After stopping off at Puerto Chacabuco, our next stop was to be Punta Arenas. Toni had done a substantial amount of research into the area and had our day planned out, starting with the mandatory tour of the cemetery, which had been mentioned in guide books as a “moving and beautiful memorial to the pioneers from Britain, Spain, Croatia and Italy.”
Unfortunately, an unexpected gale blew in, making safe disembarkation impossible. The winds were blowing more than 100 miles per hour at one point, and the seas were, as they say, high, meaning that many of the passengers loaded up on sea sick medication. Not needing any medications ourselves, we spent the day being smug and disappointed.
The next day we sailed through the Beagle channel’s famed “glacier alley.” After pitching about the entire day and night before, the Beagle Channel was as smooth as black glass. The steps of sea birds could be traced as widening ripples as the birds launched themselves into the air.
The glaciers were a beryl blue contrasting with the white snow that had fallen on the upper slopes of the mountains. One glacier connected to the sea, calving into miniature icebergs. The land was empty of trees, and a low
ground cover clothed the granite hills in velvet. It was nice to see glaciers before they all disappear.
At midmorning, we stopped at Ushuaia, an Argentine city that bills itself as the southernmost city in the world. It is a sizable city and the capital of Tierra del Fuego, Antarctica, and the Atlantic Islands, a pointed reference to the Malvinas which is also known as the Falkland Islands by its decidedly English inhabitants.
The Ushuaia economy is based on overcharging tourists and being ungracious about it. One tour book notes that hotels often charge foreign tourists three and four times the rate for Argentinians. “Prices vary between high and astronomical.”
For example, all the tourist stores had cute little penguins carved out of a local stone. While they were very nicely done, the very smallest of these (less than an inch tall) sold for more than $60. When I was searching for an internet cafe, I made the mistake of ordering a cup of coffee, a very bad cup of lukewarm instant for more than over $4. The Wifi service quickly went off line, leaving me with just a bad taste in my mouth.
The only saving grace of Ushuaia was the former prison, which 
has been turned into a cluster of museums. Known as the Carcel del Fin del Mundo (the Prison at the End of the World), the jail was designed as a series of wings radiating out from a central building, like the spokes of a wheel. Each wing now serves as a separate museum, including an art museum, a maritime museum, and a museum that depicted prison life. One wing was left in its original state, showing just how bleak the lives of the prisoners actually were.
The prison itself was considered to be Argentina’s Siberia and was filled by the incorrigible: murders, political prisoners, thieves and the violent from the 1890s to 1947 when Peron closed it. Each wing contained a specific type of criminal. There was a wing for thieves, one for different murderers, etc. The physical layout also reflected the social order, with murderers being on the top of the heap, but even 
then there were social distinctions. Those who committed murders of passion had a higher social position than those who killed someone in the course of a bank robbery.
I am not generally an advocate of one day tours of cities, as I saw how it distorts a city and its people when I was on a shoot in Sitka, Alaska. Hundreds of people would flood in from the cruise ship, spend an hour buying overpriced souvenirs, and then return to the boat with another destination checked off on their list.
The worst example of this checklist approach to tourism that I have experienced was in the Tate Modern in London. It was the first time that I had seen a Monet in person. After years of looking at his paintings in books, I never knew just how large his paintings of water lilies actually were. I was really gobsmacked by the effect that they produced. While I was looking at them, lines of tourists streamed by taking quick snapshots of the painting with their cell phones, as proof that they have been there and done that. I personally blame Steve Jobs for this destruction.
We were both happy to sail away from Ushuaia as fast as we could.
