special’ shots – one where we make silly use of perspective to make it look like I am doing something impossible. Anyone who has seen any of my photos of other attempts will know just how ridiculously these usually turn out.

Lee holding a moai	Lee patting a moai on the head	Lee pokes a moai in the eye

On this occasion, I had decided to try and make me standing on a bump in a field in front of a line of Maoi look like I was, in fact, part of the line. Ho ho ho! To my disdain, although the illusion created on our film was far from convincing, the view from the next field over must have been, because I was suddenly accosted by cries that I should get down:
Local: “Oi! get off the Maoi!”
Me (to Sarah): “Is someone shouting?”
“Oi! get off the Maoi!”
“Is he talking to me?”
“Oi! Get off the Maoi!”
(shouting): “I’m not ON the Maoi!”
“Oi! Get off the Maoi!”
“I’m a whole mound away from the Maoi!”
“Oi, Get off the Maoi!”
“Look! I’m stepping back and forward! Parallax! The Maoi are over there!”
(more threateningly and starting to cross the field) “Oi, Get off the Maoi!”
“I think we’d better go…”

Maunga Terevaka	Lee pretends to be a moai, with unexpected success — though not from this angle!	Moon over Hanga Roa

It is, actually, very nice here. The sea and air are clean – you should see the
night sky, so many stars! The island views are beautiful, the temperature is perfect, the food is delicious, the people are friendly and easy going, and there are fun and beautiful things to do and see. But If I do too good a job of show and tell, you might fall foul of the curse that held me back for so many years – that of seeing the pictures, and reading about the places, and maybe even watching the holiday TV shows, and thinking that all that does it more than enough justice and that you don’t need to come and see for yourself. But you really do.

The shores of Rapa Nui	Easter(n) Island	Ahu Tautira (no, I don’t know what Lee is doing either!)

Sarah:
Hurrah! We are in Easter Island! Yet another plane flight, this one five hours and enlivened by repeated requests from a group of fellow travellers to take their excess baggage for them (do we look like would-be terrorists?) as well as being allocated the same seats as two other people, causing much hassle for the flight attendants as they attempted to sort it out.

Our arrival on Rapa Nui, or Eastern Island, as the sign at the airport has it (the same misnomer appears on the tourist map, only without the N scratched out), was heralded by a welcome brigade of islanders brandishing hibiscus garlands and playing guitars. None of them, unfortunately, were there to welcome us. Our hosts, Tadeo and Lili, had gotten muddled and thought we were arriving in the evening, so instead a helpful local dropped us off at their establishment. Here we had our first glimpse, across the harbour, of the fabled moai, the massive stone heads carved by Easter Islanders of centuries ago, their true meaning and significance now obscured by time and traditional tales.

The weather was perfect, a sunny and tropical 26C; the ocean temperature was only 1C lower, so an afternoon paddle in the sea seemed in order. This seemingly harmless activity, however, soon turned into a practical exercise in swimming skills (and lifesaving techniques I hadn’t used since school) as currents and strong surf took us ever further from the beach and out towards rather ominous-looking rocks! We eventually made landfall – or rather rockfall – at the base of a sheer stone wall bordering the harbour, and had to clamber up on hands and knees, much to the amusement of small children looking on.

After this rather embarrassing incident we retired sheepishly to our cabin to count our bruises. As sunset approached, around 8:30pm, we ventured out to take a closer look at the moai we could see from a distance standing at Tahai, but managed to get disoriented and wound up finding a different ahu instead; then we dropped by the dive shop to ask about boat trips, but they were closed. At least dinner was a successful venture! Tired out by our earlier adventures, we plumped for the nearest restaurant, Kona Nehe Nehe, just a few steps from our door and overlooking the ocean. It proved to be a good choice: my tuna tartare was delicious, three mounds of perfectly seasoned, lightly marinated raw fish accompanied by avocado slices and salad with oranges. Lee had some beef thing and I stole his chips. Two more pisco sours and we were ready for a well-deserved bed!

Strange twisted heads	Tahai seen from Hanga Roa	Evening over the ocean west of Rapa Nui

Lee:
Once upon a time there were a bunch of people living on the east of the Andes, and all they did was annoy everyone else there by building little heads all the time. The locals decided to rid themselves of this inconvenient problem by building a giant raft, loading these dissidents onto it, and pushing them off out into the ocean. “That’ll take care of them for sure – there’s nothing out there,” I imagine they thought.

Imagine their surprise had they known that the dissident nutcases would actually happen upon the most remote island in the world, a paradise where they could be left to their own devices, and with no more fear of persecution, there was no longer any reason for them to stop at just *small* heads!

Hundreds of years later, the passion for building heads had consumed many of the islands natural resources, and in particular required the cutting down of all the trees. The heads had also caused several wars amongst the natives about where to put ears, and whether or not a new style of head might be called for instead of building the same old design over and over – maybe something with multiple twisted heads on the same statue?

No, you’re right, this isn’t the real story of easter island. But it’s so good, only my archaeologist can tell the difference.

Sarah:
Hurrah! We are in Santiago!

Somewhere between Madrid and Buenos Aires it became the next day; and then all we had to do was get on our (rescheduled, rebooked) LAN Chile flight and now here we are! Oh, and I had to pay $61 to get into Chile. Apparently it is a “reciprocity tax” levied on Australian citizens. What did we ever do to them?

It turned out that the hotel Lee had emailed to reserve us a room either hadn’t received the email or hadn’t bothered acting on it – though they were happy to offer us a room on the spot, at 50% more than the originally quoted price! Luckily the helpful girl at the hotel reservations desk at the airport was able to find us a great hotel, in the downtown district and with great views of the National Library and Santa Lucia park, and (best of all) with a swimming pool. Naturally that was the first place we went, to cool off and relax after nearly 36 hours travelling.

Santiago National Library and city center	View over the city	View to the south

Next we headed out to see some of the downtown sights, in the few hours of daylight remaining before “puesto del sol”, after which (airport girl warned us) no clueless tourists like us ought to be wandering the streets.

The Santa Lucia park is a sort of hill-fortress-garden, right in the middle of the busiest part of the city; a green oasis of trees and terraces and fountains rising out of the tangle of buildings and streets and traffic. From the top one can enjoy panoramic views of the city laid out below, the old architecture of edifices such as the cathedral and the library now just peeking out amidst the newer and taller office blocks; and stretching away to the snow-capped mountains ringing the city in three directions, just visible through clouds in the distance and looking as if painted on the sky. We had just enough time to climb to the top of the Torre Mirador, take in the spectacle (noting also the plaque that indicates that “Charles Darwin woz ‘ere 1894”) and then descend again, before closing time.

Santa Lucia park	Darwin woz ere	View from the top

After that we wandered into the Plaza at the heart of the city, a vast square dotted with trees and statues, filled with locals coming and going or just sitting to watch. The square is bounded on one side by the imposing bulk of the Cathedral, the three statues on its roof and spire set in stark contrast against the glass and metal of a tower block rising up behind them – “Nuestra Senora de las Oficinas”! A street market of crafts and paintings was just packing up for the day, and a troupe of performers just setting up to begin, as we passed by.

Dinner was at a nearby restaurant, Los Adobes de Argomedo, which turned out to be a kind of Chilean cabaret restaurant. We were serenaded by music from all over South America (including Rapa Nui, where we are going next) accompanied by traditional and not-so-traditional dancing – some of which we had to join in! The food was excellent (and very welcome after two days of aeroplane meals): little rectangular biscuity bread things to start with; olives, cheese and strange but tasty rolled meat (possibly turkeydog!); and then salmon with shrimp sauce for me, accompanied by potato croquettes and a fresh tomato salsa – Lee had some pork thing and I stole some of his mashed potatoes, which were spicy and good. Also, Pisco is the best thing ever! We must import it wholesale to England immediately.

The Pisco Sours were so good, in fact, that our taxi driver (the one we actually had, not the one whose taxi we tried to get into by mistake while he was telling us no) had to help unload Lee from the taxi when we got to the hotel. He said he was all right, but the driver insisted on lifting him out almost bodily! Getting out of taxis is muy peligrosa… at least as far as Lee and Pisco are involved.

Pisco sours	Rapa Nui-style dancing	Our friendly waiter

Lee:
Flying through Buenos Aires, the immigration official expressed great interest in the etymology of my surname. I quite legitimately told him the Spanish translation of the origin of the name (i.e., Bailiff) was Cobrador, which might have sounded quite impressive were it not for Sarah bursting into very loud laughter next to me.

I’d been to Santiago before, and had a fairly poor experience – ripped off £60 for a taxi ride to the airport hotel when it should’ve been free, and then let down by my poor Spanish when trying to get around. As a result, it was something of a surprise to actually have a nice time! We’d been unable to confirm any reservations with hotels for the evening prior to arrival, so we made a quick stop with the helpful and insightful girl on the hotel reservations stand. She not only found us a nice place to stay, she also pointed us at some good stops for sights and food along the way! I suppose every central and south american city I have ever been to has such a massive sprawl factor about it, perhaps it’s not surprising that just going to a couple of different areas unveils a different place altogether.

Our experience of crossing the main road downtown was very similar to what I’ve been told about petrol stations in the australian outback, where you have to fill up every time you see one: cross whenever you see a crossing, it might be a while until you see another one! We started out without this gem, and were half-way to you-don’t-want-to-go-there-oh-no before we could cross, walk back, and climb one of the mountains which the city has incorporated into its sprawl.

We followed up with a quick walk to Plaza de Armas, during which I completely failed to translate “7-up” in any meaningful way to a shop assistant. It doesn’t seem to be “seven up”, “siete up”, “siete encima” or anything else I could come up with. To make matters worse, in South America (well, Chile and Argentina at least), there seems to be an arrangement in place whereby the woman who takes your order and charges you must be visited first, in her corner nowhere near the products on sale. Once we had paid, in this particular establishment she would holler out your order to a woman on the other side of the shop, who would collect your order and pass it to you on the way out. Whilst it’s not my place to question the origin of this system, I will note that it has the unhappy consequence of completely breaking the foreigner’s fallback purchasing strategy of point-and-smile.

I forget the name of this church but it was pretty	Plaza de Armas	Nuestra Senora de las Oficinas

Finally, we visited the recommended restaurant, which I was completely unprepared for and turned out to be an interactive dancing and dining experience, whereby the staff of the restaurant would come and insist you dance with them despite you being in the middle of your dinner. After treading on my partner’s feet a few times, I timidly attempted to explain that I had no idea what I was doing. She was lovely and made conversation instead, but on my revealing that we were going to easter island the next day, she exclaimed delight and tried to encourage me to take her as well! After the scowls I received on refusal, I was safe from further dancing invitations, and to further ruin her evening, she had the bad luck to choose for her next partner a bolivian man who was an even worse dancer than me – he honestly danced like if they were holding thunderbirds auditions again today, he would beat brains to the job.

Pisco sours are awfully good. I drank more than I should have, and on leaving the hotel was told by our waiter that our taxi was right outside. I opened the door of the first car I saw and climbed into the back seat, whilst Sarah and the car’s driver tried to clue me into the fact that our taxi was in fact the well-labelled vehicle behind. Absolutely distraught by my mistake, I tried to find out just how out there my actions had been by asking our taxi driver whether or not the car in front was, in fact a taxi as well. However, the best I could come up with was “Es un taxi, o solo un hombre?”, which I think only succeeded in convincing our driver I had drunk so much I was seeing things.

Sarah:
Why is it that every time we go on holiday, we are up all night packing before we leave? At least, I thought, it might help us sleep on the plane… but noooo. Due to Iberia’s crazy flight scheduling (and last-minute re-scheduling!) we ended up spending about as long in transit as in the air on our multi-leg voyage from Manchester to London, London to Madrid, Madrid to Buenos Aires and eventually Buenos Aires to Santiago. The only thing more boring than waiting at the airport? Is waiting at FOUR airports!

Still, a five hour transfer at Heathrow gave me a last chance to get some work done, to hog a table at Wetherspoons for the price of several cups of tea, ice-cream to stop Lee from getting bored, and a pub curry, since the plane food consisted of a packet of pretzels.

The rest of the day was pretty much: get on plane. get off plane. go through transit. clear security for the umpteenth time. rinse, repeat.

Lee has everything under control	Mountains	Look, mountains!

Lee:
For about half this trip, we’ll be relying heavily on what limited Spanish I have been able to pick up based on two terms at the Instituto Cervantes. Unfortunately, because I started at beginner level, I have learnt a lot of phrases which, whilst central to actually *living* in a Spanish speaking country, aren’t so relevant for a visit and dealing with strangers — ‘who are your family, and what do they do’ conversations, for example, won’t be hugely relevant in our circumstances. This example is particularly worth mentioning – having a family as large as mine made for extra work in class, as in order to describe my immediate family alone, I found myself having to learn such useful phrases as Futbalista, Trabajo con los Criminales (strictly for rehabilitation purposes, you understand), Oceanografico, Viajar el Mundo, Jubilado and Cobrador. This latter means debt collector, and was to describe my youngest brother’s occupation, although to be fair his company has actually revamped itself from debt collection to ‘refinancing’ via *lending* money (which is ironic enough to be the subject of its own treatise, but not here), and besides, he works in admin and never actually did any debt collection in the first place. The tenuousness of this connection never failed to amuse Sarah, and it has became something of a private joke between us that Cobrador will be our buzzword for anything that we don’t know the Spanish word for. As you can probably guess, this means more than one word in ten in any spontaneous conversation anyone chooses to have with us is going to be “Cobrador”. I’m having trouble seeing this as a good sign.

I stayed up most of the night packing and backing up our phones and laptops – Sarah wanted to take hers for futzing around with photos on, and I figured I might get some programming done on the boat to the antarctic if nowhere else. As a result, I spent most of the day in a half-asleep, half-awake daze. I Finally found a quiet gate to get some sleep in Madrid airport, only to wake up surrounded by people going to Tel Aviv peering at me, with our carry on baggage tied to my various limbs and Sarah nowhere in sight. The only thing missing was the “kick me” sign.

It had turned out that our madrid – buenos aires flight was reshcheduled to get in later, but out buenos aires – santiago flight was rescheduled to leave earlier, making interchange impossible. To be fair, this is probably at least slightly my fault with the times I settled on – flying to places in South America can be a little frustrating for people used to the European many-flights-per-day status quo. Even between what you would think are big destinations, there can still be fewer than one flight a day in South America. This flight rarely lines up with your others, which tends to result in a lot of over-nighting and desperate connections. A lot. I had gone out of my way to find the cheapest long-haul, not realising that the 50 quid or so we saved on the long haul tickets was to be readily consumed by the cost of overnight hotels, etc resulting from the long haul not meshing with local flights. The moral of the story: get your flights *within* South America first, even if it means you pay a little more for the long-haul later.

One delightful conversation with LAN staff later, however, and it was all cleared up…
LAN.com operator: “Hello, welcome to LAN, can I help you?”
Me: “Ooh, I can barely hear you, it’s this payphone. How do you work the volume on these things?”
Sarah: *gesticulating wildly at the very large and obvious ‘volume’ button*
Me: “Aha, there we go, the volume is up now. Can you speak some more please?”
Extremely confused operator: “Hello, welcome to LAN, my name is…”
Me: “No no, that’s perfect. Now, what did I want again? Oh, that’s it, you’ve moved our flight and we can’t catch it anymore. Can you help?”

Having failed so far to get round to posting any Three Days In content on this blog, I am pleased to announce that the first feature will in fact be a guest blog spot covering my just-finished trip to Antarctica and other exciting locations. My partner(-in-crime) Lee and I will recount our Antarctic experiences for you in a series of posts — which span considerably more than three days; but you try going to Antarctica for the weekend!

Since Antarctica is very far away, I think it is understandable that this day-by-day blog reaches you four weeks after the events in question. Stay tuned for (more or less) daily updates of our trip!