Favorite Philosopher's Blog

The hardest part of cruising for me is that I am pretty much an introvert. I have had my required stint at being an extrovert when I was raising kids, and certainly my career meant extroverting every day and I did okay, but I’d rather curl up with a good book or sewing machine or piano or even TV or an ipad than be in a group of people for too long. The problem with cruising on the type of boat we can afford (1500 passengers) is not that I can’t find nooks and crannies to escape, it’s….meals. The “lido” is the cafeteria style restaurant where the food is really good but there are many choices and especially on these first days we all walk around like a bunch of zombies trying to discern where our next victim will be. I made a decision this time that I would have breakfast delivered every morning (room service does not cost more) which means at least I don’t have to face all those other zombies first thing in the morning. Lunch is a quick walk through and dinner can be sit down in dining room or again lido. Even dinner in the dining room requires me to act like a human though, greeting and being polite to the delightful wait staff, sometimes having to talk to Al even. Everybody just leave me alone.

Then there is the entertainment that is offered nightly. The Holland America mainstage entertainers are top shelf and the dance troupe is world class. The bands in the dance club are also the best in the business. The stereotype “lounge singer” cheesy cruise entertainment is a thing of the past. These people are professionals and clearly love what they do. However there is something every night. Al, my social butterfly husband, always goes. I know I shouldn’t worry about him, he makes friends and talks to everyone wherever he goes. (On today’s excursion he was picked out of the crowd to dance with the traditional dancers. I saw the movie…I was back on the ship knitting and reading). I do worry that he has to explain where his party pooper wife is. I have to make sure he understands I’m not sick, depressed, pissed off or otherwise out of sorts. I’m as happy as can be sitting on the balcony doing a crossword puzzle watching the Chacabuco fjords get smaller and smaller. (It was still light at 9:30) I do play mahjong and those are usually, but not always, my people. A weirdo at the table can make me long for my pals at home for sure.

Anyway this all got me thinking, Isolation is supposed to be bad for seniors, even read a few articles about it, but I’m going to delve a little deeper into the subject when I get home. There is a decided difference for me, between “being alone” and loneliness. I never feel lonely when I am alone. I am at peace. I don’t want to get demented or sick if should something happen to Al, and I want to live alone, but I can’t see that liking to be alone is a red flag.

I guess this is the kind of thinking I do when I’m passing on the singer on the mainstage.

disclaimer: I don’t just hang in the cabin all the time, I do partake of the fun just not every damn night. AL.

When Al put down a deposit last year to do this cruise to Antarctica again, I thought he was nuts. I really didn’t want to go again. I really didn’t want to go anywhere after last year’s Covid Raincheck Travel year – taking all the trips that had accumulated and landed in 2022/2023.

Just before the 90 day pay-or-cancel deadline, I had been looking at photos of Antarctica and realized if there is any place in the world I should go twice, it should be here.

So “here” I am. Our start in Chile did not include the $4k rip off at the airport, but did include renting a car and an easy drive to Vina del Ma, Chile. Lovely hotel room ON the ocean, nothing but a swimming pool and maybe 50 ft down to waves crashing in rocks. Slept with the door open all night and despite my concern that the waves would keep me awake – nope. Spent the next day recuperating, not much to do really. I was getting over a cold and the ten hour plane flight was not my best. Sometimes I can sleep, sometimes I can’t. This was a can’t.

Next day we left to spend two nights at a winery, Casa Marin in Lo Abarca. It is a family owned winery and one couple Al had connected with on Cruise Critic forums told him about it. Unfortunately, they double booked us and let us know before we left the States.  Fortunately, our new friends had said “our casita is two bedrooms, just stay with us”. The young women who greeted us were shocked that we really had not met each other before the moment we arrived at their doorstep. Just think of us as seniors doing our “gap year” and this was our hostel…

We had a lot of fun, looking out over the vineyards to the sea in the distance. Very Napa Valley-ish with morning fog in the morning and delicious warm sun in the afternoon. Of course no trip would be without some chaos, and this was no different. We had been guided up to the casita by our winery hosts and they assured us that coming down for our picnic the next day would be no problem. It wasn’t really, but they told us just follow the road down. We did, but we took a wrong turn at some fork and our Kia SUV was not sure it was up to the task of impersonating a 4WD. Several times had to back down and make a running start to get up one of the dirt road hills through the winery. We weren’t lost per se, we could see the winery and had the phone number of the winery, but it was a little dicey. I, of course, was driving (it’s safer for everyone that way, without me yelling at whoever is driving) and now have the undying admiration of our new friends. We did find out way to the main road, just not an unlocked gate. Across the road an old man (we’re all old now) saw us, came over, called the winery, let us out of the gate and directed us down the road. We were within walking distance at that point…

Not too crazy as stories go but it was a good and funny start.

It is now a few days later. Our ship was late getting out of port due to high seas. This happened last year, too! Sadly, it meant we once again missed a really good port – Puerto Monty with an excursion to the cleanest looking volcano outside of Mt.Fuji. We had to once again wave and pretend we saw it.

Rocky seas for a couple of days, but seems like I have my sea legs a little better. Today’s stop was Chacabuco and although it is majestic scenery, I stayed on ship as I had been last year and was already needing space and peace. I hung on the balcony during sail away and am glad I returned. The experience just gets better and more humbling every day, and honestly because the last thing I remembered was Antarctica, I had forgotten how shocked I was last year that these snow covered mountains that turned into foothills that met the sea was Chile….

A Netflix ad came up for Bohemian Rhapsody movie and I shared it on FB because it gave me chills. It was the scene where they were in the studio and came up with the stomp-stomp-clap that opens We Will Rock You and then cuts to the concert in MSG. I’ve seen it twice now and may make it a hat trick after seeing this. It was so well done, no bullshit. Didn’t make him out to be a vapid whore. Just the tragic facts of a man who loved. I saw that story over and over and over again, working at SF General in 1982-84. It hurts to think about it, even now.

A few years ago I watched Rent for the first time and had to stop the movie and totally lost my shit before being able to return to it. Had not really dealt with those memories until that moment and maybe still haven’t. There’s a documentary out about SFGH at that time and I’ve not been able to bring myself to watch it. I know from the trailers that people interviewed were on our team of docs, nurses, respiratory therapists, medical social workers PTs, OTs, housekeeping and maintenance people for that matter. We were all deep down terrified but not when we worked with the patients (not all gay men, plenty of IV drug abusers). We did our jobs in faith and love.

Many years ago a counselor told me that most war stories are written ten years after the end of the war, It takes at least that long to process. It’s been 40 for me, although I may have written here before. I was 28 years old, a new grad. Never mind the rest of the trauma center – burned babies in the burn unit, 35 year old men with a sudden burst aneurysm ( I still remember his traumatized mother sitting there in ICU. I was a new mother myself. It was unfathomable), the young woman I worked with for three months who jumped from a building to commit suicide (but didn’t go high enough, causing her tibia to ram into her femur and her femur into her pelvis), the inmates in the jail ward who had committed terrible crimes but with the prison officer next to them called me ma’am, the man whose “friends” decided he needed another round or maybe wanted to kill him and shot heroin into his carotid, the endless victims of auto and motorcycle wrecks….never mind all that.

It is the AIDS that haunts me to this day. These men were my age. They were my neighbors (we lived just blocks from “the Castro”), my real estate agent, my husband’s employee. They shared my interests, camping, music, we danced with them in the clubs. When we arrived in SF as newlyweds the gay scene was fun and dancing and love. Within a year the tidal wave of horror caused a pall to fall over the Castro. A spot of Karposi’s sarcoma on my husbands’s employee’s face broke our hearts. He was 25. He, and we, knew what it meant. In the hospital, the gay population began to systematically die before my eyes- the fear in their young eyes is what haunts me. The goal of our therapy was to strengthen them enough that they could go home with their partners to die. As if that weren’t bad enough, the IV drug users with AIDS started to populate the hospital. I remember a young woman especially whose open wounds from infected needles it was my job to cleanse, and oh, by the way, to not infect myself.

Better writers than I have documented this time in our history. It will take another 10, 20, 30, 40 before the health professionals who worked with Covid-19 can tell their stories. When Covid hit, it all came rushing back. Every time I think I’ve “dealt with it” – something comes along to remind me. In this case Rami Malek channeling Freddie Mercury, the most shocking loss of all. Just like the epidemic, his death crept up on us, and we’ve never been the same. It rocked us, and now all we have left is the memory, which still rocks me.

I’m starting to think there’s a theme here in my life: “too stupid to live”.

Sunday is bike ride day, I usually go with several women but today for various reasons they could not go and I had to either use that as an excuse to not go, or get my butt out the door. I decided on the latter since I was already dressed for it, even though it was early and I hadn’t had my coffee yet, and even though it is still in the high 50’s (brrr, near the ocean onshore breeze), it is finally sunny. It was earlier than usual but figured I’d get back in time to see the Women’s NCAA Championship game, so cool.

Normally I double check that I have everything: car key in its little red key-sized purse with my ID and medicare cards, phone encased in its red case which also carries credit cards, Costco cards, library card, etc. Normally I wear a waist pack but because I was in a devil-may-care mood I just put it in my bike bag (which is actually an old Camelback attached firmly to the back of the bike). Topped off my tires. Put on my bright green oversized not-very-fashionable but easily seen windbreaker jacket, my turqouise blue helmet, my bright pink biking gloves and off I went. Can you spot what my mistake was?

I’d like to interject here that this is being written mostly for the delight of my biking tribe, who have seen me lose more than one pair of biking gloves because I set them on the seat and then ride away without them. The day-glo pink pair is my attempt to avoid doing it again.

Off I went, even had my swimming ear buds on and was listening to the varied playlist that has been loaded onto my swimming MP3 player. I was being careful – not too loud, check my mirror frequently. Stopped at the crosswalk to laugh with the other cyclist who admitted maybe it was still too cold for shorts and a t-shirt. She envied my “get up” that looks like I’m ready for the slopes as I looked and was warm.

About halfway to our final destination there is a bridge where we usually stop for a sip of water and a quick break. One thing I had forgotten in my haste was to put on lip balm. I started looking for it only to be smacked in my face with my foolishness. I had not zipped up the bike bag. Instant panic. My phone was not there in its red case. My car key was not there in its red case. (Are you understanding why I need this stuff in a red case in the first place?) My ride was cut short as I turned around and headed for home, keeping my eyes open for those two items.

By the time I had neared home I had convinced myself that I just didn’t put them in the bag. I certainly would have seen the red at the last minute and zipped up the bag.

This was apparently not the case. My neighbor was just arriving home so I enlisted his help in calling my phone. Certainly in my panic I just wasn’t seeing the phone and keys. My phone went right to voice mail. This is not a good sign. It usually means it has been run over or otherwise met its demise. I know that because I left my last red phone on the roof of my red car and didn’t realize it until I got to my next patient’s home. Somewhere along I-5 is where it probably still sits.

Thankfully, I have an iPad. I Facetime my son in Minneapolis in a total panic. (Al is golfing today. In general, he keeps his phone on vibrate so I could be lying in a ditch or otherwise near death and he won’t answer the phone. We are going to discuss this in counseling next time. Mostly I wanted him too know if he tried to use the debit card it would be denied).

Jeff made me pull over to the side of the road as I was retracing at least the road part of the ride before the bike trail begins. He reminded me that there are good people in the world and that if he found this stuff he would return it to me and that I would too. Everyone I know would. But the world is not full of everyone I know. Panic escalated.He was probably having my daughter-in-law, Raina, already researching “senior living apartments near me”.

Called the bank to suspend the cards temporarily. Panicked some more realizing my Prius that sits in the driveway was probably going to get stolen and worse, that I would have to get new Medicare cards, driver’s license…things that required interaction with government bureaucracies. I decided to get back in the car and resume my search on the street as I had been interrupted in that quest by my wise son.

I started to pull out of the driveway but had to wait for a guy driving agonizingly slow. He got even slower as he approached my house and I could see him looking at addresses. Could it be?

OMG yes it could. He had been running and found them, picked up any credit cards that had scattered and returned my items to me. I gave him a big hug and then he gave me one back and his name is Andy and thank goodness there are people in the world who can save me from myself.

Things I have learned. Well, it’s okay to have your ID with your stuff, maybe not in the little purse with the car key but somewhere. The phone case is so convenient and it really my “purse” so I’m not sure I want to stop using that case, but I think it has to be in the waist pack when biking. Also, maybe wearing earphones isn’t a great idea after all. I may have heard it all hit the ground.

As for my biking tribe – ladies, please. I clearly cannot go out unsupervised on Sunday.

Well! Just for the heck of it Al and I got our bowling balls out of the attic. Retirement is great – Tuesday afternoon the place is practically empty. I was worried – would my aching body like it?

It wasn’t so bad. My bowling is still bad but I think I finally figured out what was causing me to send my ball
over to the right all the time (I’m left handed) I was letting my shoulder internally rotate. Once I started saying each time “maintain external rotation” as I let go of the ball – well wouldn’t you know it the ball went down the middle! Even got some strikes! You’d think in 40 years of being a PT I would have figured that out before now. Better late than never. Maybe it’s because in all those years beer was heavily involved in the bowling experience (I remember when you could smoke in the bowling alley, too)

The best part – my body doesn’t seem any worse
for wear although I’m sure tomorrow I will hear about it…. The other thing I had to do in preparation for the walk to the line was squat like I was getting ready to use a toilet-in-the-floor in China. My knees just wouldn’t coordinate with my arm swing and it was easier to waddle up to the line (in proper bowling stride mind you) in a crouch.

So I’m pretty happy. I love to bowl and always have. I don’t know why I never joined a league or anything. With that nasty hook I’ve always had a terrible average – about 81 which is REALLY bad, occasionally having a 120 game which is also REALLY bad. Nevertheless I love to bowl, love watching other people do well. A strike is a delight no matter who throws it.

I even have my own ball which I’ve had since I was in my twenties. It is a marbled orange and my “maiden” initials are etched on it, MCH. I think I got it at J. C Penney which seems like an odd place to get a bowling ball but J.C. Penney was a different store in the late 70’s. Al has a clear ball with a skull inside. Love that ball.

I’m kinda hoping we will make a habit of it now, a bowling date on Tuesday afternoons. Won’t follow it with a Dairy Queen dip cone every time tho. I have 23 Weight Watchers points a day and that cone used 28 of them…

Tonight I sit here after a wonderful but emotional weekend. Four years of retirement and I still wondered what I could do with my 40 years of PT books, most of which are not that old, some which ARE that old but there is some “hip bone connected to the knee bone” type information that doesn’t change, and most are chock full of useful information.

The subject matter still excites me and I am tempted to keep them just for fun, (Pharmacology for Physical Therapists! Differential diagnosis! Cardiopulmonary Physical Therapy! Medical Imaging!) but the truth is I’m quilting now, and practicing piano and traveling. My reading is about WWII spy rings and Antarctic explorers. If I were to break my leg and be laid up for 6 weeks I would not be opening those books, no matter how interesting the topic. I would be sorting photos, probably. (When my Mom would be home sorting photos in her dotage we knew she was not feeling up to par. We joked that some people worried when their mothers didn’t answer the phone. We worried when she did answer the phone and was sorting photos because it meant she was sick and not out running around).

For the umpteenth time (including the time I searched when it was time to discard my brother’s textbooks from his counseling career) I searched “what to do with old textbooks”. You could donate, but where and what a pain in the arse. You could recycle, but you have to take the hardcovers off, including the glue-ey binding. You could throw into the landfill but that doesn’t seem quite eco-conscious and not very respectful to the distinguished authors.

I decided to list them for free on Facebook marketplace and the Nextdoor app. I got responses right away. One was a delightful young man who works as a fitness trainer for the city of Irvine. He was putting together some classes for seniors so I was able to give him some basic books on geriatric mobility and functional exercises. We talked at Starbucks and he was soooo happy and I would be happy to answer questions or guide him any time.

That left the bulk of books that are definitely practicing DPT level. I spoke to a few people who wanted them for their kids who were studying to be PTs – but they were in under grad pre-PT and these would really be beyond them at that stage. I wanted to give them to some one who could make use of them now.

Finally tonight I connected with a young man who is graduating from USC’s DPT program next year. They are all going to him tomorrow and I couldn’t be more thrilled.

Except I guess I could.

Why do I have a lump in my throat as I watch the last vestiges of my career go out the door? Why must my brain jump to remembering when I decided to go back to school for PT, the first book I bought was a generic book on rehabilitation, eager to learn as much as I could before I even started? Why must that worn copy of muscle testing that was so crisp and new in 1980 bring such a feeling of true sadness when I hold it in my hand? Why must I wistfully feel the thrill of hundreds of patients whom I helped regain function with the balance exercise progression I developed? Why did I never do the study I wanted to do prove the effectiveness of that particular progression? Why must I remember the thrill of finding my passion and how I couldn’t stuff the information into my noggin fast enough? Why must it all be over already? Where did the time go?

You know, all the usual old person bullshit.

Tomorrow I’ll be fine. I already felt better vomiting up information across the table at the bright eyed young man who wanted to help seniors within his capacity. I know that tomorrow when those books have crossed my threshold to a man who will take the reins with youthful enthusiasm, I will breathe a sigh of relief. I have more shelf space for quilting books! Found a bunch of empty three ring binders I can use for piano stuff and in my role as treasurer and board member for the chorus I love. Also plenty to donate. What the hell have I been saving them for?

I have not renewed my California license this year. I have five years to renew, but of course I won’t. We had a good run, physical therapy. Glad we met. Take good care and don’t be too hard on the young whippersnappers; it’s not an easy world out there in medicine these days.

Date: February 18, 2023

Therapist Signature: Mary Sondag, DPT

Just like last trip, I get home and forget all about writing about the trip. I really must write about Iguazu Falls and will. But not now.

January 30-31

Yesterday we docked in Punta del Este, Uruguay. This port town boasts two kinds of travelers: the South American ultra rich people who own boats and cruise ship tourists who have to share a boat, and you can definitely tell the difference between the two.  The summering tourists in this beautiful beach town are dressed to the nines whether for a day at the beach or strolling along the boardwalk, continuing their running routine while on vacation or going out on one of the impressive yachts and sailboats.  Us cruisers on the other hand look comparatively bedraggled in our shorts and tees and Falkland Island ball caps and are easily identified by the maps in our hands.  Nice to be old enough to not care.  I never wore bikinis anyway – too short waisted, I was much hotter in a low cut tank suit.

We were given a map when we left the ship and had only one destination in mind – the Playa Brava (Fierce) with the drowning hand sculpture.  The Playa Brava is on the unprotected Atlantic side of the town and the Playa Mansa (calm) is on the bay side.  The huge La Mano de Punta del Este rises out of the sand and appears as all that can be seen of the drowning human who wishes she’d abided by the many PELIGRO signs all along the beach.  Of course, everyone ignores these and the red flags just like they do in California, and although the locals were surfing and swimming I’m sure it’s a given that inlanders drown every year at the beach.  Both beaches were filled with people on summer vacation and it looked pretty standard “beach” with umbrellas for miles and chairs for rent, kids like kids all over the world digging holes and filling them with water to make a lake, building rudimentary castles and dodging the wavelets that finally finish their journey on the sandy shore.

We took our photos and walked back. It would have been much faster if we’d just cut across town on our way there but oh well, we got a feel for the place.  Stopped for a coke and water and by that time I was nearing the dreaded Mary Wall.  We headed back to the ship and my idea to grab my suit and head back to Playa Mansa was shelved when I realized by the time I walked back to the ship after a swim, I’d be hot all over again. 

Went to our room and never left.  I’d hit the Mary Wall.  Hot. Tired. Over socialized even though everyone we have met on this ship has been engaging and fun.  This is not a Mexican Riviera “drink-til-you-drop-or-fall-overboard-or-suddenly-lose-the-person-you’re-traveling-with-as-in-the-last-time-I-saw-him-he-was-looking-over-the-rail-I-swear-I-didn’t-push-him” crowd.  I knew that today would be another city and as I may have established earlier (this has been a long trip!) I’m so done with cities.  I like to live in cities, but visiting them has lost its appeal, ESPECIALLY if it’s hot, which it is.  I shed a few insignificant tears of frustration just because I wish I wasn’t such a weenie and also because of the lingering Fear of Missing Out, but I’m getting better at realizing that’s just ridiculous and Al will have a much better time doing the free walking tour without worrying about whether I’m going to faint dead away or turn into Mrs. Hyde regretting my decision to come along at all.   The free walking tour is offered in most cities, takes about 90 mins give or take and is truly free except for tipping the local guide as you wish.  It is a wonderful way to get an intro to a city if you don’t want the intro Hop on Hop Off Bus which is a crap shoot whether it is worth it or not. (It definitely was in Glasgow, Scotland).   I’m in the Crow’s Nest. It’s noon and people are starting to return from their morning tours.  Montevideo from this vantage point doesn’t look like much and the heart of the city – old town – is just a few pretty towers.  

While I was sitting here a gentleman approached me and said “did you see the boat graveyard over here”? Sure enough out there in the bay are a bunch of boats of different sized and different stages of sinking.  As I write I watch two tugboats pushing a barges loaded with containers into and out of port.  This to me it just as interesting, if not more, than pounding the pavement to the next “sight”.  I do miss the history but even that not so much anymore.  Al just can’t get enough of it.  He did send me the photo of a store I’ll try to include, asked if I needed anything from there. Uh, no, I’m good, thanks.   

He just found me in my hiding spot and said he might go back out after lunch.  The man is a hot weather beast.  I don’t know how he does it except for the St. Louis, Missouri genes.

Went down for lunch a bit later and ran into mahj pal who was back from tour. We managed to throw a game together (we mahj players are kind of addicted) and plan to try to meet one more time tomorrow after our respective tours. I’ve been winning a fair amount which means I will be on a losing jag when I get home.

It is good for me to have a day of rest.  Tomorrow we arrive in Buenos Aires and I think we do some kind of tour but my brain is mush.  Al has told me about the next few days several times but I just don’t remember.  I know we spend the night on the ship tomorrow night and then Thursday we disembark and are met by our tour company that will guide us to Iguazu falls complete with airport transport there and back and luggage handling etc until they place us safely on our final flight to LAX on the night of Feb 6 for our redeye flight home.  

ps the photo of the tile is because as a quilt designer I can’t pass a cool pattern without photographing. I must have 50 photos of parquet floors inside the Russian palaces.

Still more to come! 

January 29, 2023

Since the beginning of our trip, our toilet has been an annoyance.  Ship toilets work much like airplane toilets except ship toilets do have some water in them.  However, you push a button and hear a “swoosh” and it’s all gone.  Ours sounded more like bubbling water behind the wall, like the tank was filling, and maybe fifteen minutes later we’d hear the swoosh. This was not a big deal for us – we’ve camped and lived in a travel trailer with three kids and are not really high maintenance travelers.  The last few days though, two weeks into a three week trip, the lag time was becoming longer and longer to the point where taking a morning constitutional could render the bathroom intolerable for an hour or longer.  We called several times and each time our steward or someone would come,go in the little hallway closet, do something or other and it would flush.  For a few times after that, all was well.  Then it started all over again. 

I decided I’d had enough, and largely because I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t just FIX the damn thing.  Talking to the front desk staff was met with many sincere apologies.  There was no sense getting angry – these folks are hard working and put up with assholes I’m sure.  So Al and I went down and fortunately the front desk manager was present.  We asked if we could speak to her privately because well, you know, poop talk.  We were nice, because we are, and she actually had a record of our phone calls. We truly were more worried about the next people coming in and wanted to let her know it wasn’t getting fixed.  Turns out they need a part (ah yes…when a ship needs something they can’t always get it at the local hardware store). She offered to change our room, which we really didn’t want to do, it was on the very back of the ship with a great view of everything including the night sky and a larger than usual balcony.  She offered to find a room in our hallway where we could at least use the bathroom.  Then Al joked “maybe you can offer us a suite”.  She raised her eyebrows and said “well I can show you the signature suite but you have to decide if you want to move for four more nights”.  We decided to take a look.  We wanted to move for four more nights! We threw all of our little crap into suitcases and the stewards moved everything for us.  

Kids, we’ve hit the big time and wish we’d complained a bit sooner.  This is an actual room with a tub with whirlpool jets, a separate shower, two bathroom sinks, a desk, a couch that turns into a bed, a double balcony and just in general room for more than one butt at a time to walk through.  Who knew rooms like this existed on a ship?  Most importantly, the toilet works. My Dad would have referred to this outcome as “going into an outhouse and coming out smelling like a rose”.  Quite an apt description in this case! At any rate it’s kind of fun pretending we’re hoity toity.

Today was the last sea day. I said goodbye to my mahjong pals, exchanging emails that never seem to get used, but just saying goodbye to new found mahj sisters is always too hard. We have two more ports and then a day in Buenos Aires, one more night on the ship in Buenos Aires and disembark the next day for the final part of this amazing journey: Iguazu Falls and more touring Buenos Aires.  Probably won’t get out of there without Argentina world cup winners paraphernalia!

Tomorrow – Uruguay….

January 28

Early morning rise and shine, headed off the ship to meet our tour to see – more penguins.  Our tour had been changed from the original destination to see thousands and thousands more Magellan penguins.  At first we were not too happy about this, but our assigned guide assured us we were going somewhere better.  The cruise tours all go to the  Punto Tambo where there are something like half a million Magellan penguins.  Only 12 of us would be going to a private ranch where a new colony (2008) has appeared and now there are approximately 4000. That’s enough.  It would still include a visit to one of the two lighthouses on either side of this bay and and overlook to sea lion colony.  Also lunch including lamb that had been cooking over an open fire all morning.  

Our guide, Rita, spoke perfect English (always a relief, to be honest) and started by telling us the Spanish and the Italians were not the first to come here from Europe, but rather the Welsh (which was also true at the Falklands). Madryn is the name of the Welsh family that settled the area and it is a “city” in a part of the world that does not boast a large population.

 This is the Patagonia I expected to see back in Chile until I realized the two parts of Patagonia are separated by a huge mountain range!  I must say world travels are honing my geographical bearings and even now South America seems much smaller and a less daunting place to travel after Peru and this trip.  Argentina Patagonia is hot and dry.  Yesterday it was supposed to be about 85F and maybe in the port it was, but where we ended up after a 90 minute ride over gravel/washboard road (not as grueling as the 4 wheel drive tour of yesterday) followed by a 4 km hike, it registered 100F.

Our first stop was the lighthouse and sea lion overlook.  We were really not there at the right time for the overlook as apparently low tide is better, and it wasn’t.  A gorgeous view nevertheless of the bay and the spit across the bay that contains the other lighthouse.  Like so many lighthouses, this one is now sun powered and electric, it was rebuilt out of fiberglass and as far as lighthouses go, it was unsightly but a lighthouse is a lighthouse and is therefore on Mary’s Compilation of Very Cool Things in Life. My romantic side longs for the romance of Abby keeping the light burning…. Rita said ships don’t need these lighthouses so much as navigation systems guide them into port, but were I Captain Mary I would still want lighthouse guidance as a backup.   

Next we went to the penguin colony.  I admit, I have turned into somewhat of a penguin snob already and had “already seen” Magellan penguins back in Punta Arenas and Magadalena Island.  Just goes to show there is always something to learn.  Whereas the MIMP’s (Magdalena Island Magellanic Penguins) stood out in the windswept hills with the seagulls flying around them, the PMMP’s (you can figure it out) nested under brush, bushes and any piece of shade they could find.  We walked 2km forth and back through the nesting area to get to the sea where they were swimming and at times it looked like we were greeted by a welcoming party, with penguins and chicks standing on the side of the path.  Sometimes they were waddling in front of us and to our left over a long berm was the ocean. It was easily another 2 km in that direction and penguins were waddling over there looking like so many intrepid explorers, then they’d disappear over the hill.  

We finally reached the beach and kept our distance from the shore but what a sight of the penguins frolicking and flying through the water.  From that viewpoint we could see their black backs racing along under the water, then they’d take a flying leap before diving back in, similar to dolphins! At one point our guide pointed out a rather young chick – still fluffy – walking towards the water with the older penguins for its first swim.  It had to sum up some courage but finally got in and then to our surprise just took off towards open water.  You could see it’s little duck-like head swimming away from shore, and quite a distance out.  Before long, it turned back and made its way back to safety of shore.  It was so funny to see it though, swimming for dear life in the wrong direction! 

We said goodbye to the penguins, our last that we will see now, and tromped back to our transportation through the brush.  What an incredibly adaptable creature the penguin is.  To see the difference between the two colonies, in different parts of Patagonia with wildly different climate was just fascinating.  Couldn’t help considering the difference from where we’d been last week and now.  

Our next stop was the ranch for lunch.  I used to love lamb but it sadly doesn’t agree with me anymore, but the rest of meal included potatoes, corn, salad, chorizo, fruit and  Welsh tea cake for dessert.  Back to the ship on the same gravel road with its expansive views and some interesting wildlife sightings – guanacos, which are in the camelid family and rheas, which are small ostrich-like birds.  They do fly but also run like ostriches. 

We arrived back at port and siesta was in full swing, everyone at the beach, but Al was still able to find me some Coke Zero for the rest of the trip. (That will be all the product placement, I promise) .  

The night skies are clear and I even was able to get a nice photo of the Southern Cross floating in the Milky Way.  There was a half moon shining on the sea.  All is well.  Except the toilet, but I’ll tell that story tomorrow. 

Tomorrow is another sea day, then three more ports before disembarking.