Entries about friends

Considering Alaska

Here are some things I’d like you to consider about Alaska.

Male Orca

This whale marks my first orca sighting of the season. This male carries a fin that can grow up to six feet long. It was part of a four whale pod foraging somewhere near the border of British Columbia and Alaska.

Sunrise South of Ketchikan

Sunlight arrives in the early morning hours in May. I love the energy that a new day brings. The sun removes any lingering listlessness I might carry after working through the shadowy night. This beautiful scene rings of cold air, placid waters, and good color.

It soothes me.

Bow Riding Dall Porpoise

When I talk of “bow riding” animals, I am referring to dolphins and occasional porpoise that ride the cushion of water that our ship pushes as it makes way through the water. These animals ride this wave because they don’t have to expend any energy to move. In short, they are surfing a wave that lasts forever.

However, most of the animals that bow ride can swim much faster than the paltry ten knots our ship makes. They use us for as long as they want, before diving away. In my experience, dall porpoise don’t spend very much time bow riding.

The pod that rode our bow this morning stayed with us for twenty minutes -shattering my opinions. I took hundreds of photos of the porpoise, but really only liked this one. I like the color.

Aerial Views of the LeConte Glacier

I’ve given up making prejudgments about experiences I’ve never had. When I learned that I was going to take a float plane flight above the LeConte Glacier, the crew kept telling me, “That‘s so awesome!” To which I replied, “Yeah, it might be. I don’t really know, I’ve never done this before.” My lack of enthusiasm bothered many people. My friend Eva really got her dander up. “Well, I think it’s f’ing awesome…” I don’t know how I do it, but I always seem to push the right buttons. I’m just being realistic. Yes, it sounds great and I’m excited to go. But there is a possibility I might hate it, and I’d have to retract my previous declarations. I’d rather not.

It turns out, taking a low flying flight over a glacier IS f’ing awesome. I was blown away. I’ve seen many glaciers but I’ve never seen them from the sky.

Glaciers are essentially slow moving rivers of ice. We spiraled from the top of the glacier down to its face. It was a gigantic jumble of jagged ice. We banked steeply over the main ice field several times, finishing each loop with a grand view of the broken face.

Reflections of Endicott Arm

This was my first visit to Endicott Arm since the late summer of 2011. I had forgotten how beautiful the reflection of the Dawes Glacier looks on a bed of perfectly smooth water.

Evening Over the Fair Weather Range

I was having a great conversation with my brother Karl. You know the kind, where the topics are interesting, the one-liners are sharp, and the laughter rings true. Towards the end of our chat, the sun began its descent over the Fairweather Mountains. This range of high snow-capped peaks protects the western side of Glacier Bay National Park. I went downstairs to grab my camera, and warned my brother that I was going to take some photos while he talked. I’m a guy. Multitasking is something I cannot do very effectively, despite my delusions. While he talked on, I took this photo. When I look at it, it reminds me of him.

A Birthday in Glacier Bay National Park

Yep, I’m 32. I like the number much better than 31. I am now divisible, as where before I was an awkward prime number. It has been a good day. Glacier Bay was bathed in crisp sunshine. The mountains that surround this waterway were brilliant, wearing their snow shrouds proudly.

The Marjorie Glacier tossed ice off its face. Most of the crew were high up on lido, laughing, hamming it up, singing and dancing. I like the camaraderie. The glacier liked our energy and responded in kind.


It was a tranquil day of work. I didn’t over tax myself, that’s for sure. I stayed up late last night, enjoying the social scene, and I felt tired most of the day.

My friends presented me with the following:

3 types of chocolate in different shapes. My weaknesses are well known it seems.
3 awesome journals. I’m a writer, and therefore easy to shop for.
3 bookmarks, which I’ll put to use in my journals.
1 Sperm Whale
1 loaf of homemade pizza bread. How I love this tasty treat.
Lemon pound cake. I can’t wait for breakfast tomorrow.
Countless hugs and salutations

It occurred to me after work, that I wouldn’t be who I am today if it hasn’t been for all of the good people I have met along the way. Those experiences, whether good or bad has been important in the making of this Thom. For that, I thank you.

I would consider Alaska to be one of the sparkling jewels in my crown of travels. It continues to surprise me, to stun me, and to inspire me.

I have severely improved my predicament. I’ve left the icy grip of late winter in the midwest for the hot desert comfort of Baja, Mexico. To put it in numbers, I went from 29 to 75 (f), from freezing rain to warm and sunny. The sun hits my skin as I peel off my layers. It feels wonderful. I am reborn.

I’m in Mexico to w-w..work. Just thinking that word is hard. I haven’t lifted a finger for myself since last November. It’s been a good run, but the time has come to replenish my coppers. I’ve been hemorrhaging money lately (since 2009) and working for a couple of months will help stem the flow.

The Baja peninsula is one also one damn fine place to play. I can’t wait to immerse myself in a silent desert landscape. I’m going swimming this week. I’m going hiking this week. I’m going to watch the sunset tonight, and I’m going to watch the sunrise tomorrow morning. Overall, things are looking up.

Returning to Minnesota

This past week was good to me. I returned to Minnesota. I once lived in Duluth, Minnesota for seven years. It was odd to drive around my old stomping grounds. I saw places that are familiar, yet unfamiliar due to the passage of time. I drove through a city of memories.

I came to the realization that Minnesota was never really home to me. I grew accustomed to living there, exploring there, and being there. But, I could never love Minnesota the way the natives love their state.

But that’s ok. That’s all part of life’s journey.

I spent some quality time with my brother Karl and my good friend Curly. It’s great to meet someone you haven’t seen in a year and pick up right where you left off. That’s the sign of a quality friendship. Granted, most of our time was spent reminiscing, laughing and talking about nothing, but it’s all good for the soul.

Map

My brother has a cat by the name of Map. Map reminds me a lot of Hobbes, of “Calvin and Hobbes” fame. He loves a good sneak attack. Cats love to surprise their prey. I fell victim to his timely ambush several times.

He’s also a good wrestler. He’ll pounce on your foot before grabbing it with his claw and sinking his teeth lightly into your foot. He’s good about not stabbing too deeply, he nips just enough to let you know he’s there.

He’s a quality cat.

A New Slack-line

This week I bought a new slack-line set. I purchased sixty feet of one-inch climbers webbing and a strong one-inch ratchet set. I set up an experimental line in my brother’s yard one morning. I wasn’t sure if it was going to work, but after a few tries I found the sweet spot. It felt good to get back up on the line. I had a good session despite the cold temperatures. Now all I have to do is get it set up on white sand instead of white snow.

There you have it. One minute I’m sitting on a bus driving north through a dreary landscape, the next minute, I’m setting up my slack-line on a beautiful white sand beach. I think that’s a promising change in fortune. Or is it? We shall see.

Look for more Mexican tales next week.

Remembering Florida

Florida has been good to me. It's such a beautiful state - so full of life and color. It's a wonderful contrast to the chilly northern climates that I had been visiting. It was good to walk around in shorts again. It was good to swim in a river. It was good to sit around a bonfire under a starry sky. It was good to climb trees again. I ate a lot of amazing food. I did battle in my first paintball war in twenty years. I ate some of the best shrimp of my life in Apalaciacola. None of this would have been nearly as fun if it wasn't for my good friends and hosts, Clayton and Laura Lee.

Florida offered me many new experiences I wouldn't find anywhere else. I saw my first alligator. I ate my first alligator (it was delicious). I pulled an orange right off the tree and ate it for breakfast. I swam with manatees. I took a ride through a Florida swamp on an air boat. I built my first chicken coop. I ate the best strawberry you can get, and I snorkelled down a beautiful crystal clear river (see Soaring Through the Wild Blue). It was great.

Fireside Banjo Jam

This is what it’s all about. I met up with my good friend Clayton on his farm way up in the panhandle of Florida. We spent 15 minutes cutting up a dozen pine logs and set up a good fire. The stars lit up the dark sky, accompanying the hanging crescent moon. We drank some beers. We played our banjos. We talked of life, and how good it is. This was my first night in Florida, and a damn fine one at that.

Stuck

Clayton and I got back in his truck. He started it up, and stopped for a second. We could go straight across the sand lot, or we could turn around and stick to the parking lot. Clayton asked me, “Do you think we can make it?” I answered without really thinking about it, “Sure, let’s go for it.” Well, we went for it. We didn’t make it. The sand became deep halfway across and we sunk up to the axle. We were stuck.

After a half hour of futile effort, one call to a tow truck, and trying a few more bad ideas, a four pack of guys came to our rescue. The four of them lifted the back of the pick up and Clayton jammed a six by six log under the tire. Then we all pushed while Clayton spun his way to the road beyond. We escaped just before the tow truck arrived. It was a solid afternoon had by all.

Coop!

Clayton needed to build a chicken coop for his chickens. I became excited about the idea, and drew up some elaborate blueprints of what Clayton wanted it to look like. I love sketching out the finished product almost as much as I like building them.

One afternoon we went out to the hardware store to buy the supplies, and the next day we started the build. It took a lot longer to build than I thought it would, but the end result looked a lot like how I envisioned it.

I thought back to where I was two weeks before when I was wandering around downtown Manhattan. Now here I was building a chicken coop on a farm in rural Florida. I love the diversity of my life.

On Oranges

Florida has the best oranges. Have you ever smelled an orange blossom? It is the most intoxicating perfume I've ever scented. Have you ever eaten an orange right off the tree for breakfast? I did. It was the juiciest most flavorful orange I have ever tasted.

The Florida Wild

The following photos are from various parts of Florida. Florida is beautiful. It is full of birds, wildlife, flowers, gators, and some of the best trees I’ve ever seen. I love Florida’s trees. The white Cyprus and the giant live oaks are my new favorite, especially when covered in Spanish moss.

Florida Forests

Terrapin

Evening Tree Reflection

White Cyprus and Spanish Moss

Gulf of Mexico

Female Grackles Walking the Swamp

Male Grackle

Swamp Vegetation

Baby Gator

Grackle Flight

Ghost Fish

Wood Ducks

Shamrock in Good Light

Pitcher Plant Frog

Lily Pads and Reflected Clouds

My favorite part of Florida was spending quality time with my friends. Cheers!

Many moons ago, I was thinking about what I would like to do in Argentina. Not only did I want to see the sights, but I wanted to make my trip more meaningful than sticking to the tourist trail. My first idea, was to take Spanish lessons somewhere in the country. My second, was to try WOOFING, also known as, working on a farm. I joined WOOFING Argentina (www.wwoofargentina.com). I searched through dozens of farms, and created a short list of those farms that appealed to me. My deciding factors consisted of location, type of farming, length of stay, and language. Then I narrowed the short list down to two farms. I wrote them a query letter, and one farm invited me to help them.

The farm I chose is located just inside Chubut province, about four kilometers south of El Bolson. Bolson is a small bohemian farming city situated in a lush green valley between two ranges of mountains. I heard good things about Bolson during my travels. I arrived five days before I joined the farm to explore the valley.

The Best Hostel in the World

La Casona de Odile is the best hostel in South America, if not the world. There are many reasons for this, but my favorite reasons are its location and the sense of community among its visitors and staff.

The hostel is located five kilometers north of Bolson on a beautiful piece of property the owners have cultivated into a wonderful park. It is a peaceful place.

The park reeked of Zen. The moments flowed past like the trout in the stream that meanders through the garden.

1. I sat next to the pond and watched tiny droplets of water plop into the surface of the pond.

2. I slipped through the plants to find diamond droplets of water on the green plants after a rainsquall.

3. The sun came out and I hunkered in the shade of the brightly lit plant so I could see the veins and cells of plant. It looked like I was looking at the earth from space, but it was only a plant from inches away. Nature has a way of repeating patterns though out its realm.

When I arrived at Odile, I set about unpacking, getting clean, then making dinner. There was a group of eight people laughing, and cooking dinner together in the spacious kitchen. At first, I thought they were all traveling together by the way they interacted. I later learned that all of them were traveling alone, and had met here at Odile. After I had finished my dinner, they invited me to join their group and try the fondue that they were enjoying. The conversation bloomed, and it wasn’t long before I was firmly entrenched within the group.

We spent five days exploring the valley, laughing, playing cards, slack-lining, cooking, and eating. Food brings people together, and we spent a lot of time together- eating and drinking.

This is why hostels are great places to stay. It’s a funny thing about hostel traveling. Good people come and go, and with each new person who arrives, the group dynamic changes. It gets a new flavor. It’s great. But at the same time, it’s hard to say goodbye. I hate saying good-bye.

Gone, but not forgotten:
M and Robbie (Ushuaia), Ben, Stephanie, Camille (Chalten), Phillip (Chalten and Calafate).

Not quite gone, and never forgotten:
Tharien, Sabrina, Shane, Jelena, Sarah, Cristian, the Staff at Odile (Bolson).

So Long, Odile. Hello, Los Pinos

When I stepped out of the cab, my host greeted me with a warm two-minute barrage of Spanish. My deer in the headlights look must have been awesome. I had just imbedded myself into an Argentine farm run by a family who spoke no English. Ha! Take that, Thom!

I met my workmates, Cristian (from Chile), and Virginie (from France). Cristian quickly became my savior, as he can speak some English. He took me on a tour of the farm, and showed me the basic operation. Let me tell you, this is one beautiful farm.

The name of the farm is Granja Los Pinos. The farm is productive. It is growing raspberries, potatoes, black currants, walnuts, cherries, apples, flowers, and a vegetable garden. There are three dogs, lots of cats (only one of them is a cool cat), sheep, chickens, and several flocks of loud birds. It is located on the foothills of Cerro Piltriquitron, and has a lovely view of the mountains and surrounding valley.

I’ve been on the farm for four days now, and so far, it is as good as I hoped it would be. On weekdays, I work for six hours a day. The morning runs from 9:30 in the morning to 12:30 pm. We’ll take a three-hour break, cooking a large family style meal that we eat together. The conversation flows fast. I sit quietly trying to understand the scope of the conversation. I understand about every seventh word, but I’m hoping to narrow that down to every fourth word by the end of my tenure here. Then we’ll spend the afternoon working from 3 pm to 6 pm.

The work is easy, and we take a very relaxed pace.

The Morality of Nut Cracking

It has rained every day since I have arrived in Bolson. When it rains, it is our job to crack open dried walnuts and sort the nuts into two piles- good nuts and bad nuts. At first, nut cracking is straightforward. One person cracks the nuts, the other two people sort them. After a couple hundred nuts, I started thinking about the philosophy of nut cracking.

Cristian told me that, “After you crack 10,000 nuts, you will gain enlightenment.“ I told him that, “If you live in the moment, you only have to crack one nut.”

On the third day of nut cracking, the morality of what we were doing entered the conversation. Cristian asked me, “I want to know what this nut did to be bad.” I didn’t have an answer.

After awhile, I realized that we were deciding the fate of these nuts. If they are good nuts, humans eat them. If they are bad nuts, the chickens will eat them. The humans will eat the chickens. I suppose something could eat the human before those poor walnuts return to the earth.

Who are we to decide if it’s a good nut or a bad one? Am I going nuts?

A Language All His Own

The most difficult part has been overcoming the language barrier. It hasn’t been a problem with the work, Roly will take us to where he wants things done, and tell Cristian what to do. I can tell what he wants done just by the tools we have and the short demonstration we are given. No problem. But, I feel like I’m missing out on getting to know my wonderful hosts. They are warm, engaging, and fun. However, I still don’t know what they are saying.

At lunch one day, Analia asked me, “Who is Odile?” I told her a rambling rendition of taking a bus from Calafate to Rio Gallegos before riding all night to Bolson where I found the Casana de Odile. Her daughter asked the question again in English. To which, I realized my mistake. I’m not trying to be an idiot, it comes naturally.

The other day after my friends and I had eaten, I eloquently asked, “How much cheese, please?” My friends and I were almost on the floor laughing about that one.

Cristian asked me, “What do you call a small ship?”
“A boat.” I replied.
“No, no, no, a small ship. What do you call it?” He said. I offered other words that mean the same thing.
He then rephrased his question, “What kind of ship would you put on a fire, the osada?”
That’s when I realized he was asking about sheep. Argentine’s use the young sheep for their barbeque dinners, and he was asking if we do the same. We both laughed, and I explained the difference between ship and sheep. For fun, I added chip and cheap to the conversation too.

The good news is that I am improving. Cristian has been giving me Spanish lessons throughout the day, and we will talk about it over tea when the day is done. I have a long way to go, but I’m on the right path. Immersing oneself into the Spanish language is not easy.

On Cold Showers and Leisure Time

On the first day, I took out my slack-line and set it up between two trees. I showed Cristian the basic steps, and he was soon walking the line. Yet another fish hooked. I think Gibbon Slack-lines should pay me a commission for the number of people I have gotten addicted to this sport.


There is also a great ping-pong table in the workshop. Cristian and I have been playing each other in the evenings. Last Friday night we played ping-pong, drank matte, and listened to Argentine radio for hours. I like Friday nights up on the farm.
On my first night, I went into our small rustic bathroom and turned on the taps to run the shower. The water that came out was only slightly warmer than a glacier waterfall. I figured I had turned the wrong one on. I turned that one off, and twisted the other knob and waited. The water temperature didn’t change. I really wanted a shower. I exhaled, and started working my body under the freezing water. It was a fast shower, but I felt better.

Afterward, I asked Cristian if we have hot water in our cabin. “Ahh. We could, all you have to do is ask for it. I like cold showers; It’s good for the body, no? Everyday it feels colder.”
I laughed, and then I halfway bought into it. I reasoned that there are people in the world that have never had hot water in their lives. Why should I? This would be part of my challenge- cold showers for 3 weeks.

Two days later, I asked to have the hot water turned on.

Farm Photos.

I will leave you this week of some of my first photos of the farm. Happy holidays from South America!

Do you know what it’s like to work night shift? I’ve had to work nights out of necessity this past week. My fellow deckhands suffer from motion sickness, and the ocean was giving us a hell of a ride on our positioning trip from Portland, Oregon to Los Angeles, California. The ocean’s motion doesn’t affect me, so I volunteered to stay up and do the hourly rounds all night long for the last five days.

This isn’t normally a problem. I like the nights, and I love the ocean’s movement. However, yesterday was the start of my trip to Argentina; a travel day. Starting a travel day without a full nights rest is akin to spraining your ankle five steps before running a marathon. I knew it was going to suck, but that‘s the way it goes. There was nothing to do about it, so let’s get on with it. Ha! I love my stoicism, sometimes.

A Day of Suspended Animation

I sat along side of the trash-strewn road in the dusty bleakness that is the industrial wastelands of the Los Angeles waterfront. Fare the well, Seabird. I am gainfully unemployed and uncaring. After three and a half months aboard my beloved ship, it’s time for a little rest and relaxation.

At LAX, my friend and I breezed through check in requirements and soon found ourselves with drinks in hand at 10:30 in the morning. A good start. My friend surprised me with a gift from one of our chief engineers. It was a travel pillow. I choked up a little bit, moved by his kindness. When I’m sleep deprived, the highs are higher, the lows are lower; life gets more potent.

I passed out in a terminal chair, fading into suspended animation. These places are terminal. I woke up a half hour later, feeling much worse.

Finally, our flight time arrives, and I board the plane. Inside, I could feel the mood of the plane was reaching the boiling point. Everyone was exasperated, nearing meltdown. “People, please! The overheads are filling up. Please check them to your next destination.” My fellow passengers were annoyed and turning selfish. Ugh. I sat down. I had no room to stretch my legs, and crumpled into the most comfortable position I could. I looked out the window as passed over the ocean beach. I see a white line of waves. We arc, turning east. At ten thousand fifty feet, I pass out.

I awoke two hours later. My dreams were vivid and of the terrifying kind. I think I angered the gods, but I’m not sure. I feel like a zombie. I can’t remember how long I’ve been awake compared to these paltry naps. I don’t care. I will carry on. I can sleep on the next flight.

“Houston, We Have A Problem…”

The Houston airport was nice. We had a long walk in front of us, but our flight was delayed by a half hour, so there wasn’t any hurry. We ate dinner. We sat around. The intercom blared, “Flight blah-blah-blah to Buenos Aires has been cancelled. Please wait in line.” Uh-oh, now what?

We waited somewhere near the end of a very long line. In ten minutes, it didn’t move. I laugh. What can you do? Suddenly, the kiosk at the other end of the terminal opened right where we were standing, and just like that, we were first in line. Ha! What a twist of fortunes. The patient airline representatives offer us apologies, a hotel, a cab fare, food fare, and an amazing display of stress management. Imagine dozens of travel weary annoyed people who want answers, and alternatives. They are impatient and surging, and looking ready to scream.

My friend and I are not impatient. After all, we are first in line, and we understand that shit happens sometimes. Then the booking system crashes, and the airline people are really feeling the crushing stress. They make calls, they offer more apologies, they keep trying. When they hand us our documents, minus one boarding pass, we thank them, and wish them well.

We walked through the quiet terminal to ground transportation and the next fiasco. United gave us vouchers for the Yellow Cab Company. The six other taxis in line couldn’t help us. We thought of the hundred people that would soon be waiting for a yellow cab, and shuddered. This was going to get ugly, very soon. Luckily, a yellow cab rolled up and we hustled over to it. After a confusing conversation about the validity of our roundtrip voucher with our driver, we settled on a compromise. We’d call him in the morning, so he could give us a ride back to the airport, which would settle our voucher.

I tried to enjoy a long ride to the hotel through the dark freeways of Houston, but I didn’t. I was exhausted beyond caring.

The Breakdown

What does this mean for me? Well, first things first: I slept in a bed instead of an airplane seat. Gods, be praised. Six hours of sleep in a real bed was a short trip to heaven.

Here’s where I now stand.

The next flight leaves today at 1 pm. We crunched the numbers, and figured out that we will arrive at 2 a.m. After customs, we’ll have to beeline it to the hotel to meet our charter flight group at 5 a.m. It’s going to be close, but it looks like we can make it. It’s important that we make our charter flight, because this is the one going to Ushuaia, where we will board the cruise ship.

At this moment, I’m sitting in a chair at HoustonX. I look like hell, but feel much better than I did yesterday at this time. Someday, I will sleep, but not today. Our flight leaves in three hours, and I’m optimistic we will make it to our destination. It’s going to be a long day, but I’m still smiling.

If all else fails and we miss our ship, we’ve decided we’ll just rent a beach side cabana and chill out for a couple of weeks. How can I lose?

Wish me luck!

We sat in the plane still connected to our gate for another hour and a half. We were waiting on approval from the Argentine government, which required a piece of paper. I kept running the numbers through my sleep-deprived head. “Ok, if we leave here at two, that makes it five o’clock in Buenos Aires, a ten hour flight has us arriving at three a.m.” Two o’clock came and went. We finally took off at two thirty, meaning we would land at three thirty in the morning. With customs, and trying to find the rendezvous location somewhere downtown, this didn’t leave us much time for any more delays.

This was my first long international flight, and I spent my time engrossed with my entertainment screen on back of the chair in front of me. This system was our in-flight entertainment, with games to play, movies to watch, television shows, music, and an in-flight map of our current location. I played a couple dozen games of “Battleship”, some golf, and chess. I watched part of “The Hustler,” “Finding Nemo,” and all of “Prometheus.”

I only slept for an hour. This meant that by the time we landed at three thirty in the morning, I had more or less been awake for eighteen and a half hours. And I still had a completely full day in front of me before we even arrived at the ship.

There were no problems at customs. They stamped my passport, wished me luck, and motioned for the next person in line. We were fortunate to find out that there were other members of the Antarctic expedition that were on the same flight. This meant that there was no way we would miss our flight to Ushuaia, and we could relax a little. The van to the rendezvous was full, so we had to take a cab. This was easy, but we forgot to get an address to the hotel where we would all be meeting. Our cab driver was a saint, called for information and soon had the address. He hit the gas, and we rocketed through Buenos Aires at five in the morning.

It was sweet relief to see the hotel, and our friends waiting for us. The hard part was over. We had made it with an hour and a half to spare. There’s nothing like making it interesting.

I’ve had some very bad luck with my flights over the years, and this one was one of the better pressure cookers I have faced. There was a lot at stake for this one. If I missed my flight to Ushuaia, chances were good that I missed my shot at seeing South Georgia and Antarctica. I was aware of the stakes, but kept my usual calm demeanor. It was kind of fun racing the clock to make the trip, it made it a lot more interesting than being in the city a full day ahead of time. Despite staying awake for endless hours, waiting in the airport, airplane, and all the rest, we made it. And that’s the bottom line.

The rest of this story isn’t as interesting as what I’ve already told you.

We had breakfast at an opulent hotel for the well to do. I looked like hell, felt worse, but thoroughly enjoyed breakfast, chatting with my friends, and relaxing. I’ve never been in such a luxurious hotel before, and I kept my manners in mind as I ate. I can only imagine what the staff was thinking. “Who let this bum in here?”

We took a bus through Buenos Aires, and I fell in love almost immediately. I will be back. You can count on that. We took another flight south to Ushuaia, and by the end of it, my lower lumbar region was cramping and I didn’t want to sit on airplanes anymore. I was sick of it. We landed, disembarked into the brisk wind rain and snow of Ushuaia.

Our guide on the bus told me, “We have two winters here; one is colder than the other. We don’t have any summer, and the wind always blows.” I smiled. I was unprepared for this as I wore my leisure airport wear. I am used to cold wind and rain, and I walked on enjoying the fresh air. My “high watered” pants actually came in handy when I had to walk through an icy puddle.

More on Ushuaia in future posts.

We took a lunch cruise along the Beagle channel in a catamaran. It was a full lunch, delicious and made with love. I ate a ham salad, chicken stew, and drank three glasses of wine. It was delightful. I stood on deck in the chilly breeze and saw my new home moored to the dock. We unloaded, grabbed our bags, and walked up the steep gangway to our flagship, The National Geographic Explorer.

I made it.