The Southernmost city in the world

This not the same as the most southern city in the world, a title almost certainly held by Natchez, Mississippi. I’m talking about Ushuaia, located at the foot of Tierra del Fuego, Argentina.    It’s a good thing we missed the tango show as we had an early start to catch our flight.  The domestic airport was heaving with families travelling for Christmas and tourists from more northern climes in search of warmth.  We were neither, as we were heading south to colder temperatures.  Regardless, there was one enormous snaking queue for all.  We had already checked in and had our boarding passes, but I needed to check my bag. Sadie managed to get everything into a carry-on so sensibly sat out the queue in the airport cafe.  The man behind me in the queue felt compelled to point out to me any time that there was more than a meter of space between me and the person in front of me, as if my pressing in like sardines was going to get him on his flight any faster.  After several points and even more tuts, I requested that he get in front of me which happily, for both of us, he did. Honestly, what is it about air travel that makes people behave so irrationally?

The flight to Ushuaia was 3 hours and 40 minutes.  Argentina is a very long country. As we were coming in to land, I was mostly looking out of the window to the left where the sea loomed ever closer, dotted with dozens of tiny islands floating like crumbs on a vast blue tablecloth, each one offering a memory of the complete meal that had once been a solid land mass. I happened to glance to the right window, and what I saw actually made me gasp. We were flying right up against majestic snow covered peaks.  It was awesome, in the actual literal sense of that word.  I shared an appreciative look with the woman sitting next to me, neither of us having to say a word but knowing exactly what the other was thinking.

The airport was easily navigated and yet again, I was delighted to see my bag on the conveyor belt. We found our friendly pre-arranged transfer to our hotel which is slightly out of town, up the side of a mountain. Poor Sadie had to log on and work, but I was able to take advantage of the hotel’s outdoor jacuzzi, offering splendid views over the mountain, looking down to the Beagle Channel below. I was the only one in the hot tub, and it bordered on a religious experience.  The Beagle Channel is a very narrow waterway that separates the main island of Tierra del Fuego from the smaller islands to the south. It is named for the HMS Beagle, the ship that carried Charles Darwin on his most famous voyage. It seems much better to me to name geographic features after important scientists than to name them after cases of mistaken identity.  Tierra del Fuego was named by the explorer,  Ferdinand Magellan, when he and his crew saw numerous fires burning on the coast and mistakenly thought they indicated volcanic activity when, in fact, they were fires from a more populous, native civilisation. 

In the evening, Sadie and I walked down into the main town.  Ushuaia is the totally cool dude at the bottom of the world, wearing a “Fin del  Mundo” t-shirt and the latest style of hiking boots. It’s like the love child of  Betws-y-Coed and the Alaskan town in Northern Exposure where rampant tourism meets icy wilderness and you are just as likely to see charming cafes as you are penguins. It is a most bizarre place, lined with ramshackle buildings, shops selling all manner of outdoor adventure gear and spectacular amounts of absolute tat. I love it.   Dinner was seafood (king crab and scallops) pasta for me and another enormous steak for Sadie. After dinner we strolled through town, taking in the shops and the sights, and Sadie sampling the local ice cream.  Where DOES SHE PUT IT? 

Neither of us felt we could manage to walk back the near vertical ascent to our hotel, and luckily Uber is thriving in Ushuaia.  We collapsed into bed. As is my habit, I woke several times in the night, only to note that it never got fully dark. We are in our own land of the midnight sun.

Sadie had to work again on Christmas Eve, so geared myself up to do something I’d never done before and go on a hike. Up a mountain. To a glacier. Alone.  Glacier Marshial is a small but beautiful glacier located about 8 kilometres from our hotel, with about a 700 meter elevation.  Historically, I would have found this kind of physical activity extremely daunting, but I am both happy and proud to say that I managed the hike, if not with ease, then something not too awful.  AllTrails rates the hike as “difficult”, a fact that fills me with smug delight now that I have completed it (as opposed to the heart pounding anxiety I felt before I started).  I can’t begin to describe how proud I am of myself for accomplishing something I never would have dreamed possible 18 months ago.  No, Marshial is not the world’s biggest glacier, but it might well be my biggest hurdle in establishing any kind of confidence in my own physical abilities.  The walk was terrific, the views spectacular and the boost to my confidence, exhilarating.

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