The southernmost city in the world...

Just about 1000kms from Antartica lies Ushuaia, the southern-most city in the world and obviously, Argentina.

I spent a week kicking about Ushuaia in April 2006 and here were my blog entries from the time:

- Southern Exposure -

It´s just stopped snowing and we´ve gotten in 2 hours late at about 10:30 pm.

It´s about a seven block hike from this joke of a bus station to the Hostel but Ushuaia is a surprisingly big town. All that´s here is Antartic expeditions and tourism and two Irish pubs.

The Freestyle Hostel lives up to it´s reputation and provides a spectacular vista of the Harbour from it´s guest living room.

Navigation on the Beagle Channel yesterday. A little trek on a small uninhabited island, Thomas Bridge´s Island to be exact (oh yeah, I forgot to mention we crossed the Magellan straits on a ferry during the bus trip from Rio Gallegos to Rio Grande! = FUN!), the sea was as calm as anything.

Nothing like the Stewart Island catamaran from Invercargill, New Zealand.

So Sea lions, Fur Seals, Penguins and Comorants...

Wild life.

Just like the Ushuaia locals.

Had a night out, lost in translation style last night... Two Portugese, Two Argentinians, a Mexican and a guy from Ireland walk into a bar...

A recipe for disaster in any man´s language.

It´s snowing right now.

And we´re about to hop into a canoe in Tierra Del Fuego National Park.

----------------------------------------

- The Death Agony of Capitalism -

There are approximately 600 or so card-carrying supposedly revolutionary Marxists in Ireland.

It´s sod´s law that you end up talking to a member of the SWP (Socialist Workers Party) from Phibsboro on a bus journey from Rio Grande to Ushuaia.

To start with, the journey from Rio Gallegos to Rio Grande encompasses, not one, not two, not three but four border crossings! Which is an incredible pain in the ass and a ridiculous exercise in officialdom...

Out of Argentina, into Chile, out of Chile and back into Argentina...

In the space of about 4 hours.

The old passport took a bit of a hammering.

We finally got to Rio Grande and I was approaching 20 hours of bus station - bus - bus station - bus existence.

Then the rickety old bus to Ushuaia.

The snow began to fall heavily and the pitch black outside provided a canvas for the falling snow as the bus skidded it´s merry way down south.

So yeah, the world political situation as a whole is chiefly characterised by a historical crisis of the leadership of the proletariat.

We never did get past that.

-----------------------------------

- The End is the Beginning is the End -

It was snowing man.

Really snowing.

We trekked 6 kilometres and all that was confirmed to me was that I HATE FUCKING ROCK CLIMBING!!!

Outside of that, we spent a pleasant afternoon, despite the snow, enjoying Tierra Del Fuego National Park. Then some sea kayaking.

Chalk it up.

The kayaking was... interesting...

-----------------------------------

- Hey, That´s No Way to Say Goodbye -

Drunken blogging.

There´s nothing like it. I´m going to keep that last entry just to remind me how low the quality curve can go and hopefully never plumb the same depths ever again.

It´s time to talk about Ushuaia properly.

We had a great time in Ushuaia.

It was like being part of a small family for a few days, a grown-up existence for the perpetual teenager, that rare sort of vibe that you hit every now and again on the road.

There was Patricia (Argentina - Visiting her sister down south), Graciela (Patricia´s sister), Diego (Graciela´s boyfriend and a firefighter at Ushuaia Airport), Tiago & Joao (Portugese brothers, who were booked on the same activities as myself and also staying at the Freestyle Hostel), Dan (a native of Michigan, who lived in South Africa for ten years and had just sailed a boat 37 days from New Zealand to Ushuaia solo en route to South Africa) and Jennifer AKA California (one of the numerous American students from Buenos Aires studying Spanish and taking a quick break down south).

There were others, walk-ons and such, but these were the most significant players.

The scenes took place in either The Hostel, down on the seafront or perhaps most often, The Dublin, the conveniently located Irish bar that was a block and a half from The Hostel and the focal point of Ushuaia by night.

To give you an indication of the kind of small town community we had going, Patricia and myself took a stroll to check out Dan´s boat on the Friday. Unbeknownst to ourselves whilst we were negotiating the quay that is in such a precarious state, each step on the rotten boards is an exercise in faith, Graciela and Diego were able to look out their apartment window and laugh at us.

Now that´s a small town.

We went for the ever present and ever popular hot chocolate shortly afterwards in one of the myriad chocolate joints that exists in Ushuaia only for Jennifer to arrive in the door so many seconds later with the Austrians and Dutch in tow.

We spent most of the time discussing language and accent, or rather, Patricia spent most of the time giving out about both my Spanish and my English.

Thursday was the National Park. Up at eight am, we weren´t picked up by Yani (our guide) until about 9:30... The group was about ten people and the snowfall and the relatively low temperature made for a fun trek. Snowball fights were numerous and we spent most of the time attempting to ambush other tour groups. Apparently this is the last week for tourism in Ushuaia as mid-Autumn pretty much makes the trails and passages out of the question for all but the most hardy traveller.

The trek completed there remained the question of the kayaking in the bay that the National Park surrounds. Finally, it was a question of sure, why the hell not?

Ten seconds in and facing into the blizzard, cramp in my thighs and frostbite in my fingers setting in, the answer was clear why not. But, we persevered and 40-45 minutes later were safely deposited at the far end of the park, the storm that had threatened thankfully held off.

I came across the sign that indicates the end of one of the main National Roads in Argentina. Theoretically, this road takes you as far as Anchorage in Alaska, therefore the sign indicates the distance of 17,848 kms to Alaska and 3,000 kms to Buenos Aires.

I´ll be in Alaska in four weeks time so needless to say I took the picture.

On Thursday night, I made the usual mistake of going to a club in Argentina. In my defence it was the End of the World and you kinda had to see what it had to offer. We went to Fusion, driven by Emiliano, and as we skidded and pulled handbrake turns in his tiny jeep on the short drive to the club you began to understand what sort of night was in prospect. The snow had fallen heavily all day in the National Park and the aftermath left the roads in dangerous condition.

The club was funny, pretty much every kid in a radius of probably 50 miles was there and the age of the kids was pretty much open to dispute. We stayed for an hour of deplorable electronic music and then hopped back into the car for some more dicing with death.

Walking home at 5am, having deposited Jennifer and co, to their Hostel, the ground was by now covered in a foot deep of perfect snow. I´ve never seen anything like it and well, it was an experience.

Friday night, we had our last evening out and everyone bar the boys from Portugal was there.

I came in late, did some drunken blogging, picked up my backpack and stumbled out into the snow.

Into the wild.

To pick up my bus to Rio Grande and from there, punch the sky all the way to Buenos Aires.

I could say more but enigmatic is pretty much all I´ve got left.