Alone in Punta Arenas, Chile, December 2010

My husband has gone off to Antarctica. He boarded a little plane with his buddy Keith early this morning. I’ve got the day to myself in Punta Arenas, a town at the tippy bottom of Patagonian Chile. Jon was supposed to go to Antarctica the year before, but then there was an earthquake in Chile, his departure point. This year he asked if I wanted to tag along, but I knew it would cost thousands of dollars I didn’t have. And I’ve never been the type to stick my flag in every continent and the moon; I’m happy to have a day alone here to explore.

We’ve only been here a few days, and I don’t speak Spanish, but I’m undaunted. Walking around places is one of the things I do. When I lived in downtown San Diego, especially before I found a job, I spent days roaming around, hanging out with homeless people, walking back and forth along the bay. I had my canvas sun hat; I had an iPod Nano and some songs. I was young and healthy. I never got tired.

The wind in Punta Arenas is so strong there are poles for children to hang onto.

I walk.

The aboveground cemetery, white stone tombs with bright plastic flowers and glassed-in dioramas. The waterfront, the Strait of Magellan beyond. A hilly neighborhood, stray dogs — a bicycle-tour guide in Santiago, way up north, later told us the country is so Catholic and anti- birth control that they don’t spay and neuter pets — and “El Pac-Man,” an Internet cafe where you can use the photocopier and order “completos,” hot dogs “with everything.” A man with predatory eyes who followed me on opposite sides of multiple streets until I lost him, heart pounding, close to the city center. All under a blazing blue sky.