Punta Arenas

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Punta Arenas is home to a robust contingent of the Chilean armed services; it is where rescue missions to and from Antarctica operate; the last such one was the retrieval, in early December, of passengers from the Canadian vessel Explorer that had tried conclusions with an iceberg in the Antarctic.

It sits at the foot of Southern Patagonia, within a setting of scenic vistas: an expansive sky, bearing clouds as sketches gently drifting; endless grasslands adorned, with flowers in blossom everywhere; lupines at sway in deep mauve tones, glaring yellow brooms, sculpted as globes, spikes of red hot pokers, poppies as singles and doubles, flaming orange and soft pink. In town, the streets and pavements are spacious, laid out in near Cartesian order and graced with fine homes, recalling a time in the eighteen hundreds when wool from sheep was a cash cow.

But it is the unaffected warmth of the people, one hundred and twenty thousand strong, that made our time here special. A mix of Settler Spanish with a touch of First Nations, flavoured with English, Scottish and Croatian influences, the cultural skein is a pleasing offering of the best from each heritage. There is a respect for the land, there is a penchant for courteous service: from taxi drivers, wait staff, hoteliers, travel consultants; and from health professionals and volunteers at a state of the arts Clinaca there, who tended my tender tummy and disagreeable back. This is a town where the business day begins with kisses between colleagues on each others’ cheeks, where box lunches are shared the way we did and do at high school, where many restaurants serve overnight through to eight in the morning, where the people take their soccer seriously, where it is routine to share a taxi ride with others, and where true meaning is accorded Sunday, individually and collectively, as a religious day, a family day or a day of rest and reflection.

So, we spent our fortieth anniversary here, sharing our many white dahlias with whomever would accept one; and Christmas eve here, me listening to the Pope from the Vatican in full regalia and splendour, Penny a guest at the Cathedral where their bishop sung mass; and Christmas day here, receiving touching and thoughtful gifts from those of the towns-folk who had befriended us.

And so, after seven days on this isle of genteel kindness, we allowed as how our pot of experiences was full, plein, for this trip; and began our journey home; four hour flight to Santiago and a night at sleep in the shadow of those incredible Andes; then onward, the long air road home, twelve hours to Pearson International; and finally into Willowdale and chez nous.

Vernon

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