Early in the morning, I extricated myself from my top bunk in the hostel dormitory, cautious not to wake any of my roommates. Last night, the hostel owners had kindly prepared an easy breakfast and left it out on the table for me, even though their breakfast service usually isn’t available until 7am. I munched on that, and then held vigil at the front window, waiting for the transfer van.
The van scooped me up, and we headed to the airport. I feel I owe Magellan an apology: his strait is quite beautiful when there’s a clear sky and a bright orange sunrise. It was the polar opposite of yesterday’s melodramatic storminess. I think I’ve put words to my conflicting feelings about Punta Arenas: I like driving through the city, and I might like its more rural outskirts, but I’m so-so about being in the main bulk of the city.
I had forgotten to do online check-in for my flight yesterday, but I’d somehow been assigned an excellent seat: an aisle seat only five rows from the front. Read More