Edge of the World

I think maybe, the end of the world is just wind. The end, where absent roads drive themselves into the seas and the land is drowned by the waves, there is only wind. It's a wind that rattles panes and cries through the night - the abject wail of a naive lover who fell irrationally for the one who had always planned on leaving. The water is heart breaking green, gashed with white scares by an envious wind. The waves fold into one another in refuge until they are wasted upon the rocky earth. This gaping harbour seems as though it was carved out of the surrounding mountains by a dull knife, leaving them sharp-toothed and unrefined. They lean inwards scorred with chopped snowy lines by a careless sculptor. Yet somehow, these brute edges, worn for wear, offer a simplicity and welcome within peaceful chaos. These landscapes are lightly tread and this is their charm.

Found myself feeling a little restless and lethargic last night (might be the  balanced diet of bread and empanadas) and took off for a quick sunset run. I always seem to find myself at the edge of the water when I need to refocus and find my energy again. What a sight. The wind was deafening and the golden light of sunset fought through grey and stormy skies. Two dozen birds were perched on the remnants of a collapsed wharf, with only the poles remaining.

I suppose we're not quite at the end of the world, but it feels like we're close. Puerto Natales, one of the last habitable frontiers in Chilean Southern Patagonia. In the light and the relentless wind, I'm reminded of the tales of determined explorers navigating the heartless coastline of South America's Cape Horn and trying to tame these unpredictable lands. I forget where we are sometimes, this town is like a Nordic relic or Alaskan outpost. The people are curt but warm, I think a condition of people living in trying climates. The skies turn from a vibrant blue to static grey in a matter of minutes. Here with the spirited and always-patient Joel, we're waiting for our bus to head a bit North to see Perito Moreno, one of three growing glaciers in this part of the world (74 meters high off the lake level) and then to Mount Fitzroy to hike around these unworldly-shaped giants.

Despite Joel's exceptional Condor sweater and mine of the lama variety, the south american stars didn't line up for us (I managed to miss my watch alarm) and we missed the bus out this morning.... so we're improvising. Omar, the hostel owner gave me strict directions in the creation of our hitchhiking sign. WE'RE GOING TO CALAFATE in espanol. Not that exciting but should do the trick. So crossing the border to Argentina this afternoon and likely going to grab a stretch limo all the way up. With our 3-6 day shower-free hair, stink, and colourful collision of warm clothes, who could resist us?

I spent the last two weeks with Danielle from home, jetsetting between Peru, Chile and Argentina. Together we battled altitude sickness, sudden needs to find a bathroom, central market food ( and it's effects)  the loss of 3 earrings from a new piercing (this might have been my favourite). How many times we found ourselves on hands and needs, wiping our hands across disgusting floors to find a little ball smaller than a grain of rice, swearing to the high heavens. That's a real friend, down there with me - restaurant floors, bathroom floors, bus floors. Classic. We had some fantastic times too, often purple teeth giggling after one too many wine tours, recruiting Chilean street dogs to accompany us to our destination. One of these events ended with me in tears on the subway when my puppy-german shepard (who had snuggled with me for a two hour sunset on the beach) tried to follow us all the way into the train but wasn't allowed. We named him Turk for his long turkey neck and funny bark. I'll return for Turk one day. Other highlights included Machu Pichu, wine tasting and biking in Mendoza in Argentina, renting a car to  visit vineyards in Chile, a delicious dinner in Lima (at the most anti-vegetarian restaurant possible, good job Ali) where we were more or less the entertainment for a good portion of the restaurant and a visit to the house of the famous Chilean poet Pablo Neruda in Vina Del Mar. His silly, nautical-inspired style was so fascinating in a house. It was designed like a ship and lighthouse with rounded corners and full windowed walls that felt like a ship's cabin. Groovy.