Life in Punta Arenas

Our van pulls up at the Jose Noguiera Hotel. Originally built by a transplanted member of the Russian aristocracy, it reigns over the block like a Grand Duchess at a country fair.  It’s less noble neighbors seem to sniff at its pretense but the building's dignity is unassailable.  It is here that Ernest Shackleton will seek assistance from British explorer Allan MacDonald for help in rescuing the remainder of his 28-man crew marooned on Elephant Island.  Though the attempt was unsuccessful Shackleton did eventually rescue his shipmates. Twenty-two of the original 28 crew members survived what was arguably among the most grueling journeys attempted by man. Sadly, many of the crew were later lost serving in the First World War. For a moment I am overwhelmed at the irony. To outrun a frozen exile across thousands of miles of polar ice only to die in the murderous fields of France seems an appalling waste of life.

The hotel staff are gracious and eager to please and we are led to our room, which gives out onto the bustling street below. After lunch I give in to the fatigue that comes of endless journeying and awake refreshed, hungry and curious about my surroundings. 

Nightlife in Punta Arenas is similarly a reflection of the region’s external influences.  In the Spanish tradition, nothing happens here before 10 p.m.  Unlike vacation towns in warmer climes there is no apparent reckless abandon among bar hoppers here. Conversation in  local watering holes is subdued but intense and earnest.

Chilean friends greet one another in a familiar, grateful embrace. Shared humanity is precious in an uncertain world and their affection is genuine. It is hard to imagine these  people thriving among their emotionally distant cousins to the North. I envy them their warmth.  

At around 3 a.m., clots of Punta Arenas’ young head for home. Like youth anywhere they share their enthusiasm with the entire city, especially the hotels where the tourists are staying.  

Later, church bells call the faithful to mass in a city that is predominantly Catholic though according to Maria also hosts a Hindu Temple and several synagogues. 

Wearily we make our way to breakfast and I half expect to see the Tsar sipping darjeeling tea in the drawing room. Breakfast consists of a variety of cereals, scones and some unidentifiable meats of local origin. After years of learning life’s lessons the hard way, I opt for the relatively safe choice of a scone and some coffee.  Bland food is a good idea for later today we will encounter the Strait of Magellan...