The REAL End of the World

Being in the world's southernmost city is cool and all, but on Wednesday we pressed on and made our way down to Puerto Williams, the world's southernmost town, and probably the southernmost settlement that's not a research station. It really must be a thorn in Ushuaia's side, because it throws the whole "end of the world" claim into doubt, and all over a difference in latitude that amounts to maybe one kilometre. Seriously, if the water weren't so cold, you could swim there from Ushuaia. If I were Ushuaia, I'd be pretty bitter.

That being said, Ushuaia is a proper city, and Puerto Williams is... well, small. It has about 2,200 permanent residents, most of whom are navy officers. Everyone else is the husband, wife or child of a navy officer. The small size and total lack of economic importance means it's a little tricky to get there, with your options basically being:
a) charter a plane.
b) charter a zodiac.
c) go down to the yacht club and try to bribe sailors with beer to take you along if they're heading that way.

Naturally, we started with option c. We headed down to the yacht club (fancy southernmost microbrews in hand, as shown below) in the hopes of obtaining passage, but didn't wind up finding a boat.


Next, we looked into the plane/zodiac scene. Turns out it's actually cheaper to charter a tiny 4-seater plane from the local flight club than it is to take a zodiac across the channel. Expensive, windy, wet boat ride vs. slightly cheaper, substantially awesomer, private flight? Tough choice.


Mal's got tons of experience with tiny aircraft (the perks of being a geologist), but it was my first time on anything smaller than an Airbus. Man, is it different. Commercial airliners basically feel like big buses, with occasional turbulence. By contrast, my first few minutes in a small plane felt like a profoundly stupid decision. They are very small, wind is very strong, and the ground is very hard and unforgiving. Not to mention the fact that our pilot looked like he was about 15, and showed up for our flight wearing skate shoes. After a few minutes in the air though, and after realizing that the plane could indeed survive gusts of Patagonian-strength wind, it was an amazing experience. Flying in a small plane gives you the full knowledge that you are actually flying.

Puerto Williams itself isn't going to win any architectural awards (except maybe "Most Consistent Use of Corrugated Aluminum Siding"), but what it lacks in architecture, it makes up for in small-town charm.


We stayed at the "Hostal Paso McKinlay", which was a spare bedroom in a house belonging to an extremely friendly local family. Despite our very limited Spanish, and their very limited English, we had a great time there. They made us breakfast, afternoon tea, drove us around, and recommended the best restaurant in town. Mind you, that last one wasn't too tough, given the fact that there was really only one restaurant in town: the Dientes de Navarino. We heard rumours of another, but no one was able to confirm the existence of this mysterious "second restaurant". Luckily, the food at the Dientes was delicious, even if your ordering options are limited to "whatever the chef is making right now".


We spent our one full day in the area hiking up a nearby hill to get a view of the Dientes de Navarino mountain range (it's not just a fancy restaurant!). The views from the top were incredible, and the only thing that mitigates the experience of trekking around Puerto Williams is the incessant pounding your skin takes from all the UV rays pouring in through the big, gaping hole in the ozone layer overhead. Thanks, CFCs!


Puerto Williams also has a handsome children's park, rendered only slightly less usable by the wild horses that inhabit it.


The other big sight in town is the Club de Yates Micalvi, a strong contender (in our experience) for "coolest bar in the world". It started as a German munitions ship that ran aground about 10 feet offshore from town, and has since been converted into a bar/harbour for yachts passing through on their way to Cape Horn and Antarctica. It's got 6 foot ceilings, cushily upholstered couches, an ample supply of pisco, a thick haze of smoke, and a slight tilt towards port. Because it's not exactly an easily accessible bar, the clientele tends to be pretty eccentric - yacht captains of questionable sanity en route to Antarctica, their crew (of equally questionable sanity), and the occasional pair of Canadian backpackers.

On our first trip there, the wild horses from the park were all hanging out in front of the entrance, but we weaved our way through them anyways, partly so we could say "wild horses couldn't keep us away from this bar!". Mal gets full credit/blame for that line.

We heard some interesting stories there, including one from a couple of German guys about their journey from New Zealand to the Club de Yates, which involved a storm so bad it blew out their windows, and the subsequent 30 centimetres of water they had to deal with in the bottom of their boat. We also learned that to sail a private yacht to Antarctica, you need to bring 6 months' worth of food supplies due to the apparently very real danger of getting stuck in the ice and not being able to return until the next summer. Here's a dark picture of Mal and a few of our fellow non-yachtgoing travelers in the Micalvi.


We're back in the bustling metropolis of Ushuaia now, where we'll be spending the next few days relaxing and maybe even doing laundry. After that, we're headed to the Torres del Paine National Park in Chile, followed by Santiago, followed by... Toronto?! Holy cow, we are almost home!