9.43pm - This Ship Has Sailed
Trip Start Nov 03, 2009
20Trip End Dec 02, 2009
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Greetings from Chile! That's where we technically are right now. I know this because at some point I must’ve got signal for long enough to get a text from T-Mobile saying welcome to Chile.
Yesterday on the coach transfer from the airport, Peregrine Lady insisted politely but firmly that we all be ready for at least 10am, and preferably more like half nine, so that our suitcases (or in my case backpack, because, you know, hardcore and that) could be collected and taken to the ship. We would then have the morning at our leisure in Ushuaia ("Ooo-swaiya", if you were wondering). Now Ushuaia, while claiming to be a city, is clearly hiding its cathedral in someone’s basement or something, because if I might be so bold, its charms are somewhat limited. It’s very quaint, very sweet, it’s got quite a lot of hotels and some very nice restaurants (from what I experienced last night, anyway). It is not, however, especially large or grand. In fact, it is doing an excellent job of disguising itself as a small town that’s sprung up to service a busy port. Thus spending a morning at leisure in the place is not the gripping possibility it might initially sound. Either way, I didn’t really get the chance – I wanted to go to the farmacia to get some moisturiser and aspirin (I idiotically forgot to go to Boots on the morning I left England, and at Piccadilly, and at Euston, and at Heathrow), but instead I spent a fairly dull morning practically falling asleep in reception – I don’t know what the hell they were doing at 10am, but they weren’t picking up my luggage, as they were supposed to, nor, from what I can ascertain from my fellow passengers, were they picking up anyone else’s either. Eventually at 11.30am I rang them, to which the woman basically said “Yeah, it takes a dog’s age, leave it with your hotel and let them deal with it.” So I did just that – the nice girl at reception said she would hand off my bag when they arrived, and I could go hang in the transit room. I tried to get a kip on the couches downstairs, but they were these ridiculously overstuffed leather things that were SO
So how it is here, out on the open ocean? Well, aside from the distinct lack of internet, it’s not too bloody shabby. When I arrived at the meeting point, I was feeling very small and lonely only, couldn’t work out which bus to get on and was worried everyone would be approximately a hundred and seven and I would be scorned for being young and moronic and not being able to discuss serious, weighty issues like birdwatching and Palestine. I figured it was a certainty that NO-ONE would be interested in discussing America’s Next Top Model with me, that was for damn sure. When I got on the bus, it was all full up except for a few seats at the back with just
Tomorrow we head to the Falkland Islands. We’ll get there early on Sunday, so all day tomorrow’s at sea. I’ll sign up for the email first thing then I can pester all you lovely folks back at home. In the meantime, I’m going to turn in – Janet and Anne had already bagsied the two bunks when I arrived, leaving me with the sofa bed, but it doesn’t really bother me, to be honest, because every night during dinner, the turn down team (yep, the turn down team) come and make it up into a bed, and then every morning during breakfast, they come along and remove all the bits and turn it back into a sofa. I get goddamn maid service, motherfuckers. I don’t have to make my bed for a fricking month. BOOYA.