One thing I forgot to mention yesterday: it's sort of accepted practice for the passengers to wear little name badges so that we can remember eachother's names (I keep forgetting to wear mine, of course); it says a lot about Neil Armstrong that he always wears one, despite being the most famous man in the world. I was really hoping that he'd turn out to be a nice chap, and I've not been disappointed: he's quiet, unassuming and very humble about his achievements. I feel very privileged to have met him.Despite frantically deleting obvious rejects as I go along, I now have roughly 11,000 photos: my hard drive is full, and I'm storing the overspill on CF cards.
Looking back through them this morning, it became grimly apparent that I have 10,997 very average photos and three which are actually quite good, but frankly (given what they're photos of) average will do!
Today was the first stage of the journey home: across from the Falkland Islands to the southern part of Argentina, and then through the Beagle Channel to Ushuaia where we docked at about 10.30. The sea was rather lumpy again – lying down is OK, but moving about the ship was a rather hazardous procedure and frankly I was glad when the uppy-downy stuff was over.
I've spent the past four hours packing, and trying to make my luggage look half as heavy as it actually is; I've somehow managed to acquire enough stuff (OK, I admit it, books) such that my hand baggage weighs more than the check-in weight limit. My check-in baggage weighs more than Switzerland. This could get expensive...
Tomorrow it's a 6.30 start, off the ship and into Ushuaia for a certain amount of pottering about before the charter flight to Santiago in the afternoon; overnight at an airport hotel, Wednesday morning trying to get online and being horrified by excess baggage charges, then an overnight flight to Madrid, connecting flight to Heathrow, and home by Thursday teatime. After three weeks of revisiting the deeds of the great explorers, it seems a little unfair to be able to think in terms of "home by Thursday teatime" rather than "home in nine months, providing we don't get stuck in pack ice and have to spend the winter at 40 below freezing living in an upturned boat and eating lard." Sorry, Sir Ernest...
