"Patagonia, She Is A Harsh Mistress!"

Puerto San Julian is advertised as the best place to break up the enormous bus trip between Trelew and Rio Gallegos which, if true, must mean that all other points in between are unthinkably bleak. We woke up in time for the bus to drop us off here, and for the attendant to give us a pretty sympathetic frown. It's not like the town isn't rich in history--Magellan and Drake both executed mutiners in the bay, and Darwin passed through (he had some pretty rotten things to say about the place). Not a lot seems to have happened since Drake's first mate was drawn and quartered, however. Most of the businesses were shuttered up along the main street, although all three of the tourist offices kept diligent hours (one fewer than there were actual tourists, Emily observed).

We spent awhile walking around the waterfront, which is littered with tufts of wool and sheep carcasses marking the remains of an old slaughterhouse. Eventually the wind (which is difficult to stand up in) started driving us crazy, so we decided to see if an asado would cheer us up. A kind butcher in town pulled a lamb down off a meat hook and cut us generous portions with a bone saw. After acquiring carbon and a copy of last week's (month's?) paper for tinder, we were rolling.

Things picked up immensely in early evening, when a woman who leads wildlife boat tours swung by our campsite and asked if we wanted to see penguins. A tall, stoic man wearing gaiters gave us piggy-back rides into the surf, dropping us into a speedy, lightweight Zodiac craft. Minutes later we were on a long gravel bar snapping photos of fluffy penguin chicks and trying not to let the wind blow us into any nests. After reboarding the boat, we zoomed over to where Thomas Doughty was hanged to watch cormorrants, terns, and steamer ducks fly and waddle about. The birds fly in long, frustrated arcs every time the wind gusts, which is often.

The bus to Ushuaia didn't leave until 2 am, so we killed time the next afternoon at The Sportman, a bar that looks like it wouldn't be out of place in Northern Wisconsin. At three o'clock (siesta time) about a dozen old men arrived and began playing a furious dice game at the counter. Nobody even looked up when the power went out. -NSH