Dynargh dhe'n Blogofrob

Tuesday 8th February 2011

This is a link to George´s photos.

135 - posted at 19:56:10
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George´s side of the story: here

134 - posted at 19:55:47
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Unfortunately, in the 12 hours after scaling the glacier I developed a mean-spirited little fever, that left me weak and sweaty for a day or so. I felt somehow like an early missionary, or 19th Century poet, travelling to the uttermost end of the Earth, only to be struck down with an illness, leaving George to stand vigil at my bedside and mop my sweaty brow. But I didn´t fulfil the Romantic ideal by dying, and the following day my temperature had righted itslf and I was left with a streaming cold. Although perhaps not the ideal treatment, George and I went for a 3 hour trek in the local National Park, where all the fauna was so tame, it felt like being in an Argentine version of Mary Poppins (not quite bluebirds resting on my shoulder, but hares and falcons nonchalantly wandering around).

We worked up enough of an appetite to go to a cheap but good parilla restaurant which bears remark only because, although it was all you could eat, a sign warned diners that if they wasted food an additional $12 would be added to the bill. In this climate of fear I just about forced down a salad, a sausage and a hunk of steak, marvelling at the locals´ ability to consume slab after slab of meat.

133 - posted at 19:53:28
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Friday 4th February 2011

We´re in Tierra del Fuego, el Fin de Mundo: Ushuaia is the most southerly town in the world, and looks out on the Beagle channel, a stretch of water within which the waters of the Atlantic and the Pacific merge, surrounded by Argentine and Chilean mountains. The town itself still has a bit of a frontier feel, but to be honest, it´s better described as a cross between a mid-range Alpine ski resort and a Cornish tourist village. The main street is packed with sportswear and gift shops, the latter´s windows filled with quartz (?) penguin figurines.

A lot of the activity is bloody exhausting. Today, we scrambled up a mountain to a glacier, which I trudged over in order to get as high as possible, while George admired the views, before a long woodland trek back to town. But yesterday was more leisurely. We took an old pleasure boat (the Barracuda) onto the channel, and were rewarded with a three hour cruise that took us past, amongst other things, rocks covered with cormorants and stinking guano. Other rocks were occupied by lounging sealions, flapping and belching as they crawled over each other. I was very proud of George resisting the impule to say, "Actually, I´m a zooologist" in the face of the woman who was trying to explain the difference between male and female sealions to her.

132 - posted at 00:15:12
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Wednesday 2nd February 2011

On Sunday, after drifting up and down the huge market on Defensa, we left the other tourists to dodge the pickpockets, and found ourselves a tiny cafe for lunch. It was tucked away in an old building, on a long balcony above a courtyard. As we were tucking into our jamon y queso sandwhich (pretty much the central theme of all our lunches to date) a couple started tangoing up and down the balcony, in the narrow space between the tables. The guy was dressed in a flash large collared shirt, grey waistcoat and rakishly tilted wide brimmed hat, the girl a tight red dress. I remarked to George that the girl had a stunning figure. George assented, but added gleefully that she also had an incredibly boss eye. In fact, so gammy eyed was this beautiful woman, that George thought that the offending organ must be made of wood.

Wooden eye or no (I went for "no") the dancing (which was brilliant) whet our appetite for the tango, and that evening we found ourselves in a deserted bar, in a beginners´ tango class, being taught basic steps by Marta, a dancer of 10 years´ experience. She opened the lesson by stating that "the tango is all about infidelity". Despite this, my partner for the evening was George. We muddled through, although every now and again, follwing a mis-step by one or the other of us, George rained down blows on my shoulder, which I didn´t consider to be in the spirit of things. I suspect that George may have been deliberately making mistakes, so as to attract the attention of Marta, who would then cut in, take George in her arms, and show her how it should be done. After each one of these episodes George would return to me in paroxysms - "Her skin, it´s so soft!". I had the pleasure of dancing with Marta later on - blurry photos are on Flickr. We left the lesson full of good intentions, resolving to try and continue learning. Time will tell, but whatever happens, we´ll definitely be a bit better informed at the next Gotan Project gig.

131 - posted at 02:38:01
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