Argh the agony of torture. So close to Antarctica, and yet so far. I could almost taste it, and I could certainly smell it on the Patagonian breeze. I longed to share a whisky on the rocks, made with million year old ice cubes with a Russian scientist on an ice burg. But this was as far south as I got. Of course, I am a sucker for a good mo´, especially one in a naval uniform, but somehow, it didn't quite cut the mustard. This time, Antarctica was a Mo go.
I went to town on the scroggin at the local Tiende de fruta seca, dried fruit store. Needed to stock up well for the next epic days trekking in the remote Torres Del Paine National Park, Chile.
There was definitely not a local butcher across the street, who did not make the worlds best salami, from which I definitely did not buy a huge wad of salami with the intention of taking it camping with me, and definitely did not scoff it all before I even made it back to the hostel. Those who know me the vegetarian in me well, can attest to my pure and utter self control when it comes to such things as a fine salami. Its all true, it never happened! So far I have a tent, mat, food, sleeping bag....Er what else....A full belly....Anyway if you dont hear from me in more than a week, send the search party.....
Ok, so its another classic ´Alex takes a million shots of herself until she gets a nice one and then publishes it on her blog with the exact same smile you have seen in every entry´ shot. You know it.... and you love it. (I hope)
But this one is extra choice. I´m far south, at the bare bones of the end of the world and it is 10.30 evening time. With days this long, you would think you have enough hours in the day to do everything you ever wanted. Not this chica. I lay in bed, thick with feather duvets, devouring Oscar Wilde. Then at 10.30 ventured all of fifteen metres to delight in more of the good stuff, a local Patagonian cheese platter and Chilean cabernet. Tough gig
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