It’s Monday, we were on a bus to somewhere, therefore we’re in South America. The pick-up arrangements weren’t clear, the phone number was a fax, we got a cab, and the guy who should’ve transferred us came to the bus station to repay our £1 fare. I felt terrible! He insisted. Much ‘disculpe’ing later, we shake hands with this fine fellow and find he has only two fingers. I felt even worse! The 3 hour bus journey was comfortable, scenic and cheap, 200k for £3. As we dropped from the sierra, vegetation became more lush and varied, and habitation less alarmingly infrequent; indeed it seemed possible that the inhabitants of one estancia might know they had neighbours in another. Everything is so BIG. The three Torres del Paine dominate the horizon for dozens of kilometres, three vertical pinnacles of granite, glaciers growing in their finger-joints. Then the sierra, with the occasional zorro (grey fox), hare, ñando family or guanaco pack. Lower, sheep and beef cattle dominate, but it’s entirely unclear where green vegetables come from as all the greenhouses are smashed to buggery. The greengrocers in Punta Arenas are stocked with goodies, but the things that grow wild are exactly what we’d find in England, mint, lupins, identical grasses, pansies in pots, marigold. Maybe the soil is too thin. For dinner tonight we had the set meal of onion soup, King crab ‘pie/stew’ crème caramel and mint tea, for £6.50. Not bad. (The wine was £9! But good.) N.B. No fruit or veg. Why don’t they all get scurvy? Must be the lemons they serve with the crab. Mum & Aunty Vera would’ve loved it here!
In the afternoon, I arranged a little side expedition (while Adrian was doing the laundry) to Otway Sound Magallanic penguin rookery. £5 for a 4 hour trip, plus entry fee of £3. We got some peach shots and way too much video, of cute chicks just coming out of their baby fluff. At one month old, they are as big as their dads and moms and are squatting on the beach, learning to swim. Their parents never leave them alone, often relaxing in their des. res. burrows in creek banks, looking forever like the maître d’ of an exclusive French restaurant and his apprentice, ushering in the esteemed guests. Sadly, the youngster may let down the boss by crying woefully and inconsolably at intervals, the cute little ‘cheep’ no more. Though fewer in number than in Antarctica, these are just as easy to film, and the wind’s easier. On the journey, we saw a skunk, hares, zorros, upland geese (the ones with yellow necks – female and white neck – male) as at del Torres, an alarmingly red-breasted lowland lapwing, and some other birds. A librarian from Bolton and her caro on a 12 month trip was good as spotting, so I pumped her for gems. Nice girl.