Penguins in Ushuaia

I felt a little sting to the wallet as I handed over a pile of cash to the Pira Tour representative to solidify 4 spots for the famous Walk with Penguins tour. After all, we'd just seen hundreds of penguins the other day when we took our 2nd boat tour of the Beagle Channel. How would this excursion be any different other than smelly? I surmised. 

Turns out- it was totally different. It blew my mind and I regret nothing. 

Mark and I bundled up the kids and headed to the docks for an early bus pick up. Only it wasn't a bus- it was more like a multi-passenger monster truck with tires taller than my kids. For the next two hours we cruised along the rocky National Route #3 to our first destination. Our guide was a young and enthusiastic man who was nearly done with his tourism and hospitality degree at university. Completely oblivious to car sickness Niko stood backwards in the truck, telling us how Canadian beavers were introduced to Ushuaia nearly devastating the forests a 100 years ago and eventually swimming the Beagle Channel to invade Chile. Or how the jagged mountain peaks indicated they were taller than 1,000 meters because they were higher than a prehistoric glacier that once covered the area. The local knowledge rolled off his tongue and before we knew it, we had arrived to Estancia Haberton, a historic and gorgeous cattle ranch where we would prepare for the next leg of travel. 

In order to get to the penguin rookery on Martillo Island, we were treated with an very exciting ocean romp on a Zodiac. If it weren't for an obscene number of penguins milling about the shore, I doubt my kids would have gotten off the boat, they loved it so much. After multiple pep talks warnings to keep a 3 meter distance from the birds, and to remain extremely quiet we were led onto the shore only to have overexcited selfie takers and oblivious rule breakers freak out with the first batch of penguins. (I will smugly point out that the Schlinks abided.) Niko calmly regathered us, and eventually the Magellanic penguins and a few King penguins sidled back to their spots. We also got to see a small patch of Gentoo penguins in their nests- though to be the only ones living on continental South America. Normally they reside in Antarctica. 

Moving along as a cohort we got to see their nests: hundreds of 12-18" burrows dotted the landscape, each with a parent penguin nestled with one or two babies. Margo was elated by this adorability factor, which in turn elated me. On the water, penguins torpedoed through the waves, while others sunned themselves on the pebbly beach. Before we knew it, our time was up and we needed to return to the farm for rhubarb crisp and hot chocolate.

Our next hour was spent touring the Acatushún Museum, dedicated to studying birds and marine life of South America. Interestingly, the skeleton collection started with washed up animals found by Natalie Goodall, a biologist from Ohio who had travelled and worked extensively through Venezuela and the Caribbean before setting roots at Estancia Haberton. Here she raised a family and continued studying local flora and fauna, publishing scientific articles well into her 70s. Deets was overwhelmed with the gorgeous skeletons and baleen fronds. His enthusiasm inspired an intern to give him a tour of the lab, where no other visitors were allowed. Reluctantly, it was time to board the lime green truck-bus and head back to Ushuaia. Of course Margo and Deets passed out, heads in our laps after 10 minutes, despite the rough drive. How kids can do that, I'll never know. 

Our ride for the day.

Sweet baby love. Magellanic penguins.

On board the Zodiac.

Checking out our ride.

Taking a stretch.

The watch. 

The King of them all.

The Eugene Levy of penguins: Gentoo

Penguin groupies.

Mutual love of whale bones.

Ushuaia Boat Trip

Of the many "can't miss" excursions in Ushuaia, a boat tour of the Beagle Channel is among them. We chose Rumba Sur, a company based on a few necessities: a bigger boat for potential seasickness, and heated indoor seating with coffee and hot chocolate service for cold noses. That, and the timing since we already dragged our kids down to the dock. We were presented with two options: a short 2.5 hour, or a 5 hour tour. The big difference being the longer tour extended further out to Penguin Island where you can watch penguins from the boat. By the end of the week we ended up doing both tours, though if pressed for time and choice, I would recommend doing the short tour followed by a tour where you actually walk with penguins (more on that soon.) 

The kids were ecstatic and entertained, insisting they stay outside despite the cold wind and splashing water for most of the trip. I had been worried about their relative warmth considering how wimpy I have become, but they didn't even notice. They are masochistic cold-loving monsters.

Ready for the boat.

Fingers crossed we don't need this.

Leaving Ushuaia behind.

Impressed and intimidated by their thick neon orange one-pieces.

Literally named: Bird Island.

Isla de los Lobos

Group huddle.

Hanging out.

Faro Les Eclaireurs

Magellanic penguin.

End of the World Train

For anyone aspiring to run a penal colony, it's all about location, location, location. It needs to be far away from anything, but the good ones provide plenty of hard labor activity to the inmates. For Argentina, it was Ushuaia- the southernmost city in the world. Originally the penal colony was bound for the Falkland Islands, but due to a gruesome murder of a cruel and newly appointed governor by troop mutineers, plans were delayed and eventually changed to Ushuaia.

Cuddled in a valley spreading into the Tierra del Fuego National Park on the border with Chile, construction began on a narrow gauge railroad in 1902 to support erection of prison buildings, though prisoners had been living there since 1884. From 1902-1947 the railway transported convicts, employees, food and countless tons of rock, lumber, and sand, sealing its mark into the landscape forever. In 1947, the prison closed. In 1949 an earthquake ruined the path and the railroad eventually closed in 1952. Having recognized a niche for growing tourism, the southernmost train in the world reopened in 1994 with flair: a bigger track gauge (for stability), international steam engines (for sexiness), champagne and dinner service (for attracting proper clientele.)

El Tren del Fin del Mundo: the enterprise has done well. Today the train station houses a cafe, museum, and wide screen views of their extremely organized workshop. There's a keyboard player/singer, while the conductor-clad employees cheer on the crowd to "Name that [Argentine tango] Song" for a chance to win prizes while they wait in line. Mark won himself a post card when he correctly identified "Don't Cry For Me Argentina." 

When the train rolled out of the station, Deets realized how anti-climactic an train departure could be: where he expected a hair whipping velocity, he realized he could run faster than the train at top speed. Sticking my head out the window where I expected to breathe crisp mountain air, I inhaled train soot. Mark just laughed at our indignance. For the next two hours we would take in the landscape in a teeny cabin and listen to a crackly, educational audio recording sounding like a down-market David Attenborough. We visited the Macarena Waterfall and cruised over the Pipo River sluggishly passing by hikers, who stared at us as much as we stared at them. We chugged past thousands of gray, corpse-like tree stumps in the peat bog, evidence of an intense yet necessary past. And a few horses.

I felt a little envious when the train petered to its halfway stop and the majority of the passengers hopped off to catch their tour busses. The rest of us waited for the engine to move to the back of the train. Surprisingly, the kids were absolutely fascinated watching the workers re-secure the engine with its coupling hook. I'm pretty sure it was their favorite part of the train trip. Back we went over the river, through the bog and past the waterfall- perhaps it was a bit slow going in places, but nevertheless: it was gorgeous- and the southernmost train in the world. How cool is that? 

Down at the station

Macarena Waterfall

Tree cemetery

Ushuaia Glaciar Martial Hike in Tierra del Feugo

It felt very strange to hear Mark suggest "let's go hike Martial Glacier" at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. For any hike, both of us are accustomed to early morning starts, with plans to finish well before the sun dips behind the mountains. Like, at 3 o'clock. Of course, being in Ushuaia during the summertime, the sun sets after 10:30pm so after a reinvigorating nap we grabbed a taxi to get there. Again, very strange: grabbing a taxi to get to the base of a hike.  It feels so chique. But cheap. The taxi driver wished us luck as he peeled out on the dirt road. 

Looking toward the peak, the four of us started our hike right past the non-servicing chair lift. Deets was nearly out of sight running up the trail, collecting sticks and rocks. Margo needed a little more encouragement but eventually got with the program after I started singing camp songs non-stop to distract her from well... everything.  We followed the path of the glacier melt, into and past the tree line before we got our first handfuls of snow 3,444 feet above sea level. The view of the rocky white peaks above the blanket of brilliant green moss was astounding. So much so, it took me 45 minutes to remember to turn around and look at the sea below with an equally impressive view: Chilean mountains on one side, Argentinian on the other. 

By six o'clock it was time to head down and it took a lot of convincing to get the kids out of the snow. Tears were shed over the sad departure but we rewarded ourselves with drinks and cookies at the Casa de Te, an overtly pink and frilly tea house/lodge located at the base of the climb. Mark and I showered the kids with praise and encouragement knowing they'd be hiking much more in the days to come.

Lost in his own world.

So fresh. 

Roaring glacier melt.

Glaciar Martial, Tierra del Fuego

Beagle Channel and Chilean Tierra del Fuego mountains behind us.

Brazilian Desserts: the Sacolé

Pernambucanos calls it "sacolé" or "dudu." Cariocas call it "sacolete" and Mineiros refer to it as a "chup-chup." Whatever you call it, these popsicles-in-a-sack are refreshing and so dang good. The recipe is simple: pureed fruit, milk, and condensed milk. Mix it all together, stick it in a long plastic sack and freeze. Or, do no work and buy them cheap off the street for 1 Real each (about 25-30 cents depending on the exchange rate). I am a little embarrassed it took me this long to discover them, but I have since made up for it by having tried every flavor made by the local vendor: coconut, chocolate-banana, strawberry, peanut, raspberry, and my current favorite: passion fruit (maracujá).

dim-dim, big-bem, juju, flautinha, chopp, brasinha...
I feel a little dirty listing off these nicknames.

Jose and his dessert cart.

Staying in Maracaipe

Overall, our resort stay at the Xale de Maracaipe was pretty good: clean, quiet, and with plenty of grass to run around on. There was a "farm" which consisted of guinea pigs, rabbits and a token rooster- all of which were visited multiple times a day. Sheep are used to cut the grass as evidenced by poops on the lawn but during our stay they were sequestered elsewhere. We enjoyed the pool and certainly enjoyed the hammocks provided. The restaurant put on a fantastic breakfast buffet, but meals after that suffered  tremendously: freezer burnt chicken, weird gooey fish, and stiff unsavory macaxeira fries. Next time we will bring a grill and more food from home. Plus better beer. 

I liked the layout of the house we stayed in and the rooms had plenty of pillows and towels, but no blankets. I took a poll with some friends of mine, and consensus was 50/50 on this being a bad thing. Personally, I like sleeping with blankets so when we had to return to Recife for a work event in the middle of our stay, I felt no qualms about stuffing our car with more comfort measures. By the end of the week, we were all oversaturated with sand, sun and chlorine and excited to get back to the city. 

Below are a few random shots Mark and I took at the Xale de Maracaipe throughout the week...

An impressive amount of stars. 

I imagine these girls growing old together
and doing the same thing when they are 80.   

Cactus shadow puppets.

Grandma and grandpa being romantic.

Rope.

Sunset. 

Collecting shells.

Pool time.

Grandma and Deets fighting waves.

Seahorses in Maracaipe

Not more than 20 feet from the Xale de Maracaipe entrance is a dirt road leading to the Maracaipe River where the shore and mangroves are thick with noisy tropical birds, crabs of all shapes and sizes, and schools of fish. Hidden among the obvious wildlife are teeny seahorses too- and I was nearly beside myself when I found out we could take a tour to see them. It meant walking through a river bed of squelchy mud that sucked off our shoes, and tiptoeing among literally thousands of tiny crabs sunning themselves during low tide to get to the wooden boats.  All in the unforgiving and rising heat of the morning. 

Regardless my family followed me, with smiles on their faces more or less. The tour was simple enough, a quiet ride along the river with a few stops along seemingly dry roots which would later be fully submerged at high tide. In order to preserve the tranquility of the water, only one snorkeler was out looking for seahorses. He quickly produced a few, placing them in a jar for better viewing. We admired their delicate features and continued on our way. 

Deets was more impressed with Grandpa telling him he found a sea snake (leftover skin of a recently poached fish) and watching two crabs fight over the meat. Margo was more impressed with her feet not getting eaten by fish or crabs. She opted to ignore everything and pout. Regardless, I enjoyed our cute adventure and walked away from the swampy heat of the morning with the same smile I walked in with. 

Boats on the Maracaipe River

Me overly excited.

Snorkeling for sea horses hooked around the mangrove roots.

Yay!

So tiny!

Battling it out.