The end of the world but NOT the END of the world!

WED NOV 4 – I woke up in Ushuaia, Argentina, rocking gently aboard a boat on a mooring in the harbor here. The view is magnificent (when I pop my head up through the companionway) with the small city encircled by towering, snowy mountains. Below decks it is cozy and warm(ish). There’s a good breeze blowing – Marcel says it arrives usually right on schedule around 10:00AM, so seeing it’s 9:57 at present, it’s right on time. Snow is forecast for the town, but as you can see (I hope to attach a photo!) there’s already plenty on the mountains.

I'm aboard a 37’ wooden sailboat which Marcel built about 30 years ago. Since then he’s stopped sailing only to go skiing or mountain climbing or off to the country to rope wild cows (as he is about to do next week). How it became my temporary home is another story … but the short version is that I am VERY grateful to have a free and comfortable and friendly habitat in this spectacular setting.

9:00AM - I left Punta Arenas early yesterday (Nov 3) on probably the shortest 12-hour bus ride you could imagine. Watching so much new scenery sweep by was mesmerizing; and both the sights and company made the trip go fast.

Perhaps to make up for the dreary weather, the homes and buildings in this part of Patagonia are colorful concoctions: yellow and purple, orange and white, bright greens and blue, blue, blue. Azure blue seems to be the favorite hue for tin rooftops and fascia; I guess they cannot get enough in just the sky and channels, so they saturate their lives with this cheery color.

Ambling past buildings on the way out of Punta Arenas, I see my reflection in the windows of a warehouse as we idle at a stoplight. Despite my favorite fuzzy black hat, it’s obvious I’m the only gringa on the bus (blonde, towering above most of the Chilean people) … I look out of place, and a bit glum. ‘Got to work on that!

The land (as we make our way north around the strait, then on the ferry to the top half of Isla Grande Terra del Fuego) is low-lying, but not flat; the terrain undulates in waves that mimic the sea just beyond. There’s a soft carpet of chaparral; flocks of sheep blend in with the tufts of grass, as well as small ostriches (rheas?) and later – guanaco: comical llama-like creatures with attitude. The Strait -- which lashed out at us so viciously just a week ago -- looks remarkably benign. Being springtime, a lot of the sheep are accompanied by little lambs, bouncing clumsily in the grass. It reminds me of home and cheers me.

Sometimes I think I write so I don’t have to think – or have to think about other, more weighty things. ‘Like why I’m on a bus, by myself, on the southernmost tip of the continent, with a bag of cookies and water for sustenance, scribbling away.

3:30PM – Halfway into our journey we cross the border into Argentina; an invisible boundary - as the scenery remains the same. The countryside is beautiful in its simplicity. We are near San Sebastian – part of the landmass that forms the lower lip of the Straitl and looking out to the east we see impressive clouds bunched up over the Atlantic.

6:00PM – Rio Grande is a real town, with a paved thoroughfare, divided by a median: remarkably smooth after the jarring dirt and gravel roads of the past few hours. There’s even a new car lot on the right, just beyond a drainage ditch full of green water and trash. It’s windy here and plastic grocery bags snag onto nearly every prickle of barbed wire on the omnipresent fencing (fencing in what? out, what?) At some point in time someone went to a great deal of effort to fence in this entire country …

We change buses here and are joined by more, younger travelers also bound for Ushuaia: infused with these new faces, of mixed nationalities, the bus is electric with chatter in many dialects and accents. Our journey takes on a new vibrancy as we near our destination, and as if fueling the bus itself, we pick up speed on the final few hour stretch.

There’s more shrubbery, and then trees, along this route, and it is evident that we are climbing elevation. Soon mountains rise from behind the forests, as if out of nowhere, smooth blue-black masses topped with snow and clouds … evolving into lofty peaks smothered with white. “Incroyable!” shouts Carina, my French seat-mate, and her friend Noema (Israeli) flings herself across our laps to take pictures out the window. The enthusiasm is catching and the whole bus erupts in applause as we round an inconspicuous turn and find ourselves in the southernmost city in the world.

For now, I’m in the anchorage – a snow storm is quickly blowing in so whether we venture in the dinghy to the dock and town to send this, I don’t know … I guess you’ll read this whenever I finally get in. Depending on logistics (flights, funds, etc.) I might fly to BA this weekend (Nov 7-8?), or I might sail to Porto Williams (a 5-6 hour sail: IF I can secure a ride back to Ushuaia)(seeing that my temporary home will be moving!) or even go on to the estancia (but that requires much more logistical work – otherwise if I cannot get a boat ride back then it’s a 4-5 day trip out by horseback. Right. Last time I went horseback riding I got grass stains on my bra so … not likely) But I am doing well and sending warm wishes to you all. Love & blessings ~ Betsy

Feel free to forward!

PS – Storm officially here – mts covered in clouds ... photos: Guanaco on the pampas; Ferry Crossing of the Strait of Magellan; Marcel changing the oil on IORANA while I write!!