January 27, 2010
Falkland Islands
Day 11
Mile 1200
Shortly after rounding the Cape, we exited the Pacific and were now in the South Atlantic. Quite honestly, it was going to be difficult to top our magical days in Patagonia and the silent power of Cape Horn. But we were only half way through this cruise which would ultimately bring us to Buenos Aires, and there was still a lot to see.
We encountered o
ur only disappointment on the morning of January 27th when were unable to disembark in Stanley, the capital of the Falkland Islands. I am an unapologetic collector of places, and the Falklands were high on my list. They´re very far from anywhere, and not easy to get to, so it can be understood how bitter the disappointment was when the captain cancelled shore excursions because of dangerously high seas.
The seas really were too strong for the ship`s tenders to transport precious human lives. "Safety first," announced the captain. We had been warned that the weather here is unpredictable. He was right, of course, but we had been handed a basket of bitter lemons.
Deeply frustrated, Glenda and I brought ourselves to the 12th floor observation deck just to look out at the island we`d not get to set foot on. We were close enough to see cars
on the roads and the small, pastel colored houses Stanely is well known for. A punch of wind whipped the water all around us to a frothy white.
So close, but so far away.
The wind was formidable as we sailed off. Ominious dark clouds hovered to our north. Tiny Glenda was unable to walk across the deck for fear of being blow down. She clung to the railing in her attempt to take a few photos. The open deck really was not a safe place to be.
Still, the glass was more than half full and, despite the bitter lemons, it was time to mix up a batch of lemondade.
But first things first.
I went back to bed and slept until 12:30.
Glenda went to the casino and won $200.00.
By early afternoon I had pulled myself out of bed and worked my way to the 12th floor observation deck bar. By now I was on a first name basis with the staff. I`d bought the "super-deluxe-all-you-can-drink" Pepsi package for $6.00 a day and was determined to get my money´s worth! This would be a fine place to spend what had become a tumultuous day at sea.
The sky was dark. Everything around us was gray--gray water, gray swells, gray clouds. Masses of gray mist swirled,thickened and billowed while rain and wind poured down. The wind was so strong that the tops of the sea were blown off in streaks of white spume.
Gale Force 9 winds whipped the ship. Up and down it went in the great ocean swells--a powerful vibration of the sea. Sheets of spray crested off huge 15 foot waves. White foam and froth swirled off the waves to help create the next one.
I was conscious of an enormous release of energy as milllions of tons of water tugged at the ship.
It was wildly exciting, especially from the comfort of the 12th floor bar with its huge 180° rain coated windows. Despite massive rivulets of rain running down them, views were never impeded.
As the afternoon progressed, the storm lessened. By now the rain had stopped and the wind was moderate. We were sailing out of the storm. I met Marc around 7:00 pm for our nightly soak-and-chat in one of the jacuzzis and told him how Glenda clung to the railing prior to the great storm.
"Oh good, " he said. "We can attach her to a string and use her as a kite."
Marc is a quick clever wit and the easy compatibility of the four of us has made this a very pleasant voyage.
We were now heading north. The long southern summer white nights were coming to an end. What had also come to an end was the early tumult. By early evening we broke out of the dark into a pale blue sky. Sunset was earlier tonight--a dynamic, peach-ringed fireball that quietly slipped below the horizon.
During dinner in the lingering twilight, we marvelled at the rise and fall of the sea, more subdued than earlier, but still a powerful force. The Seven Seas dining room was located at waterline and we would always wait to have a table with a view. We were close enough to observe the multiple colors of the water--greens, blacks, blues, grays and blacks, often silvered with frothy spume of eight foot waves. Birds rode on the wind, fleeting reminders that we were hugging the Argentinian coast.
Much later, we stood on the top deck, a strong warm wind at our backs. We searched the sky for constellations we´d not see at home: the Southern Cross, Taurus, and Capricorn. Riding high against the equatorial sky was Orion, here a summer constellation. A brilliant three-quarter waxing moon rode low in the western sky.
Despite the morning´s bitter disappointment, the day had been marvelous: an exciting storm at sea, a subsequent clearing and a look at the night sky from the Southern Ocean.
What better glass of lemonade could possibly made with the lemons given us?
Falkland Islands
Day 11
Mile 1200
Shortly after rounding the Cape, we exited the Pacific and were now in the South Atlantic. Quite honestly, it was going to be difficult to top our magical days in Patagonia and the silent power of Cape Horn. But we were only half way through this cruise which would ultimately bring us to Buenos Aires, and there was still a lot to see.
We encountered o
ur only disappointment on the morning of January 27th when were unable to disembark in Stanley, the capital of the Falkland Islands. I am an unapologetic collector of places, and the Falklands were high on my list. They´re very far from anywhere, and not easy to get to, so it can be understood how bitter the disappointment was when the captain cancelled shore excursions because of dangerously high seas.The seas really were too strong for the ship`s tenders to transport precious human lives. "Safety first," announced the captain. We had been warned that the weather here is unpredictable. He was right, of course, but we had been handed a basket of bitter lemons.
Deeply frustrated, Glenda and I brought ourselves to the 12th floor observation deck just to look out at the island we`d not get to set foot on. We were close enough to see cars
on the roads and the small, pastel colored houses Stanely is well known for. A punch of wind whipped the water all around us to a frothy white.So close, but so far away.
The wind was formidable as we sailed off. Ominious dark clouds hovered to our north. Tiny Glenda was unable to walk across the deck for fear of being blow down. She clung to the railing in her attempt to take a few photos. The open deck really was not a safe place to be.
Still, the glass was more than half full and, despite the bitter lemons, it was time to mix up a batch of lemondade.
But first things first.
I went back to bed and slept until 12:30.
Glenda went to the casino and won $200.00.
By early afternoon I had pulled myself out of bed and worked my way to the 12th floor observation deck bar. By now I was on a first name basis with the staff. I`d bought the "super-deluxe-all-you-can-drink" Pepsi package for $6.00 a day and was determined to get my money´s worth! This would be a fine place to spend what had become a tumultuous day at sea.
The sky was dark. Everything around us was gray--gray water, gray swells, gray clouds. Masses of gray mist swirled,thickened and billowed while rain and wind poured down. The wind was so strong that the tops of the sea were blown off in streaks of white spume.
Gale Force 9 winds whipped the ship. Up and down it went in the great ocean swells--a powerful vibration of the sea. Sheets of spray crested off huge 15 foot waves. White foam and froth swirled off the waves to help create the next one.
I was conscious of an enormous release of energy as milllions of tons of water tugged at the ship.
It was wildly exciting, especially from the comfort of the 12th floor bar with its huge 180° rain coated windows. Despite massive rivulets of rain running down them, views were never impeded.
As the afternoon progressed, the storm lessened. By now the rain had stopped and the wind was moderate. We were sailing out of the storm. I met Marc around 7:00 pm for our nightly soak-and-chat in one of the jacuzzis and told him how Glenda clung to the railing prior to the great storm.
"Oh good, " he said. "We can attach her to a string and use her as a kite."
Marc is a quick clever wit and the easy compatibility of the four of us has made this a very pleasant voyage.
We were now heading north. The long southern summer white nights were coming to an end. What had also come to an end was the early tumult. By early evening we broke out of the dark into a pale blue sky. Sunset was earlier tonight--a dynamic, peach-ringed fireball that quietly slipped below the horizon.
During dinner in the lingering twilight, we marvelled at the rise and fall of the sea, more subdued than earlier, but still a powerful force. The Seven Seas dining room was located at waterline and we would always wait to have a table with a view. We were close enough to observe the multiple colors of the water--greens, blacks, blues, grays and blacks, often silvered with frothy spume of eight foot waves. Birds rode on the wind, fleeting reminders that we were hugging the Argentinian coast.
Much later, we stood on the top deck, a strong warm wind at our backs. We searched the sky for constellations we´d not see at home: the Southern Cross, Taurus, and Capricorn. Riding high against the equatorial sky was Orion, here a summer constellation. A brilliant three-quarter waxing moon rode low in the western sky.
Despite the morning´s bitter disappointment, the day had been marvelous: an exciting storm at sea, a subsequent clearing and a look at the night sky from the Southern Ocean.
What better glass of lemonade could possibly made with the lemons given us?
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