An Alaskan Interlude in Puerto Natales

Tuesday 24 March, 2009


I was exiting my hostel in search of dinner one cold March night in a small town in the Chilean province of Ultima Esperanza (Last Hope - very poetic and a little bleak), not too far from the end of the inhabited world, when I heard a gravelly American voice say, "Gotta light for an old smoker, honey?" I turned to see a grizzled old sea dog sitting on am bench, idly rolling a cigarette between his fingers. He had a shock of white hair, a hunch on his back, and sat with one leg insouciantly slung over the other, defiant of the chill. I apologised and explained that I didn't smoke.

"Well,  shit, honey, we're a dying breed!" He spat on the footpath. "They threw me outta there," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the hostel. "Said I was a goddamned disruption!" He chuckled. "Well, whadda they expect. I'm a tramp. Yes I am!" He declared proudly, as my British companion made to object. "Damn right I am! Been trampin' all over and now here I am, a goddamned old tramp. I'm from Alaska!" He was warming to his captive audience. He had an evident flair for the dramatic and spoke in near-constant italics, which gave his speech a theatrical lilt.

I have a friend working on boats up in Alaska, I ventured. "Well,  shit, honey!" He bellowed. "I'm a captain!" He cocked a shrewd eye at me. "What kinda boats?" Tourist boats, mostly. His face darkened. "Well, shit. Everything's tourism these days. Time was, I was a traveller. I was a voyager! Now I'm a goddamned tramp getting thrown out on my ass by goddamned prissy tourists and an old man can't even get a goddamned light. Shit."