Tonight, we decided to go to the movies. I was excited to see a film on the big screen in another country. I love going to the movies at home and I guess this would bring me a ‘little slice of home’ in a foreign country.

So first of all, we went on a Monday night and the movie was 7 pesos or $2.25!!!! You can’t beat that. It was cheaper to see a first run Hollywood movie here than to buy a local beer.

The second thing that was different was the popcorn. When we asked the concession guy for popcorn he kept mentioning dulces or sweets. We kept saying no, we don’t want any sweets…it turns out the popcorn was coated in sugar and he’d been trying to tell us that. Stupid Americans. I love my salty snacks, but this was pretty tasty.

OK. We saw the new Martin Scorsese flick, “The Departed” or here in Argentina, “Los Infiltrados.” I’ve noticed most movies don’t have a direct translation of the American titles—instead they have a more logical translation.

Now, I don’t usually do reviews, but this is an exception. This movie was excellent, excellent until the last 20 minutes or so, then it became one of the worst movies I have ever seen. It shifted gears so dramatically and ended so horribly and stupidly that I still can’t believe it. We left the theater awestruck and completely crest-fallen. It had the chances of being such a great movie…and sorry Scorsese fans, but possibly the only Scorsese film I have liked in recent memory. And then it seemed to be made by a buffoon just like “Gangs of New York” and “The Aviator.” I thought both of these were laughable.

The movie seemed to have five different endings. In fact, if I’d walked out about 20 minutes sooner, I would have thought it was a better flick. Although I don’t like a lot of what Hollywood does in films these days, I am willing to put up with much of it as long as the film pays off in the end. I understand in watching films sometimes we have to suspend disbelief, but this went way beyond that. In spite of Scorsese’s compulsion/obsession with every filthy aspect of human nature, I was very much enjoying the performances and the story. Then, it seems he or the screenwriter had a brainfart. In light of that fact, all of the excess of the film caused it to implode. In the ensuing vacuum, I could find no redeeming quality of the film at all. What does the story tell us? It wasn’t true to itself at all. No one gained a thing. No redemption. No resolution.

Don’t get me wrong, the acting was superb, the story captivating, the suspense almost unbearable – what more could you want from a good movie? Well, as far as I’m concerned, without a good ending, all of the above amounts to little more than the hype that usually precedes a film, but in this case makes up the bulk of the film. I am not an expert on films in any way, but when I say ‘good ending’ I don’t mean a neat happy ending that maybe you think a girl would like, I simply mean an ending that makes sense and isn’t so stupid that I have to turn to my friend with my mouth agape and say “huh??’ only to be met with the same ‘what the hell was that?’ stare back in my direction.

Here’s what another reviewer said…and I can’t agree more:

“Let’s start with a very slow intro to an amazing story. Then let’s compile a dream cast of characters to act out this amazing story. So amazing in fact that it very well could be the best movie of the year. Then once this character had given up everything and risked his life in nearly every scene, let’s FINALLY give him the opportunity to hand over the dirty cop and set things straight. Well, we don’t have time to finish the story with a great ending, so let’s just kill him. Then at the end, let’s kill the dirty cop so he can be decorated as a hero instead of turning over evidence so he can be convicted. This could have been the best movie of the year, and the story could have been told in well under 2 hours. They should have just opened and closed with a firing squad and I could have been in and out in 10 minutes with the same results.”(–from IMDB.com)

Let’s just say many things (an envelope with information of the utmost importance, girlfriends, and possible babies) were shown in the movie and just never explained again. I mean full scenes were dedicated to things that could have ‘saved the day’ so to speak and then were never brought up again. Again, no expert here, but when you say things in a movie, they are almost always for a purpose—to explain some previous thing or to foreshadow some impending thing. This was not the case here. I was waiting for the end for this resolution that never came. I actually thought that maybe the wrong final reel was shipped to Buenos Aires and maybe we were seeing the final scenes that were meant to be deleted OR maybe a stupider version gets shown abroad?? I know these explanations are ridiculous—but the way the movie ended needs a better explanation in my mind, especially because it didn’t seem to match the first smart, clever two thirds of the movie. It was as if Scorsese or his writer gave up and someone else finished the movie. I just can’t understand how they let it end the way it did. Go see it. Then get back to me and tell me what you think.

Oh, by the way, here in Argentina they had an intermission in the middle of the movie. I think that’s where the wrong second film reel was slipped on by mistake. It had to be. I want my 2 pesos back!

Every time I travel, I often have a hard time choosing my favorite place. And now I have to add Buenos Aires to that ever expanding list of places that I must return to. Buenos Aires is an uber cosmopolitan city full of life, grand European architecture, and cheap things. Including its sprawling suburbs, this huge city is home to 13 million porteños (the term for the port city dwellers). In the center it is busy and loud with shoppers and well-dressed workers scurrying about while persistent leather salesmen try to persuade you to come into their store because “it’s the best quality, amigo.” And in some of the more residential neighborhoods warehouses are being rehabbed into loft apartments and young urbanites chat over café con leche. It’s springtime here and the weather is perfect—sunny, warm, and the lilac-like scent of the purple flowering Jacaranda trees permeates the air.

Up until the economic crisis a few years ago, Buenos Aires was Latin America’s most expensive city, if not one of the world’s. But no mas. In 2001, all hell broke loose and the local currency, the Argentinean Peso, fell to a third of its former value and has pretty much stayed there. The subsequent political instability led to four presidents coming in and out of power in only 10 days. Soon bank accounts were frozen and thousands of people saw their life savings disappear. It’s very sad for the people here, but an all out fiesta for the tourists who can now flock to the “Paris of South America” and enjoy all it has to offer and more. For example, a good steak dinner with wine here at a nice restaurant may cost you $10. The same steak in Chicago would be $50 and up.

I’m not much of a big shopper, especially when I’m traveling, but I couldn’t pass up some of the savings here. I’ve already purchased a few of the famous leather items. You know where there’s lots of steak—there’s got to be a lot of leather. I had a beautiful brown leather jacket quasi-custom made for me for $80 and bought a smart suede belt for $20. My friend Mark also had a leather jacket made for himself and bought a purse for his quasi-girlfriend. When he leaves he will take both jackets home to LA with him since I can’t really fit the jacket in my ‘world tour’ bag—it will have to hang in his closet until my return.

The most common phrase I heard in the dozens of leather shops along Calle Florida, the crowded pedestrian street, was “we eat the meat.” When asked about all this leather and the cows that are dying for it—that’s what three separate salesladies had said to me. I guess they’re right because I’ve never seen more steakhouses anywhere in my life. Moo.

This is a city of neighborhoods (like another cool little city I know) and we’ve already found our faves. Palermo Viejo is the hippest—with block after leafy block of boutiques and bars filled with hipster and sidewalks filled with young kissing couples and other dog walking residents. This is where I’d love to live. In fact, we already looked at several new condos going up in the hood. With the recent economic crisis, we’ve learned that real estate is also a prime investment right now. Everywhere we looked were cranes and new construction of clean, very modern looking apartment buildings. The Old Palermo neighborhood is separated into two smaller enclaves—Palermo Hollywood and Palermo Soho. And each one lives up to its name. There are lots of film production companies and TV stations in one area and the other is filled with cute trendy boutiques and ethnic restaurants and bars. Recoleta is the ‘hood of the rich. It is the Gold Coast of Buenos Aires, with all the designer shops lining Alvear Street where the ‘ladies who lunch’ peruse the racks of designer everything. It is also home to Evita where she peacefully rests in the grand Recoleta Cemetery. It looks like its own mini-city, with block after block of marble and granite mausoleums. San Telmo is a beautiful old neighborhood with cobblestone streets. It originally was full of the city’s wealthy, until a few little nasty diseases like Cholera and Yellow Fever scared them away. Now, it’s having resurgence and is artsy and cool and full of young people. It’s kind of like Greenwich Village in NYC or Chicago’s Wicker Park. Puerto Madero is the old port that is currently being renovated like waterfronts in other cities. Old hulking brick warehouses are now cool, expensive lofty condos. And tons of restaurants are opening there giving folks a place to stroll on the water after work. Farther down south on the water is scruffy blue-collar La Boca, home to many Italian immigrants and the world famous fútbol (soccer) team, La Boca Juniors and their stadium, La Bombonera. The steep concrete mass literally shakes during games as the fans go crazy stamping their feet. We visited La Boca during a rowdy Sunday home game and could hear the chants from blocks away, “Boca! Boca! Boca!” It turns out that not only was national soccer hero, Diego Maradona at the game, but so were the visiting Bush daughters.

During a fun four hour bike tour of the city we learned all about these hoods—including a few interesting tidbits I have to pass on:

1. The Tango was originally a dance between two men ‘fighting’ over a prostitute. Then this dirty, dirty little dance transformed into the men just dancing with the prostitute. And of course, today, it’s been ‘re-released’ as a classy, European art form…little do they know…
2. The Ecological Reserve and beach on the Riverfront (Buenos Aires sits on the banks of this wide river that empties into the Atlantic Ocean and separates the city with the southern coast of Uruguay) is actually a kind of landfill. It was created when the city created Avenida 9 de Julio—the so called widest street in the world. They actually tore down several beautiful buildings to make this street and dumped the building ‘chunks’ here. Today someone had the bright idea to plant trees and grass and make the place a peaceful park and wildlife reserve. Odd and cool at the same time.
3. We also learned of some recent tragic times for Buenos Aires. Like many of its Latin American counterparts, the government here has suffered some truly dreadful and embarrassing moments. From about 1976 to 1982 Argentina was under Military rule. This government decided to ‘do away’ with many young liberals who spoke out against it. In this time more than 30,000 people (mostly college-age) were captured, tortured, and probably killed never to be heard from again. And, again, this was just about 20 years ago. Justice was never served and just now the current president is attempting to put the military leaders from that time on trial, but just three weeks before we arrived, a high-ranking officer with lots of information, named Jose Lopez, had vanished. Every Thursday the ‘mothers’ of the “disappeared ones” march on Plaza de Mayo in hopes of finding their sons who have now been ‘missing’ for more than 20 years. Only 80 bodies were said to have been recovered.

But from visiting here today you would never know about some of the political and economic issues in the country’s past. The city folk are laughing, spending, and drinking coffee and their favorite Malbec wine, enjoying life to the fullest. Being here among all this coolness and life got me thinking about how life goes on for so many people everywhere all over the world. While we are in our little lives back in the States, all these folks have everything they need here in the Southern Hemisphere and have nothing to do with New York or Chicago or London. You just don’t hear too many people mention Buenos Aires as much as European capitals, but it is almost exactly the same and may even be cooler.

…and I mean that literally. Unfortunately, my last week in Chile and first week in Buenos Aires, I had a fever and bad cold putting a damper on my travel enthusiasm. Ever since I got off the Navimag boat, I had started to feel a sore throat, which later turned into a uncomfortably congested nose, a nice juicy cough, and a sweaty fever. I hadn’t felt this sick in years. Fun.

So…once I arrived in Buenos Aires, I was really excited to stay in one place, one hotel, and one bed for a nice ten whole days. No packing and moving. No bumpy buses. No nada.

The first day I met my friend Mark, from New York and most recently Los Angeles, at our hotel in the heart of downtown Buenos Aires. We decided I should seek out a doctor and get some antibiotics or something to kick this thing in the ass. I have a travel medical insurance policy, so the first thing I had to do was call them to let them know and to have them recommend a local doctor that possibly spoke English, although after being sick a week, I was getting pretty good and describing my symptoms en Espanol. We went into a ‘telefonica’ shop where they have private tiny rooms where you can make phone calls. Supposedly, with my insurance company, I could call them collect when outside of the US. But making a collect call proved to be the tricky part. I couldn’t seem to get an Argentinean or American operator on the line. We even had the helfpful manager go to AT&T’s website to see what the number was to call from Argentina which was nowhere to be found on the wallet card I had.

Finally, I got through to the insurance folks and they had me on hold for about 30 minutes as they tried to call a doctor who was available, who was taking new patients, and who spoke English. Tall order. This whole process was increasingly becoming frustrating and was making me feel even worse. The mousy-voiced woman on the other end of the phone finally returned to the line and said she had no luck and could call me back.

“Call me back?” I exclaimed, “But, you understand I’m in Argentina. I don’t have a phone. I’m sitting in a tiny booth and have been on hold with you for thirty minutes while you ‘tried’ to get a doctor.” I surmised she was just eating her lunch from Arby’s while I was on hold.

We decided she would email me a list of doctors and their addresses. Then out of desperation I just decided to ask the guys at the desk if they knew of a doctor in the area that could possibly help a sad, sick Americano. A customer at the counter started asking me what was wrong and starting peppering me with questions regarding my symptoms. She asked for a pen and paper and began scribbling down the names of drugs I should take. She mentioned something about working for a dentist. Okay, I guess that’s close enough. One of the meds was Amoxicillin, an antibiotic I’ve taken many times before. It seemed like something I could use and thought maybe this is all the doc would prescribe anyway. She insisted on taking us to the pharmacy. For a tiny woman, she walked awfully fast as we hoofed it down the street to the nearest pharmacy. Once inside we went back and forth with the young man behind the counter. But mostly he and she went back and forth about the pills I should take. I finally ended up with a box of Amoxicillin with some kind of bronchial medicine included in it for $10. Cheap and no prescription necessary. I thanked her several times for her unexpected and much appreciated gesture. And off she went—my medicine angel. Wow. I heard people were nice here, but that was incredible. Now, I just have to wait and see if these pills do the trick…if not, I guess I will be back to the phone place to find a doctor again in a few days…or hopefully just another super friendly patron.

Right now, I’m sitting on my final long distance bus in Chile heading south to Punta Arenas—one of the southern most towns in South America. This three-hour ride is nothing compared to what we’ve been through the last few days…

Our Navimag boat arrived in Puerto Natales one day late due to the aforementioned rescue mission. This delay seemed to have some kind of trickle down effect that messed with all our plans for the next seven days. We couldn’t head right to Torres Del Paine National Park as planned because all the buses had already left for the day. So we shuffled around the small lack-luster town for the day doing the normal travel tasks–finding a hostel, some food, and some internet.

The next day we boarded a bus tour headed for Torres Del Paine, the most visited park in Chile. Three hours later we were inside the park…

We were picked up at our hotel around 8am and didn’t arrive at our hotel inside the park until about 4pm. This hotel was the most expensive one of my entire trip and was by far, not the nicest. In fact, I’d say it was one of the worst. On my cross country US trip, I’d stayed in a much cheaper lodge (surprising for the US) within the boundaries of Yellowstone National Park that was much nicer. I’d stayed in cheap hostels that were also much nicer than this. One thing I’m learning about the hostel lifestyle is that most are clean, most offer private rooms, and the best part is most have services way better than most concierges. I mean sure, there are a few duds, but thanks to word of mouth, I had been pretty lucky so far. Hostels can help arrange tours—almost always cheaper than any travel agency, they have free internet, they help you with transportation, bag storage, have kitchens, barbecues, and most cost less than $20 a night. The Posado Serrano hotel was dusty, smoky, and WAY overpriced. But it would have to do.

The park itself was beautiful. The jagged peaks of Torres Del Paine (‘blue towers’ in the original native language) rise up suddenly from the flat brown plains. The famous ‘torres’ of the park grace the covers of just about every Argentinean travel guide and calendar. But seeing them in person was quite spectacular—especially how they just seem to appear out of nowhere. There are some popular several-day hikes here where you can camp and hike each day, but we were definitely not equipped for that. And after my previous mountain hike gone awry, I was kind of glad.

At the end of our tour we stopped at Lago Grey and Grey Glacier. The ‘beach’ here was possibly the windiest spot (sorry Chicago!) I’ve ever been. The Grey Glacier forms the west edge of the park. It is about 5 miles wide at its widest point and is part of the southern Patagonia Ice Field which covers about 500 square miles of land. This makes it the 3rd largest in the world after Antarctica and Greenland. The Glacier was pretty far in the background, but the lake itself was filled with floating massive blue-tinged icebergs that had calved off the glacier and crept toward the beach. It was pretty cool in every way.

The following day we decided to head over the Andes into El Calafate, Argentina. On the map, it was practically a hop, skip, and a jump away. Yeah, right. Our bus picked us up around 1pm. We drove to the border town of Cerro Castillo where we were told we would need to change to an Argentinean bus that would leave at 5pm. We had an hour and a half to kill so we at lunch, browsed the racks of Patagonia souvenirs, and took the requisite bathroom breaks.

At a quarter to five, I moseyed over to the international police office just around the corner (it was a very small town) and was told (in Spanish) that the bus wouldn’t come until 6pm or so and even then, we needed a reservation. Huh? I spent the next half hour making sure we could get on this bus. Then I spent the following half hour getting a dude at the roadside stop to call a hostel from our Lonely Planet Guide, so we would have a bed to sleep in when we arrived in El Calafate, four L O N G hours later. If the roads were paved and the border patrol was faster, I’d say we would’ve made it there in less than two hours, but we spent a half hour at the border getting all the passengers passports stamped and then not one, not two, but three times, our bus actually broke down and wouldn’t start. We were in the middle of nowhere. No, actually it was the dead center of the middle of nowhere. The eerie shades of dusk (around 10pm—we are far south) were settling on the wide rolling plains and cattle ranches with the occasional cows or sheep were our only company (no sheep jokes please). Picture some kind of dry Arizona countryside where everyone speaks Spanish and all the roads are gravel. The vistas were gorgeous, but it was late and we were tired.

The final breakdown consisted of the male passengers getting out of the bus and actually pushing it until the engine caught and it started up again. Cheers erupted and we were on our way down the final stretches of our journey. We arrived in El Calfate around 10:15pm (9 hours after our departure in Torres Del Paine) to be pleasantly dropped off right at the steps of our hostel. But, of course, this was too good to be true. They had a sister hostel and we were actually booked there, so we’d been dropped in the wrong place. We lugged our bags back outside and about 4 long blocks away to our final resting place (at least for that evening).

The following day we had our tour of The Perito Moreno Glacier. It is often called the eighth wonder of the world by locals. And when we rounded the bend on the road approaching the glacier we could see why. It was ominously huge and looked like nothing I’d ever seen before. The gigantic ice mass sweeps down from the Patagonian Ice Field and collides into Argentina’s largest lake—Lago Argentino, where huge chunks of ice break off the face and crash into the water. The craggy glacier is about 220 feet high. BUT that is just above the water. Scarily looming beneath the surface it reaches depths of almost 450 feet. It is actually just one of more than 300 glaciers coming off the ice field (like the one we’d seen in Torres Del Paine). We took a boat that sailed right up to the face of it and then stared at it some more from boardwalks that led tourists around above the waters edge. It was truly an amazing sight and I’m glad we came to see it,
but we just felt rushed especially since the bus rides to and from Chile were becoming full travel days.

So we thought the day of travel to get to El Calafate was bad. Two days later, we left town to return to Chile. We were told the bus left at 8:30am. At 8:15am we arrived at the city bus terminal only to be told that the two buses going back to Chile that day were completely full and the next one didn’t leave until the next day. This was not the news I wanted to hear, especially after I’d finally given in to this cold I’m fighting right now with fits of fever washing over me every now and again. Good times.

I lurched into my next all out negotiation. My Spanish was really improving thanks to all these small battles I had to fight.

“There has to be just two seats. We have to leave today.” I urged.

“No, tenemos nada. Necesitas reservaciones dos días antes.” Coldly stated the gal at the window. We needed to make a reservation two days ago. Great.

I asked another worker. I asked the bus drivers. I made a sad face. Nada. The bus was full. Lleno. Finally a glimmer of hope, one driver said “maybe.”

“Por Favor,” I begged, “Necesito ir a Punta Arenas hoy porque salgo este país y voy a Buenos Aires mañana.” I told a little white lie, as I wasn’t leaving the country for two days, but really wanted to get down there so at least we would have a day to relax before another grueling travel day on airplanes.

“Tenemos dos asientos pero, un es en este bus y un es en otro bus.” They had single seats in each bus meaning we couldn’t sit together for the trip, but ride in separate buses that would hopefully arrive at the same time.

Fine. We’ll take it. We’ll rendezvous at the border. But then another minute later, another change of plans: Now, there was only one seat and one of us could sit on the floor. Andy gentlemanly sat in the aisle as all my independent feminism flew out the window. I was sick! I couldn’t sit on the floor!

We bought our tickets, full price—floor and seat I guess are the same price—and were off down the road. Only about a half hour later the asphalt turned to gravel and we crawled along at about 20 mph. It was slow going and bumpy—especially for the one lone floor passenger.

Finally, three hours later we reached the border. But this time we were in a totally full bus of nearly 50 passengers and everyone of them had to get there passport stamped and fill out a form. This fun task took about an hour. Oh, but wait there’s more. That was just to EXIT Argentina. After driving the 10 minutes or so through ‘no man’s land’ we stopped at the entry check point for Chile and once again went through the whole rigmarole. The positives were we could grab some tasty empanadas for lunch and say hello to the shopkeeper who helped us book our hostel two days prior. We were old friends by now.

Finally, we were off again and reached the town of Puerto Natales where we would need to catch the bus to Punta Arenas. And now we are back where I started on the bus. We will arrive in town around 8pm. A nice day on the road for eleven hours. This is all a lesson well learned that I refuse to rush around from now on or spend less that three nights at any one location. Now I need to get some sleep.

I’m actually not traveling alone in Chile. My friend and former boyfriend (a much longer story I will not go into here…maybe when my book gets published!), Andy, has joined me. But he’s not alone. He’s brought his trusty video camera and we are working together again. Sometimes this can be a tricky situation and I wasn’t totally sure if we should do it or not, but we decided that the scenery down here was too beautiful and unique to pass up. We are filming segments for Current TV—the cable television network that has also just banded with Yahoo to bring more video to the web masses. I am producing and reporting. I haven’t been an on-camera reporter since college…this could be a whole new career for me, or just a fun experiment.

My TV segment on the Navimag

Today, we boarded the Navimag Magellanes ship for a four day journey south into the mysterious and awe-inspiring Patagonian Channels. We will explore the tip of the Americas where Chile splinters into towering granite pillars, ominous glaciers, and fjords. Chile is a long narrow sliver of land almost 4000 kilometers or about 2500 miles long. The eastern border is formed by the jagged peaks of the Andes. And the western edge is all Pacific Ocean straight down to Cape Horn and Tierra del Fuego.

We actually left port one day late. Although the Navimag is mostly a tourist and cargo boat, just yesterday it was called upon by the Chilean Coast Guard to perform a special rescue mission. A much smaller fishing vessel had capsized into the frigid waters and the Navimag and its passengers were the only ones in the vicinity. The ten passengers of the other boat had gone overboard and up until now, we were told they only found one survivor. Yikes.

Even though this large ferry boat is not a luxury cruise liner going through the Caribbean with goofy dance classes, the Magellanes is still not cheap. Prices range from $350 for a bunk in shared rooms of 4 bunks each to more than $1500 for a private cabin and bath. These prices do include lodging for the three-night, four day journey, plus all meals, two on/near land excursions, on board movies and lectures. We opted for the shared bunks, but luckily the bunks we picked were at the end of the room and were actually separated from the others by a wall so we virtually had our own room. I say virtually because we had to imagine a virtual door where there was none!

On our first day I interviewed the passenger supervisor and met the Captain—Carlos Moreno. He was a funny man with a big coffee-stained smile who joked with us, albeit in Spanish, on the bridge (where the boat is driven). I would later do an interview with him basically using my best ‘Spanglish.’

The term Patagonia usually refers to the narrow triangle of land in Southern Chile and Argentina…or a cool outdoor clothing company. I actually spoke to a girl who worked for “Patagonia” outfitters before I left Chicago. I pointed to her clothes and said matter-of-factly, “I’m going there.” “Huh?” she replied. Hmm, obviously one of the requirements for working for Patagonia clothing was NOT having to know that it is actually a place in the world. Sad.

Many travelers dream of visiting here, but the realities can be harsh: there is a nasty persistent wind, winters are bitter cold, and summers are short. The area was first discovered by the Spanish by explorer Ferdinand Magellan (hence the name of our boat) in 1520. He was looking for a west passage to India and eventually found the elusive straits to the Pacific Ocean, which now, of course, bears his name. Sadly, he died on the much longer journey west around the world to Spain.

The ship itself was built in 1984, but re-outfitted for tourists in 2000. They actually built the ‘hotel’ part right on top of the cargo bed. It is about 400 feet long and can reach speeds of 14.5 knots. It has lots of deck space and a cozy bar and lounge area where folks hang out and sleep or read all afternoon. Annoyingly, many leave their coats on chairs “to reserve” them for the day which is a bit unfair as the rest of us have nowhere to sit.

The crew is composed of 40 members: 20 maritime workers and 20 who work on the hotel side. Each trip has a bilingual guide who is on-hand 24 hours a day to organize activities, answer questions and make announcements such as:

“Dear Passengers—please if you are finished with you dinner, please return your trays to the window. Thank you.” “Dear Passengers—we soon enter the Gulf of Penas (Gulf of Pain), please take your sea sickness pills now.”

Our guide was Kris, a kind of all grown up “Dora the Explorer,” with a long mane of dark curly hair, round glasses, and a frequent rhythmic laugh. We later interviewed her and she helped us out with all our filming needs.

As we sailed through most of the Channels, the seas were quite calm. But, as mentioned above, as soon as we ventured out of our protected zone and into the Pacific waters, things definitely got a bit hairy. Let’s just say many passengers lost their lunch and they didn’t always make it overboard either. Workers scurried to clean up the ‘mess.’

In keeping with their strict schedule with military precision, meals still occurred whether or not folks could keep their food down or their plate in front of them. In fact, oddly enough, they served pasta with meat sauce on the night with the most movement. So spaghetti went ‘a-flyin’.’

But, it wasn’t really that big a deal especially when you considered the meal. This was no 4-star restaurant, that’s for sure. Meals consisted of a roll as hard and dense as a brick, and some salad (if you’d even call it that) of iceberg lettuce and maybe, on a good day, a sliced tomato. Then there was either chicken, or pasta, or even one night, some chop suey creation. Sorry, but Navimag won’t be winning any James Beard awards anytime soon.

During our day navigating through the rough seas of the Pacific, Andy barely managed to escape his bed. We had both donned the fashionable motion-sickness patches, but the Gulf of Pain still got the better of him. I somehow escaped the nausea, although the patch itself seemed to make me feel groggy, and I’ve actually been fighting an achy, feverish cold ever since we left the boat.

On board, there were a good mix of nationalities–Germans, Dutch, English, Swiss, French, Australians and some Kiwis. As I’d been noticing throughout South America, American tourists were definitely the rarity. I found that since I was not exactly traveling solo anymore, I definitely met less people. There is an odd dichotomy that when you are alone you are actually way more open to meeting others than when traveling with a friend.

The weather during our journey was pretty dismal, but that’s pretty standard down here. Our time outside on deck was limited by our tolerance to a cold and a sometimes brutal wind that would even send someone dressed in their best Patagonia gear running for the indoor bar. Throughout the trip, we sailed through some pretty narrow channels of cold desolate land and saw snow capped peaks in the distance.

The most dramatic stop was when we sailed right up to the frigid face of Pio XI Glacier—the largest glacier in South America. This was the first glacier I’ve ever seen up close. It was huge and craggy and took on the ‘coolest’ (pun intended) shade of blue. We circled in front of it for about an hour until the hordes of tourists had snapped all the photos they could muster.

Our only other stop was in the tiny island town of Puerto Eden—a small fishing village of just 200 people. And 10 of these folks are the last remaining of the Kawesque (Kie-wes-cah) tribe indigenous to Chile. There are no roads leading here and the weekly Navimag visits bring in much needed supplies and a few tourist dollars that help keep this tiny town alive.

Our final night crescendoed in an all out bingo fiesta!! We actually managed to win a Patagonia hat which oddly meant I actually had to dance in front of everyone. The Navimag was a unique experience, but suffice it to say, we were pretty grateful to disembark in Puerto Natales with our feet firmly planted on terra firma.