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.