The World's Shortest Cruise - ...an odd looking couple of Germans - 28 Jan 2003
The End of Good Karma
Floatel California
Plans B,C and D
Canít organise a flight in an airport
Canít organise a charabanc ride in a bus station
And finally, Puerto Natales
We were all looking forward to our 4 day cruise through the fjords of the West coast of Chile, from Puerto Montt to Puerto Natales in the south of Patagonia. From others we had heard that it was a stunning trip and had made the point of booking early to avoid disappointment.
We went to check in and discovered that the ship was running behind schedule, due to stormy weather and would not be embarking till 10 at night. This was no problem, we could leave our stuff with the staff and use the day to catch up on internet and maybe see the odd film or two.
Despite being at the end of the road, Puerto Montt has a surprisingly glitzy mall complete with American films, most of which are subtitled so very easy for the English speaking traveller.
I knew that Patagonia had a reputation for being cold and windy even in the height of summer, so treated myself to a beautifully soft leather sheepskin hat,
a la Anna Karenina
and we headed off to the mall to get stuck into catching up with the journal. We were quite proud of ourselves, as we completed an eight page epic, with contributions from our latest travellee. There were a few final tweaks to make to it and decided to take a break and have a little lunch. For a change we thought it was about time that Esther experienced some local fare and we found a clean simple caff offering a cheap meal of the day. Well fed and comfortable I headed to a call of nature, on my return I panicked
ëWhereís the rucksack?í
Pat turned to the now very vacant space at the side of his chair.
The bag was indeed gone. Complete with 2 cameras. The restaurant owners could not have done more, they searched, rang the police, who arrive, in a van in less than 2 minutes. It became clear that teenage lad eating with his mother, had seen a small lad legging down the road with a bag. The pale drawn look on the lads face as he offered to walk the area in search of the miscreant proved that he felt terrible that he had not reacted more assertively.
My fault really. I had been carrying the bag for the morning and had been really careful to lock the zips together. It was a bit weird really. I couldnít put my finger on it but I sussed that Puerto Montt was a bit dodgy. As we left in the morning I had offered for Esther to put her money belt in the bag as it was being locked. Thankfully she declined. When we got into the restaurant there was a handy little alcove to put the bag in so I was dead chuffed. Clearly the preferred situation is to be annoyed by your bag leaning against your leg. This way you can tell when itís been nicked. I noticed a kid wandering behind me and was surprised that they did not come up to the table on the beg, for once. Stupidly I thought no more of it and only five minutes later did I realise why he was so disinterested.
Local old Bill were called and they gave us the honour of a lift down the station in the riot van. I offered my wrists to be cuffed before we boarded which at last brought a smile to the face of our helpful officer. To be fair, the cops were charming and helpful and although they professed to have no knowledge of English we came away with a piece of paper saying that we ate fish and got food poisoning. But seriously, all was well but for the obvious loss of our bag which we by now realised contained our Yellow Fever vaccination certificates. Not such a big issue you may think but the kind of thing that is the most annoying to replace. The officer recognised the town of my birth from his exceptional knowledge of Premiership football. I do not think he had to mention the fact that the Trotters are abajo the Premier League, though. Something of a tense moment there.
As the day progressed it dawned on me, the various annoying little items that we had lost in the rucksack: - our address book, our computer disks with the latest epistle unsent, the undeveloped film in the cameras, our notes for the journal, sun cream, the list goes on... and on. Esther was very supportive as I wailed nonsense in the cafe and police station about how angry I was with myself for allowing it to happen. In the end Esther left us to scour the town in search of replacement bag, sun cream camera etc. And took sanctuary in the cinema. My Big Fat Greek Wedding with Spanish subtitles in small town Chile was an interesting experience... Seriously it was awful to see the distress that this theft had caused, but once the initial crisis was over it seemed best to let them shop alone. Drifting around in the background of the cinema were an odd looking couple of Germans.. They were of pretty much equal height with matching hair but easily distinguishable by his bright yellow coat and her lack of beard. I was not particularly rational that afternoon, it did not help that my emotion was compounded by the tension of PMT. It is probably good that I did not spy the youth with our rucksack, because in my highly strung state I could easily be now sitting in prison awaiting trail for GBH. At one point I do remember shouting at Pat that I wanted to go home, but I didnít even know where that was. Worst of all my nice new hat went missing with everything else and now on my return to the craft shops all I could find as a replacement was a beanie hat that made me look like Benny from Crossroads.
Ah, well, you have to laugh.
We boarded the ferry with little to suggest that there was anything wrong. I noticed a chap with a six foot crow bar inserted into a capstan but thought no more of it. (I daresay that Captain Birdseye a.k.a. Brother Rob will be able to correct any nautical terminology in the section that follows).
An announcement came through telling us that there would be a short delay in departure owing to a problem closing the stern doors. The Brits on board collectively recalled the Herald and conceded that leaving shore ill prepared would be folly. Our bunks in the dormitory area of the ship were very comfortable (Hippy and I ended up with a pair of bunks in our own private little cul de sac, Esther in a set of four next door to us) and the ship was perfectly clean and new-looking so we were not too fussed if our stay on board was to be longer than anticipated.
Dinner was a safe meat, starch and salad concoction which was as much as we could expect. Iím being a bit unfair; really considering that it was mass catering it was very passable. All in all we considered that our lot was somewhat better than that of the folk who had forked out twice as much, or more, to sleep in four bed cabins with no view out and had to eat the same food. In fact all the top class folk got in preference to us was a cabin door and private bathroom (not necessarily the best thing to have next to your bunk when a swell gets up, anyway).
By the time we had eaten it was way gone eleven and so we retired for the night safe in the knowledge that weíd be asleep as the anchor was cast and so avoid the rapid onset of seasickness that Iíve always found afflicts one more during the awakened hours. I couldnít really sleep too well. I guess the bag theft was resting on my mind. I tossed and turned all night and kept having a look out of the port hole next to my head. Every time was a disappointment. The port was never receding ñ the exact same view each time.
At eight we were called to breakfast. No ìDo not worry that we have not moved, all will be explained laterî. Only as we were swallowing the last of our runny scrambled eggs (No complaint there, then. Just how I like ëem) (to be more accurate the eggs were solid and yet runny at the same time. Quite an achievement, I felt) was there an announcement that there would be a briefing at 9:30 to explain our current position. Our current position was blindingly obvious; I was more interested in the future.
We were politely informed that repairs had not been effected to the hydraulic system as they had hoped and that further work would be required. The captain and his crew apologised for the delay and stressed that it was their care for our safety that kept them in port. Please bear with us. Good line to take. One cannot really argue that they should set off right now.
I leaned over the stern rail and considered lending them the 14 mm spanner that had corrected so many automotive faults in Africa when it dawned on me that the tools were with Bertha in Santiago. When the arc of a welding set cut through the damp air it was obvious that my contribution would be sneered at ñ not half man enough for this job.
We spent the day chatting with many of the amiable folk on board. Surprisingly there was a general resigned calm aboard. Not a particularly stereotypical performance from the whinging Poms and no ìWe do everything so much betterî from the Yanks. Remarkable. One recurrent theme came through from the folk I chatted to. Many folk had had theyíre bags lifted in Chile. A total of 3 cases of folk who had been robbed at Calama bus station alone. Now the Lonely Planet is called the Paranoid Planet by some folk for its worrying tales of street crime in some cities. No mention is made of Chile being particularly bad and so one presumes this is a recent phenomenon.
Of our acquaintances onboard, there was appropriately named Reg Lake, an American who over the last 12 years has in stages kayaked the length of Chile and was due to do his final leg. A lovely British couple, Clare and Graham, travelling with a toddler called Josh, two British students on a jaunt while they were on a Spanish learning course in Santiago (if any of you are thinking of rejoining a university it seems Santiago is the place to go ñ loads of parties and no work. And they were getting the same living money that they would get in England...) and an Irishman with his American wife who like us had a perpetual habit of jacking jobs and going travelling. It was looking good for conversation for the next few days. I did feel for Esther a little, who was obviously less interested in detailed chats about the conditions of roads in rural Bolivia I do my best to be interested in these discussions but find it difficult. Still, there are usually plenty of people to talk to. Drifting around in the background were an odd looking couple of Germans.. They were of pretty much equal height with matching hair but easily distinguishable by his bright yellow coat and her lack of beard. They did not engage us in conversation.
Lunch was a safe meat, starch and salad concoction which was as much as we could expect.
We passed the afternoon dozing and chatting with folk.
An announcement was made that tests would be carried out during the afternoon to ensure the correct functioning of the stern doors.
On the deck there was on large knee high chess set. Now, if you noted my lack of competition and general gaming strategy and planning, it will be clear to you that I am not a natural chess player. But it was a way to pass the time. I knew this and made no attempt to make any sensible moves working on the theory that I was better off playing an obviously off-beat game than showing trying hard and still being dire. Zis case really iz very interesting [webpsychobabbler] This was not helped by the increasing crowd who became more and more bemused by my random moves. Patronising sod that I am, I began by giving Hippy some reasonably simple takes to keep the game as even as possible. As the crowd increased, I felt the need to go in for the kill and get out quick.
Dinner was a safe meat, starch and salad concoction which was as much as we could expect.
Another meeting was convened after dinner and we were told that tests on the doors were being performed and that we would be sailing just after midnight. Free pisco sours would be served in the bar later. Still hardly a ripple of annoyance.
Everyone was so chuffed that the repairs would be a success that they went off to the bar, downed their piscos, consumed a load more and danced and partied. The highlight of this was ëMusic with Cristobalí - he was also the chief engineer of the ship but did a good rendition of ëHound Dogí) I was of a mind to stay up and watch our departure from the dock but retired to bed tired and emotional.
I slept soundly but woke early surprised by the fact that the ship was so steady and that the engine note was invariant even though we were at sea. I poked my head out from behind the curain on my bunk to gaze out of the port hole at the promised seals, whales and dolphins only to see the same view of the dock that I had been seeing frustratingly for some time. Now Iím not a marine engineer, but solving a problem on a hydraulic winch should not be a three day job. Surely they had spares for all the seals. Anything more serious than leaks should be diagnosable fairly quickly and we could have been given a realistic assessment of how long we would be stuck in port.
There was little to be gained by making them squirm and so I did not attend the now standard briefing after breakfast (runny scrambleds again, excellent) and left Helen and Esther to find out what the news was.......
They were cancelling the sailing and we were given 3 options, to sail next week, total refund, or a flight to Punta Arenas and a bus up to Puerto Natales, the difference in ticket prices to be refunded to us. We had more or less decided that there was at present no guarantee that the boat would be fixed for next week, and anyway the whole ferry thing was feeling very unkismet. The tickets had been wrong when they were first issued, our bag had been stolen in Puerto Montt and now it wasnít going anywhere. The thought of returning to PM again next week to rerun the whole thing did not appeal. We had flights booked found Punta Arenas back to Santiago so we had to get there somehow so flights were the obvious option. If weíd had unlimited travelling time, I would have been keen to stay on the boat for the week and have the benefit of free meals cooked at regular intervals and the chance to catch up on a bit of reading. The boat also provided good videos and a bit of me agreed with Pat ñ however it did seem a bit silly to fly all this way to sit on a stationary ferry.
I felt particularly bad for Esther who was only out for a 3 week trip and this was meant to be the highlight. These two forget that I have travelled before and am used to things not going quite to plan ñ however, it was a great pity not to be able to do the journey. For us we had become accustomed to changes of plans and we were continuing on our odyssey after her return to England, so although disappointed it was not such a major let down.
There were in fact 2 possible flights down south one at 1pm and one at 4pm. Since we had no accommodation booked, it seemed sensible to try and get on the first. As soon as the Captain had finished giving us the options his request for questions was drowned out by the scraping of chairs and the rush of people with greedy competitive eyes wanting to be the first to bagsy places on the 1pm flight. As they pushed and shoved their way to gain attention, the tension of the last few days of waiting was released by showing the ruthless nature of those possessed. Both Esther and I were ashamed by the behaviour of our fellow passengers and it was tempting to leave them to it and just take which ever flight we could. But I was concerned about arriving late at night and on top of everything else not being able to get accommodation, so found a queue of more orderly people and joined it. I felt quite chuffed that we managed to get 3 of the last 5 seats on the 1pm. We went back to the berths to fill Pat in.
I had caught the beginning of the talk and was aware that we would not be sailing but did not know that the options thing had been brought up. The selection of the flight thing was exactly as I would have chosen and so all was well amongst us and we got packed up quickly to get down to the quayside office as quick as possible to get in the inevitable refund queue. Hippy had paid for the trip on her credit card and so it seemed appropriate, if mean, that she queued up for the refund. Esther and I settled to a bit of people watching and reading.
All of a sudden Hippy came bounding over all of a fluster to tell us that she had not been booked a place on the plane but we had. As she took her place back in line, I prepared to do battle with the haggard looking P.R. officer to get us reunited. He seemed remarkably unconcerned that ìmy wife has not been given a seat on the planeî. Indeed, he accused us of not putting her name down on the list. I was quite proud of the fact that I managed to bite my tongue and not allow the frustrations of the last few days boil over. Overall, we were impressed with the way the whole thing was handled. Apart from the shaming rush to get onto the first flight, the passengers were very calm and this was in part due to the way in which the staff handled it all. Not to mention the free pisco sour the previous nightÖ
Eventually I managed to get him to see our side of things and he arranged forÖ all of us to be moved onto the later flight. Now thereíd been plenty of moaning amongst the disappointed ex-passengers about how ìI should be given first choice of flight time becauseÖ.î; ìI paid more for my cabinî, ìI am on a shorter holiday than anyone elseî, ìI am personal friend of Osama bin Ladenî (I slipped that one in to see whether a reference to an Arab terrorist in a email transmission will automatically bring down the wrath of Messrs Bush and Blair on me.) or any other excuse that could be found. We decided that now was the time for stiff upper lips and took the later flight option with good grace.
Regrettably this gave us a half day of spare time to kill in Puerto Montt ñ by now, not our favourite location. But it did mean that we now had enough time to book accommodation in Puerto Natales and buy a second Anna Karenina hat to replace the nicked one. The only pressing issue was trying to arrange a room in Puerto Natales at short notice in high season. After all of the problems so far, we expected a biblical arrival complete with barn accommodation. In fact, the third number yielded a triple room ñ things are looking up. The day passed fairly easily and we found ourselves at the airport with only a short time left before take off.
Canít organise a flight in an airport
I could almost smell the complementary food coming down the aisle towards me when the dream faded and the man behind the check-in desk informed me that Hips did not have a seat on the plane. Not chuffed this time. A different P.R. was summoned and negotiations commenced. This time, I confess, voices were raised. It seemed that because of the late changes to the list, Hips would have to wait for everyone else to book in first and then take any seat that was left. At first we refused to leave the queue until Hips had a boarding card.
It then got somewhat more complicated. Because Hippy had not come up on the list for this flight, the guy behind the desk did a search on the database only to discover that she should be in Santiago awaiting the flight from there to Punta Arenas. Irony of ironies. If you recall, we had had to specify a day to fly down to Punta Arenas in order to book a discount return ticket with the intention of not using the first leg. It could only happen to us here at this time that one of our names would be booked onto two flights at the same time and clog the system up. We left the queue in a mixture of confusion and mirth as they cleared us off the screens to continue booking in the others.
Drifting around in the background were an odd looking couple of Germans.. They were of pretty much equal height with matching hair but easily distinguishable by his bright yellow coat and her lack of beard. They did not engage us in conversation.
The clock ticked on and we were left with about five minutes to check Hippy in and get onto the plane. At least Esther and I had our bags checked through and so it would only be a totally mad aircrew that set off without us. Fortunately, there was a place left and we raced off to the gate clutching our boarding passes. As we crossed the tarmac, I offered to swap seats with Hippy so the girls could prattle. They reckoned that I was only doing it in an attempt to get upgraded to the fancy seat at the front of the plane.
In fact I found myself being escorted to the only seat left at the front of the plane. It was flanked by a pair of seats containing mothers with very small pink wriggly things. I politely asked if I could remove the bag that appeared to contain rattles, nappies and all that jazz from my seat so that I could sit down. They were pleased to oblige and I winced and took my seat with all the passengers around me obviously aware of my lack of comfort with the situation. Iím not sure if someone tugged the sleeve of a stewardess and explained that there was a babyphobic having an anxiety attack in seat 6B but they duly arrived and found an alternative for me half way back. I apologised to the ladies as I left that I had not been more enthusiastic about sharing the trip with their wards.
Canít organise a charabanc ride in a bus station
The bus from Punta Arenas to Puerto Natales was waiting at the airport which was reassuring. We even got tour guides who told us of the delights and history of Patagonia as we trundled along. Of course, no aspect of travel involving the Navimag shipping company can be entirely glitch free and so we were unsurprised when the bus pulled over in the middle of nowhere. Suggestions such as that they were unable to close the door abounded until the real reason for the stop came to light. Seemingly they had left one of us poor unfortunates waiting at the airport. A large Toyota had been following the bus flashing its lights and trying to get it to stop.
Drifting around in the background were an odd looking couple of Germans.. They were of pretty much equal height with matching hair but easily distinguishable by his bright yellow coat and her lack of beard. They did not engage us in conversation.
I chatted with a charming lady who was travelling with her mother and father who had flown from the UK to share her summer holidays. Jocelyn is an ex-VSO who is working at a school in Santiago. Small world. It seems that the school that she is working at, although Chilean, is moving over to teaching through the English medium to give it a higher profile and create options for the pupils to continue their studies abroad. It was a little worrying to hear that the students tended to be as self centred as many of those that we are running away from in England. The situation, here, is that the students at the private schools are all brought up by nannies who, predictably, are from ìlower classesî, and are used to having everything their own way after years of bossing their ìservantî around. The upshot is that should their school work be graded with anything less than the highest marks, they will have a stand up row and threaten to have the teacher sacked. Nice.
Clare and Joshua took the plane and bus with us. It seems that Graham prefers not to fly whenever it can be avoided. It was a close call, but he opted to take a round the houses 36 hour bus ride rather than the flight. It seemed unfair to us to leave Clare carrying all their stuff, but she seemed unfazed by it all and very understanding of Grahamís flight phobia. Joshua was incredibly well behaved. At 2 and a half years, he seemed content to run around like a mad thing entertaining himself and then sleep.
If there was some way of guaranteeing before hand that your offspring would turn out like Josh, I could be persuaded to be a mother. Josh happily coloured in pictures in Spanish childrenís books and it looks as though his Spanish will be as good as his English by the end of the trip. As we arrive in Puerto Natales little Josh announced ¥It¥s Thomas the Tank engineí, looking at a derelict train engine as a centrepiece in the middle of the Plaza de Armas.
The joy for Josh living in his childhood world was that so long as he had somewhere to run around each day, someone to cuddle him in his sleep, and his 2 year old sized rucksack of toys to play with, he was a happy man. The fact that the cruise was cancelled, they was having to go to the airport and get bus etc. was all lost on him. I admired Clare tremendously, for obviously managing to deal with the travelling hassles without any of the hassles impinging on her mood and possibly being passed on to Josh. Through Joshís eyes everything must have seemed to be running swimmingly.
Puerto Natales is a surprisingly buzzing little spot considering that it is incredibly cut off. It services the tourists flooding to the delights of the Torres del Paine national park and as a result consists mainly of hotels, hostels, tour operators, caffs and supermarkets. Surprising is the lack of wall to wall gifty shoppes. Seemingly tacky tat is not a volume seller with the outdoor types that pass through. We, very lazily (for it had been a long day full of stresses), took a cab the six blocks to the hostel that we had booked, Nikos. The taxi took us to Nikos II which was confusingly only 3 blocks away. Fortunately, the manager made a quick call and sent us on the way to the original and most friendly Nikos I. My garbled telephone call had clearly been successful and there was a room waiting for us.
In the end, we had made it to P.N. a day earlier than anticipated, had a couple of nights free accommodation complete with acceptable meals but missed out on a scenic fjord trip. So long as we could hold the thought that the weather had been pretty variable and it was possible that we may not had had a very pretty ride down (indeed it may have been extremely rough out on the section of open ocean) we could almost believe that things had actually turned out well.
Drifting around in the background were an odd looking couple of Germans.. They were of pretty much equal height with matching hair but easily distinguishable by his bright yellow coat and her lack of beard. They did not engage us in conversation.