November 22, 1999

Street market on Errazuriz.

With an extra and unexpected day to kill in Punta Arenas, I wandered about and explored. It was windy and overcast; dust devils whipped through the streets and people went about their Monday routines. There was s street market on Errazuriz with vendors hawking everything from fruits to tee-shirts. Clothing with English language decoration is a common sight and words, often nonsensical, jump off the fabric as enigmatic icons. I saw one boy trying on a baseball cap with a small American flag--adjusting the angle just so in a streetside mirror. Homey in da 'hood?

I lounged around the plaza watching people come and go: sailors on their way to the port, secretaries and professionals leaning into the wind and schools boys heading home from classes. All students here wear uniforms and, by the end of the day, tired kids head home in various states of dishevelment and disarray. I laughed to myself remembering my own school uniforms and how difficult it was to look presentable much past third period.

Schoolboys.

The wind died down and the clouds rolled away; the vernal sun stretched across the plaza, glinting off Tierra del Fuego's big toe. We would be underway by midnight--or so it seemed.