I flew to the Falkland Islands from
Punta Arenas. There was a stop
at an Argentine town on Teirra del
Fuego. Minor stop, but big deal:
this was a sign of new cooperation
between the Argentines and the
Britsh people in the Falklands,
known as Islas Malvinas to the
Argentines.
Punta Arenas. There was a stop
at an Argentine town on Teirra del
Fuego. Minor stop, but big deal:
this was a sign of new cooperation
between the Argentines and the
Britsh people in the Falklands,
known as Islas Malvinas to the
Argentines.
One arrives at the military base.
Don't let the threat of the
warplane scare you too much,
this is an island of gentle,
proper, and thoroughly
pickled Englishmen: with an
ax to grind.
The bus from the air base took
me right to this scene, and I
set up my tent on the grass
behind an army of gnomes.
warplane scare you too much,
this is an island of gentle,
proper, and thoroughly
pickled Englishmen: with an
ax to grind.
The bus from the air base took
me right to this scene, and I
set up my tent on the grass
behind an army of gnomes.
Islas Malvinas?
I did a quick run around town and then
I hunkered down inside my tent as a
real-live "GALE" raged outside. The next day I did some exploration around town. No sooner did I cross the city limitthan did I come across my first hint of the war between Argentina and the United Kingdom two decades prior:
a live minefield.
I hunkered down inside my tent as a
real-live "GALE" raged outside. The next day I did some exploration around town. No sooner did I cross the city limitthan did I come across my first hint of the war between Argentina and the United Kingdom two decades prior:
a live minefield.
Since the war, the British have been
on a gravel road-building campaign,
but most of the roads through the
islands' bogs are what they call "track"
(more mud path than road). On
the eve of the two thousandth anni-
versary of Christ's birth, I set off on
my bike for a place called "Estancia
Farm," where the proprietor had
agreed, by telephone, to let me camp
on his land.
on a gravel road-building campaign,
but most of the roads through the
islands' bogs are what they call "track"
(more mud path than road). On
the eve of the two thousandth anni-
versary of Christ's birth, I set off on
my bike for a place called "Estancia
Farm," where the proprietor had
agreed, by telephone, to let me camp
on his land.
"Track"
Rare pavement
Finally I arrived at the English sheep
farm with the Argintine name for "ranch." I spent a nice afternoon of tea and biscuits with the man who owned the farm. We talked about world affairs, life during the war, sheep, and of the other scragglers on bikes who had shown up at his doorstep over the years (the most notable being an East German who came just after the fall of the Berlin Wall and stayed for weeks).
farm with the Argintine name for "ranch." I spent a nice afternoon of tea and biscuits with the man who owned the farm. We talked about world affairs, life during the war, sheep, and of the other scragglers on bikes who had shown up at his doorstep over the years (the most notable being an East German who came just after the fall of the Berlin Wall and stayed for weeks).
I set up camp on the grassy pasture
at the edge of the farm. The old man
had gone in to Stanley to be with his
family, so I had the place to myself. It
was a beautiful evening, I explored the
adjacent inlet by foot and hung out at
my campground, listening to the Chrismas tunes on the radio. Dinner was a piping-hot can of "Compleat Breakfast": beans, egg and sausage.
at the edge of the farm. The old man
had gone in to Stanley to be with his
family, so I had the place to myself. It
was a beautiful evening, I explored the
adjacent inlet by foot and hung out at
my campground, listening to the Chrismas tunes on the radio. Dinner was a piping-hot can of "Compleat Breakfast": beans, egg and sausage.
Christmas
Dinner
Dinner
It was a warm night and I kept the
tent open to the southern sky, my
eyes on the strange constellations
until I fell asleep.
tent open to the southern sky, my
eyes on the strange constellations
until I fell asleep.
I spent Christmas Day on a mission to reach a big cooperative farm on a
spit of land opposite Stanley. It was a day trip. After runing with the sheep
I found the road surface degenerate into a mud track, and was pushing my
bike through mud when I finally sighted the farm-- only to be greeted by
a plump and masculine woman on a three-wheel all terrain vehicle. At first
she challenged why I was there, then she let me know I was not welcome.
spit of land opposite Stanley. It was a day trip. After runing with the sheep
I found the road surface degenerate into a mud track, and was pushing my
bike through mud when I finally sighted the farm-- only to be greeted by
a plump and masculine woman on a three-wheel all terrain vehicle. At first
she challenged why I was there, then she let me know I was not welcome.
"Outta My Way!"
The open road.
"The only 4x4xFar."
With the glorious wind at my back I zoomed back to Stanley after only three
days in "camp" (what the Falklanders call the countryside). I did not want to
miss the week-long Christmas celebrations, including horse races and all-
night partying on the street (thouroughly "pissed" on rum, Falkland-style).
days in "camp" (what the Falklanders call the countryside). I did not want to
miss the week-long Christmas celebrations, including horse races and all-
night partying on the street (thouroughly "pissed" on rum, Falkland-style).
I settled back at into the little Bed and Breakfast with the
garden ornaments, but this time I stayed inside. Each morning the deceptively serious proprietor would serve me a breakfast of sausage, eggs and wheatabix.
garden ornaments, but this time I stayed inside. Each morning the deceptively serious proprietor would serve me a breakfast of sausage, eggs and wheatabix.
THE NATIVE FLORA AND FAUNA OF STANLEY
I rested and finished a book about World War I (another war in which the Falkland Islands played role, albiet small). I drank rum at night and rode my trusty steel steed around town by day-- including a side trip to see the beach nearest to Stanley with penguins. They are a curious animal, and the 5 varieties found there are the main draw for most visitors. My chain-smoking host called the bird-watchers "twixles"-- and this was not a term of endearment.
After a week in the strange ultra-British land of the Falkland Islands, I returned again to Punta Arenas, an outpost of the Chilean variety. I was warmly welcomed back by the good people of Hospedaje Guisande.
