A few weeks ago, two of my best friends came to visit me. A few days ago, another one came – my brother Nick.

(Awwww)

The last time I saw Nick, we were sprinting through the Singapore airport to catch his flight home. We spent Christmas together with our parents in Thailand and Cambodia, but the two weeks flew by in a whirlwind of catching up and sightseeing. Since that day, when he just barely made it back to Boston, we’ve been counting down the days until the South America reunion. For me, it’s the perfect taste of home to hold me over until the end. For Nick, it’s an escape from East Coast weather and college stress. For both of us, it’s a time to rekindle the crazy brotherly flame…which means for Chile, it might just be too much.

We both did a lot of traveling prior to meeting up in Punta Arenas. Nick had four different flights; Julie and I had one long car ride. We had to rush our deep embrace in the airport, however, for we still needed to get to Puerto Natales that evening. During the three-hour bus ride, we attempted to discuss every topic that came to mind, while devouring the Sour Patch Kids and Reeses that I had once again requested. That night we boarded the Navimag for our journey into the Patagonian fjords. The boat was a lot bigger than we thought it would be, with loads of interesting people from all over the world. As we waited to get on, Nick said, “This is like the Titanic! I should’ve brought my tux.”

After schmoozing a bit with Paula, one of the bartenders, we settled into our tiny cabin. I had only known Julie for a couple of days and Nick had just met her a few hours before, but you either become great friends or worst enemies in a cozy situation like that. Luckily, the former applied. In fact, most people thought we were all related.

The Navimag was the perfect way for Nick and me to spend our first few days together. We could explore the ship outside and then return to a couch and play cards. We could stare at a glowing glacier without changing from our pajamas. We could watch whales breach while trying to reenact the classic “Titanic” pose. Basically, we didn’t feel guilty for just hanging out because there was simply nowhere to go. All of the attractions came to us.

Among those attractions were the people on board – some even more fascinating than the outdoor sights, especially after a few bottles of rich Chilean wine or a few Pisco Sours, the national drink. We met Ali and Claire, two British girls on a similar gap year trip, and laughed as Jorge tried to sell us his daughter, as Bill groped an innocent Singapore girl, as Iris yelled about her Irish ancestors building our country, and as an American ex-nuclear engineer turned house painter and inebriated globetrotter we dubbed “California” sang Mexican drinking songs around the clock.

The crewmembers were as cool as the passengers. Paula was our favorite, but there were many more who became good friends, and many more who wished to be even closer with our blonde amiga Julie. The lady who made announcements, however, we don’t miss so much. I would’ve sworn she was kneeling with a megaphone right next to our beds when she called us to meals or movies. If it wasn’t her piercing voice that disturbed our naps, it was usually a chorus of “Moooo”s coming from trucks full of cows on the cargo deck.

It was easy to forget we were on a boat except for the second to last day. We had to detour away from calm archipelago passages and into the open sea, where it was rough rocking for twelve hours or so. It was impossible to walk without clinging to a table or fellow passenger. Dishes flew off the kitchen countertops and shattered on the floor. Staring at the horizon, getting fresh air, trying to sleep, finding a happy place – nothing worked. We simply couldn’t ignore swaying so severely from one crashing wave to another. Paula said it was the worst night she’s been through.

The last night fiesta, however, made up for the previous night of seasickness. Nick was robbed of a Bingo victory, but other than that it was awesome. The kind of night where you can go all out, knowing you’ll never see the other passengers again. We danced Salsa with the kitchen staff and did the limbo with Paula. We played a card game with Ali and Claire that forced Nick to run around shirtless screaming “USA!” and me to tell the announcement lady that “every time I hear your voice I want to touch myself.” Good ol’ immature fun.

We disembarked at Puerto Montt the next morning, thoroughly satisfied with the things we saw, the people we met, and the distance we covered. Looking at a map, we journeyed through roughly a fifth of the length of Chile.

We had some time to kill, so we rented a car and traveled a bit more with our friends Ali and Claire to the island of Chiloe, a small farm town with folklore as colorful as its lake houses on stilts. I read about some mythological creatures, but the only two that stuck with me are a gnome that can impregnate women with just a stare, and a goddess that dances nude upon ocean waves. Where was she the past four days?

We walked around old shingled churches, browsed the local wool market, tasted various empanadas, and celebrated Ali’s 19th birthday before it was time to head back to Puerto Montt to catch a flight to Santiago. The rocking sensation has finally subsided, so it’s on to the next adventure.

This entry was posted on Thursday, March 30th, 2006 at 11:42 am in XIX. Chile. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.