29.3.08

the boat 2

I am something of a personage on the boat. Everyone knows my name and says hello as I pass, crew and passengers alike. Such notoriety was not difficult to achieve- I am the youngest person on board by several decades. Most people are in their 70s and even 80s. I have met several people pushing 90. But if I have learned one thing on this ship it is that life doesn’t have to end at 40 or 50 or any other specified age. There are people out there doing exciting things all their lives. And some of them have truly amazing stories to tell. This morning I had breakfast with a 85 year old who had interesting stories about travelling through Uzbekistan in the 70s. another travelled all around germany as a teenager right after the war, just to find out what it was like! I have eaten several times with an 88 year farmer from Oregon who swears like a trooper and is a democratic party activist. I have got shopping advice from Carmen, my 60+ year old Spanish friend (her Spanish passport was torn up in the days of franco, and her british husband keeps threatening to tear up her british one if the credit card bills keep mounting, but I don’t think this threat is too effective as I caught her buying amber yesterday!) so I have met many interesting characters and I will look at old people in a different way from now on….at least on boat trips.

28.3.08

The Falkland Islands


The Falklands War is one of my earliest memories. Actually, I don’t remember it too well, I have more just the memory of something happening down there than I do of specific events. But the national memory of war doesn’t fade so easily as does a child’s and the events are still remembered in certain circles today. I know people who fought. My family has friends who fought, and we know people who died there. My parents didn’t agree with the war, as they didn’t in general with any of Thatcher’s policies.
Visiting the Falklands, it is hard not think what a tremendous waste the whole thing was. Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges likened the war to two bald men fighting over a comb, and he was right. More soldiers died in the conflict that there were inhabitants of the islands in those days. And the United Kingdom certainly does not need these islands. Unless oil is found (as it is rumoured to have been), there is nothing here other than rock. Not even trees grow here. The islands have great white beaches, but they are mined and blocked off by barbed wire. Plus, the water temperature rarely goes over five degrees. Snow can occur at any month of the year. The wind never seems to stop. Even more than Ushuaia, it is the end of the earth.
And it is a surreal place. The inhabitants are more English than the queen. There are Union Jacks everywhere, and it seems the place froze in the 1950s. the stores were amazing. My father and I wandered into a grocery store to find the saddest “fresh” vegetables ever. Everything is flown in from the UK, thus for 3 pounds you can get a handful of sad carrots. For 4 pounds you can get mouldy cauliflower and for several more pounds, and apple. Little is grown locally as the soil is much too shallow. People live off frozen produce. Close to 80 percent of the islands population are employed by the government. The houses seem to come in 3 models. There is a good reason for this: they are sent down from England in pre-prepared boxes, IKEA style, with instructions on how to assemble them. Apparently not many models are available in such a format.
The guide who showed us around was a pleasant change from the pompous argentines in Ushuaia, who sought to convince us their city was something other than a forgotten backwater. “we don’t have much here in Stanley, so we will make sure you see everything” he stated as we passed the water tanks and the petrol station (part of the tour!) At the post office my father and I tried to post some post cards. My father asked how long they would take to get to Europe. “awhile” was the answer: the Falklands only has post 2 a week, so they wouldn’t even be processed until next Tuesday! the people were nice, in an inbred way. I would not want to join them down there though.

South


The body of water that separates the Horn and Antarctic is one of the toughest passages in the world, but I can now say I have done it. I even have a certificate testifying to the fact, in the unlikely event I should ever need to prove it.
The bottom of the world seems completely disconnected from the rest. From Moscow or Caracas you can still feel part of a worldwide connected community. Here you feel everyone else has left you and gone off to do something better and left you stranded in the ice. I had prepared for the cold, it is not like I don’t have experience living in cold climates. But something about the wind here added a chill I wasn’t prepared for, so I shivered even under my layers of wool and fur. And I watched penguins and sea lions as the latter attempted to make lunch of the former. “that’s the thing,” said the guide “everyone thinks sea lions are nice and cute until you watch one rip the head off a penguin, then people get horrified.” I suppose no one likes to see the realities of nature brought home. And penguins are cute. We looked at them in their little houses, and watched as late chicks tried to remove the last remaining brown feathers off their tuxedo like fronts so that they would be able to swim away and join their kin on their great migrations.

26.3.08

cape horn

The nausea comes in waves. It hit me first. We were leaving the dining room when I started to feel a bit wonky. They claim looking at the horizon helps, but it makes me feel worse. Thing is, I don’t like going up to the 10th floor lookout point since at this point south, it is really cold and windy, plus I think things sway more up there. although I have a great view of the horizon, from my window I cant look at it without also seeing the huge crashing waves below. So I try not looking out at all. I close my eyes and curl up in a ball on my bed. Drinking sprite helps. After a while it passes
But then it hits my dad, and he deals with these things worse than I do. I give him medication. We both nibble ginger. This is the roughest sea passage in the world, we have talked to people who have been on 30-40 cruises and no one has experienced something like this before. At first the waves are “only” 25 feet high (according to the captain) and we come within sight of cape horn, but there is no chance of landing. Then the storm strikes and things get much much worse. At my age I am more stable on my feet than my father, so I stumble up to reception to ask for the drugs….they make me feel like the beetle in kafka’s metamorphosis, I am climbing on the walls, spinning through tunnels, soaring on a rainbow….and praying for land.

punta arenas/ ushuaia/ the end of the world

Visiting is cool but living here must suck.
The place feels totally isolated and like you are standing at the end of the world. Punta arenas is a wind swept village. The weather is amazing. We get on land and it is sunny, but 15 minutes later it is pouring rain. And hour after that it is sunny again. By the time we leave it has rained several more times. But the rain is close to sleet and it tings as it hits things. The city was initially founded mainly by croats, and they have left their traces everywhere. Francesca complains they are cliquish and only employ their own people. Wandering through town I randomly befriend a group of catholic school girls. They are 17 but seem much younger, so sheltered and isolated are their lives. They are nice and surround me, asking me questions when they understand I am a foreigner. They seem impressed by the name of my country, but I wonder if they know where it is. Many latin Americans think my country is a province of spain, and I suspect these girls did as well. I cant blame them though, from here Europe must seem very far.
Ushuaia is almost identical in feel to punta arenas, except that with argentina bombastic tendencies, it has attempted to make money out of its unfortunate position, by styling itself as the Official End Of The World. It might have a point. Technically, Puerto Williams in chile is a bit more south, but almost no one lives there. I ask Horacio, an argentine, who claims “Puerto Williams is not the end of the world, it is the underworld. The end of the world is in argentina.” What Ushuaia makes lacks in, um, most things it makes up in extreme natural beauty. You enter the city via the beagle passage with all of its glaciers and snow capped mountains, and then arrive at Ushuaia, which is itself surrounded by snow capped mountains. The place was apparently found first by the british. The argentines were afraid that the british would occupy the land completely if they didn’t colonise it first, so they build a penal colony on the island (tierra del fuego). Being sent to Ushuaia was just one step below the death penalty. Few tried to escape, and those that did were normally found later, frozen to death, and I can see how: it is the beginning of autumn here and already freezing. In the mountains (but not THAT high up) the snow is still visible from last winter, it never melted. I go to the end of the panamerican autoroute, which runs from here to Alaska, according to the sign. We take the Train To The End Of The World, following the path the prisoners used to take. It ends in a dead end at the foot of a mountain. There is nothing around but animals and rock. Weird place.

25.3.08

glaciers


Outside it looks like a black and white photo. The sky is so dark and the light so low, that through the window I can see no colour at all. Only clouds, snow and rock. Large chunks of ice float by in the water, when you g out on to the deck you can hear the glaciers and chunks of ice creaking loudly. But you can stay out on the deck for very long, since it is both cold and windy. Yesterday evening there was even snow, but that is gone now at least. This is possibly the bleakest part of earth I have seen, but it is beautiful in a way as well. We sailed past both the asia and amalia glaciers and they were stunning, the asia glacier was coated in a spooky blueish light that made it look more like something from another planet than something earthly….but some of the glaciers are dying, the warming temperatures have led to huge waterfalls and run off, they look beautiful, when in fact they are the signs of destruction…..

24.3.08

serb vs croat in the south

i went to the museum of croatian history in punta arenas. such a thing exists since the earliest settlers came from croatia....so you can imagine my surprise when i sat down to watch the museums documentary to hear TAMO DALEKO playing as the theme song! even with the lyrics "tamo je selo moje, tamo je srbija!"

22.3.08

land

the landscape of chile's south is spectacular.i keep trying to post pictures but the internet connections are too slow down here to do more than type.
we went hiking through one of the national parks (which consists of all rocks and waterfalls, no grass thank god). it reminded my father of scotland. certainly the temperatures are about the same. yesterday we got back on the boat and sailed the darwin passage. i didnt take any photos, concluding there was no way the camera could capture what i was seeing all around me, on all sides. there were mountains everywhere you looked and blue blue water.
there are no roads connecting southern chile. front puerto montt south, the country is basically nothing but mountains and islands. if you want to go south there are three ways i am told. 1 by plane (but that costs a fortune) 2. by driving 36 hours through argentine patagonia (which is what all the big trucks do) or 3. by boat. (us)
more updates soon

21.3.08

puerto Montt

Puerto montt and surrounding area feel a very long way from Santiago or Valparaiso. The climate and landscape is much more like scotland’s than the nice warm Mediterranean weather we had up north. It is about 12 degrees when I step out into the Puerto Montt morning, and it is raining slightly. The skies are grey and sad. The architecture only adds to the confusion. The region was settled in the 19th century by germans, who filled the place with their own churches, cafes and houses. Sitting in café haussman, looking at a Lutheran church and avoiding the rain, it is hard to convince myself that I am in fact in latin America. Many of the signs are in german and the supermarkets are filled with german produce. Weird.
Puerto montt is not a beautiful city, it is the commercial and administrative hub of chile’s south, but as a town it is more odd then attractive. Additionally, lots of the town was destroyed in an earthquake in 1960 so there is not as much of the old architecture as there apparently once was. But Puerto montt is the starting point of many adventures.
From there I headed to Puerto varas, a beautiful resort town on a lake not far away. It is small and the weather was bad in the morning, but sun came out in the afternoon and it was possible to walk on the beach (but not swim!). the mountains and volcanos around the lake made an amazing view. …the region is famous for its salmon, in fact the town seems to serve little else….not a vegetarians paradise!

20.3.08

the boat

this old person cruise is quite a world unto itself. I am the youngest participant by about half a century, and my father, in his mid 70s is among the next youngest. Yet these people, regardless of their ages, are living life to its fullest. There is an 88 year old who is sailing around the southern cone, up to rio, from where she will take another boat to Gambia and Senegal and up to Lisbon. She hasn’t planned for after that, but if she is still around she will. Her logic is “fuck it, if I die, I die, but as long as I am living I want to live.” Fair enough. Another told my father that she had buried 3 husbands but was looking for a 4th, while another couple, in their 80s were recently married, having met on a previous elder hostel adventure. Last night my father and I sat down to dinner with two widows from Minneapolis, Minnesota, who seemed boring and conventional until they started telling us about their safari adventures in Kenya and various treks through china. One of them had gone through germany as a teenager right after WWII!
Lots of the participants are retired university professors, and others are just eccentric. Many are American/ Canadian, but there is an older French couple, several british, some south African jews, and an elderly black woman from Bermuda who has the most amazing accent (I spent a whole dinner trying to figure it out, but gave up and finally asked) and odd tales of studying in London in the 50s.
Yesterday we went to Casablanca wine valley for a wine tasting and these pensioners like their drinks! Some were having three or four glasses at 11 am! My dad and I came away with 4 bottles, and that was relatively little! A few have complained of hangovers, but most seem to manage large amounts.
We have now set sail from Valparaiso (a lovely town on the coast where I would like a dacha if I had the money) and are out at sea. I am curious what trouble these pensioners will get up to on the boat. I need to work on my thesis…

17.3.08

Shopping time

The details of the trip my father and I are to take arrived at his address, since it was thanks to him (and his age) that we are eligible for it. He seemingly read all the information and told me in great detail where we would be going and when. He then did additional research to provide me with even greater detail on all the places we will see: one of the world’s largest penguin colonies, the official End Of The World etc. he did not however, read the small print in detail. So last night my mother calls me in my Santiago flat to ask if I knew about the formal dinners? How many cocktail dresses had I brought? “What!?!” I squawked back. No one told me I needed cocktail dresses for this! What on earth for? Being a meticulous person, my mother had gone through my dad’s forms and had discovered that, in addition to visiting penguin colonies, we would also have several formal dinners. According to the paper work, “cocktail dresses would be suitable for women.” Hence my mothers question. I asked what exactly a cocktail dress might mean, and my mother, a product of another society and era, claimed it meant “you know, what you were to a bar with your friends.” I refrained from telling her I often venture to bars in jeans, the poor woman would be shocked. Anyway, having established that I had only one debatably cocktail like dress with me, she ordered me to go shopping.
Of course I had no clue where one buys cocktail dresses in Santiago, but I figured francesca would know, as she knows everything about Chilean social life. So today we headed off to a shopping mall, on a mission. The mall was located next to the Chilean national military academy, which we had to walk around on the way. The soldiers were out doing various warlike things. Some were marching about (I never understood the point of endless practice marching!) while others were in small groups running around trees with machine guns in their hands. Despite the Chilean military’s dark and dodgy history, these guys didn’t look threatening. A lot of them were about my size (ie small). Just in case however, I refrained from taking photos, even though I really wanted to. Eventually we got to the mall. It seems Chileans are really proud of their malls, but I confess I struggle to understand why. The mall we went to looked exactly like any other modern shopping mall in Budapest, Moscow or Toronto. It had the exact same shops at the exact same prices (Mango, Diesal, Karen Millen, Benetton, Zara, Camper, Esprit). The only novelties were a shop called “London: urban style” and a Chilean department store called “Paris.” Oh, and the fact that those strutting around the mall in fashionable clothes seemed to be a skin tone shade lighter than those on the streets, as always seems to be the case in Latin American shopping malls. Needless to say I did manage to find something to wear. The real shock was when I wandered into a book shop. The clothing prices were almost identical to London ones, but the prices of books were absolutely astronomical. Chilean writer Isabel Allende’s latest autobiography was going for over 17 euros- I bought the same book, also in Spanish, at bookshop where I work in London for 9 pounds, before my staff discount! All the books seemed to be at least 15€, with some history ones more like 25€. I was really surprised. If you want to buy books, wait till you get to Argentina, was francesca’s suggestion.

16.3.08

my ignorance strikes again

“What do you mean you have never seen a llama?” Asks veronica, scandalised. I find this astonishment unfair. I am used to my London acquaintances poking fun at me for never having seen a chicken or a pig (other than the corpses in the supermarket). Although I maintain that there is no particular reason why a confirmed urban troglodyte like myself should have necessarily come across a chicken or a pig living in Moscow, Paris or London, I can still accept that such sightings might conceivable. Other people in these cities have indeed probably seen such beasts. But really, is it fair to expect me to have seen a bloody llama? “ where would I have seen one? They don’t walk around London, you know” I protest to veronica. She is unconvinced. We are standing on top of the cerro san cristobal, in the shadow of a 14 metre high statue of the virgen de la immaculada concepcion. The walk up took a good while, had in known I would have taken another mode of transport, but it is too late now, and I am panting and pondering the number of blisters that must be surely appearing on my feet. The view is worth it though, from the top of the hill you can see all of Santiago, which stretches out in every direction as far as the eye can see. At the edge of the city, it is possible to make out the outlines of the andes through the smog cover. Over a well earned ice cream, veronica consults with her cousins, all 15 of them, and they apparently share her horror in my animal ignorance. We take the funicular down the mountain, my view of the panorama only slightly obstructed by the 3 year old I have been give to hold. And just my luck, what do we encounter at the bottom of the mountain? Three llamas posing for photographs with their owners, for a fee. All 15 cousins drag me over for a viewing, presenting me to their national beast.
Llamas smell.

Santiago

As you fly into Santiago, the setting is dramatic. You fly over incredible snow covered mountains for nearly an hour, and then land very suddenly in the city, which is just at the feet of the Andes. Up close though, Santiago shares with mexico city (although not in such an extreme way) the problem of being in a smog-covered bowl. Apparently on a clear day you can see the andes in Santiago. Today, however, was not apparently one of those days.
The city is of medium size, about 5 million, and looks like a typical western hemisphere creation: sky scrapers and straight streets. It is apparently not a tourist destination: I saw/heard no other foreigners on my excursion today.
The city seems a bit up and down. The architecture is pretty generic, kind of like la defense or canary warf, but all over the city not just in one region. There is little historical stuff. I am staying in las condas, a particularly soulless region that is truly an overgrown la defense. There are starbucks on every corner and lots of guys in suits barking into their phones. That said, my hotel is amazing. I have an enormous studio flat, complete with kitchen, living room, and a huge balcony. The place is both bigger and better equipped than my place in London. My flat is very high, which means I am in an ideal position to spy on all the neighbours. Through this mode of enquiry, I can see that some people in this city have truly amazing flats. Some have huge garden patios on their balconies, which are big enough to host a huge party on. Others, further down on the street level have gated gardens bigger than my huge flat, sealed off from the world by enormous palm trees. The climate is such that now, even in autumn, I can sit outside on the balcony comfortably in a tank top, watching as people have their family dinners below. People are sitting out in their palm-lined gardens drinking what appear to be very enticing cocktails, smoking and chatting.
furthermore, even I, a confirmed urban troglodyte, must concede that there are some incredibly beautiful parks. I spent an hour or so today wandering through st lucia and was amazed at the things that kept turning up (natural stuff like waterfalls, as well as numerous lovers who appeared to have no where else to go to make out). Perhaps the rocky and mountainous nature of the park appealed to my troglodyte soul, or maybe it was the wonderful views of the skyscrapers, but I did enjoy the excursion. The other thing about Santiago is that it seems incredibly safe. There were no catcalls or hooting as I walked around, there are public dustbins everywhere, and when I accidentally walked out of a shop without all my change, (about 1 pound) the woman who worked there came running after me. Today I made an investigation of the centre. I wandered aimless for several hours, ending up munching an enormous ice cream at plaza de armas. A satisfying day.

14.3.08

madrid, the gateway south

much like the ghetto begins on the lower floor of gare du nord, latin america seems to begin in the iberia satellite terminal of madrid aeroport. there is no other reason to take iberia unless you are going to south america, the service is the same (ie non existant) as on easy jet and within europe iberia is more expensive. so i have only taken it when going to latin america, and thus last night found myself on an iberia flight to santiago de chile.
i always saw the chileans as a rather somber people by latin american standards. what i didnt bank on was their apparent interest in foreigners, and their ability to paralyse people with endless questions. the flight was almost all diaspora going home early for easter. their were 5 british passengers on the flight, and i was apparently the only one who spoke spanish. i hadnt even sat on the plane before i was identified as an abuela magnet and the questions started. Are you spanish? no? why are you going to chile? (to meet and spend time with my father, apparently a correct answer, as my grandmotherly interrogators seemed pleased) does it really rain every day in scotland? do you hate the english? have you seen braveheart? do people wear kilts every day? are you married? why not? no children? what do you study?
i was exhausted and i hadnt even located my seat. the girl next to me was my age, a chilean studying in barcelona, who talked non stop for about the first 4 hours of the flight. she was very nice....but these people are talkers!

10.3.08

time to pack my bags (again)

it is time for me to pack. it is very hard to condense everything you will need for several climate zones into one suitcase, especially when that suitcase must also contain some 10 academic books and several piles of notes. and my new camera. but it will get done.
before heading off though, a list.
the lonely planet bluelist book 2008 has a section on travellers' blags/ tall tales to tell the gullible. many of them listed are a bit crazy, but i will question one. the guide says a common travellers' tall tale is that of getting upgraded to first class (trying to look like a movie star etc). the lonely planet claims that this virtually never happens and that staff can get fired for doing so.
that is ridiculous. i have been upgraded to first class loads of times, and never because i have tried to impersonate anyone. what the lonely planet seems to forget is that airlines are desperate to avoid bad press and to cover their own mistakes. so here is my list: reasons for be upgraded to first/ business class
1. the flight is overbooked and they just dont have room in economy, if you are a single traveller, they often upgrade you to avoid dealing with the problem of putitng you on another flight, and offering compensation.
2. the flight is overbooked and they dont have room anywhere, so they ask for volunteers to wait for another flight. they are required to give you compensation for that, and if you ask they will normally give you a first class seat as well. the last time it happened i got a first class seat, meal vouchers, and 500 dollars, which made the 8 hour wait in atlanta airport almost worth it...
3 the airline has a delay, which is due to a fault of theirs, and as a result you miss your connection. if the next flight is full, you can demand to a seat in business/ first and get it: it is cheaper to stick you there than put you up in a hotel waiting for another flight.
4. same as above, but you have a short time to make your connection, due to the airlines error. the last time that happened to me (i had 20 minutes to make a connecting flight in paris, since my flight from moscow had been delayed by 1.5 hours) they gave me the first seat on the plane, so i could get off fast and bolt to my next gate.
5 my aunt is a travel agent. she wags her pass, and if there is room she and her companions got straight to first.
6. once i was the ONLY woman on a flight. the venezuelan, also all male, crew sat me right up front.....which seemed like an honour until i realised i would have to chat with them the entire time....

the reason i think should qualify for an upgrade (but it hasnt worked for me yet) : the person in the seat next to you is grotesquely obese and as a result you can barely breathe, especially if you have a middle seat.

4.3.08

oxford

winter is not the time to plan a lengthy walking tour of oxford. i swear the temperature is at least 5 degrees colder than in london. many people underestimate the beauty of smog: it holds in heat. and so i shivered from the station to the random point in the street where i ran into marci, who had been late to the station, but had caught us with us midway into town.
we did attempt some strolls, but after 30 minutes the cold would get to much, with the result that much of the time was spent in pubs, chatting. oxford is a lovely town, even if i will always prefer cambridge. it also has some great pubs. we headed for the most convenient and central: the bear, tufts tavern (not the place for a cold day) and the kings arms. we had a nice subsidised lunch in one of the colleges, marci getting us in by flashing his magic student card. hans once described oxbridge as being academia's answer to disneyland, and i remember his words every time i go back, and shall probably continue to do so, even as i prepare to leave academia. the pampered, cosseted life seemed claustrophobic when i lived in cambridge, but it certainly has its own advantages...

2.3.08

painting


The flat I moved in to was in serious need of remont. Accepting that was part of the deal in my getting a big flat for myself at an affordable price.but then I had never before attempted remont, and thus didn’t know what was waiting for me until I set about remont, part one: painting the living room.
Painting is hard work! I got all kinds of cool brushes and roller devices. It was all a bit fun, but the fun wears out as the paint sets into the back and arms and faces get covered in flecks of white paint.
My level of respect for the (mainly polish) painters/ plumber/ handmen in this city has increased dramatically. One might see this as unskilled labour, but that is a mistake!!! This is hard stuff!