Au de Sardine...

Punta Arenas, Chile

February 20, 2007
S 53°09.763
W 070°54.475

I think we were both ready to exit Puerto Montt after four nights. The food pretty much sucked (except for the Curanto), the streets were a little sketchy after dark, and in the town itself there really wasn’t much to see. We did make the trip to Castro, making the stop worth it.

After landing in Punta Arenas we headed straight to baggage claim. We waited for our packs, and waited, and waited some more. We started to panic a little bit… we did arrive VERY early to the airport and several flights departed to Santiago while we were waiting so we thought, “Oh great, our luggage is in Santiago.” I began to do a mental inventory of what we absolutely needed in our packs for the night and just then a second cart of bags rolled up the tarmac and we saw both of the packs. Whew!

After a few minutes our bags were finally loaded onto the conveyer belt. Marc grabbed mine first and then reached for his. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed, “My strap is totally soaked.” He put his wet hand up to his nose to see if there was any foul odor. Sure enough there was a strong, fishy smell as if a whole dead fish was now on his right shoulder strap. He slung the dry, left strap, over his shoulder and lugged it out of the terminal. We found a bus to Punta Arenas and Marc graciously tossed his pack up to the bus porter; who seemingly didn’t notice the smell of rotting fish.

As we drove to Punta Arenas from the airport Marc figured out the best way to carry his pack with the least impact on his clothes. He opted to remove his fleece, put his rain jacket on; figuring the rain coat can easily be washed out (he hoped).

Of course we didn’t have reservations (what fun would that be), so we walked around for about an hour hunting for accommodations. Marc still reeking of fish, and surprisingly not gathering a parade of cats, we finally found a place after our fourth attempt (I guess three isn’t always a charm). When Marc finally took off his pack, there was a nice oil-slick, or should I say fish oil-slick on his jacket.

It took a lot of Purell, soap and hot-water, but he thinks he defunked his jacket and his pack. Thank goodness…the last thing you want right next to your nose on a ten day hike is the smell of rotten fish. Or, who knows…maybe it would act like perfume (Au de Sardine) compared to our funky clothes at the end of the trek. Too bad we’ll never know.