Our second day in the Drake arrives with much improved weather. We are making great time so the Captain and Martin choose to play chicken with the Chilean Navy. Chile doesn't follow the standard for where the boundary between international and country waters lays. They've been known to get fussy with ships that approach Cape Horn too closely. We need something to pass the time. This time around the base is quiet and we carry on unmolested. We sail into the opening of the Beagle Channel and anchor for the night: We do not wish to arrive in Ushuaia early.
On the top deck, when looking out for Cape Horn, Sean mentions that he doesn't feel drastically changed by the experience. That's a sentiment I've felt and heard often in the last few years. People desiring experiences that re-forge them to something or someone new: Being raked across the coals of experience, born again, new and improved. Life is always more mysterious and subtle than that. The changes happen, but they are deep within, waiting to be expressed. Or maybe I just hope that: there is a fomenting cauldron deep within, driving.
Our trip home is uneventful. The domestic flights in Argentina are late, but we now know to expect this and we're sleepy enough that it doesn't stress us too much. We are too tired and hot in Buenos Aires to do more than a little walk around. I don't get business class for the international flight, but again, I had my expectations under control.
It's now one month since the trip finished. I don't think of penguins every day, but I do think of them fairly often. I compare the visual and audible hustle and bustle of my surroundings with the serenity of Antarctica and I find the current situation wanting for depth, grace and style.