“Equally very. You have done a lot of traveling?”
“This is my first time outside North America. A couple of years ago we took a tent camping trip all across the continent.”
“My father and I sometimes play a game about guessing where people come from by their speech. Of course I know you are American. Not from the Southern states. Or the Midwest. I'll guess New England. Am I right?”
“You are!”
“Jorge says you are traveling with Cookie, and he has me baffled. English but not quite English. Not Australia or New Zealand. Not South Africa. Where? Tell me,” he wheedled.
“The Falklands. Our first stop on the
Argosy
.”
“Somehow when I visualize the Falklands I see sheep and ancient shepherds in sheepskin coats.”
“Penguins, too,” I reminded him.
“Penguins, too. Where you live, are there sheep?”
“A few. It used to be dairy-farm country, but the small farmers are having a hard time.”
“Your father farms?”
“No, he's a doctor. But we live in what used to be a farmhouse, and for our country it's old, over two hundred years.”
“Would you like to see where I live? Part of it was built in the ninth century.”
“Sure, I'd love to.”
He pulled out his wallet and opened it to a snapshot encased in plastic. It was a picture of a castle, with turrets and what looked like a moat, high up on a mountain. Behind it was an even higher snowcapped mountain.
Otto made a face. “In the winter we freeze. There is no way to put in central heating or modern plumbing. I would much prefer a nice, cozy little cottage.”
“It's right out of a fairy tale!”
“There are no fairies or gnomes or goblins to keep us warm on a cold winter morning when the coffee has started to freeze before it even gets to the table.” He grinned at me. “But really, I love it. It has been my home and that of my family for hundreds of years. We even managed to survive being swallowed by the Soviets.” He gave a harsh, unhappy laugh. “We are so small that they scarcely noticed what they had swallowed, and now we have been regurgitated.” Then he pointed out the window. “Look, Vicky, at those wild purple lupines. They are the largest I have ever seen.”
“Gorgeous.”
“The economy here is not good. See these little housesâit
looks as though the wind would blow right through them in bad weather.” He yawned, holding his hand up to his mouth. “I needed several hours more sleep this morning. On the
Argosy
I plan to catch up.”
“Prince Otto,” I started, but he cut me off. “No, no, please call me Otto. Now look at that lush bougainvillea on that wall. And already we are cooler. It never gets hot in Zlatovica the way it does in Vespugia. Look! I think we're nearly there.”
I got my backpack out from under my feet and pulled out a warm sweatshirt. Otto was wearing a beautiful rust-colored pullover that must have been hand-knit.
He said, “All my heavy stuff was sent from Zlatovica directly to the dock. Forgive me, Vicky, if I dash out and check everything to see that it's all here.”
The bus pulled up at the dock and as I looked at the waiting
Argosy
it didn't seem much bigger than the ferry we used to take to the Island, but of course it was completely different. Our bags were being taken from carts and piled up on the dock, and I was relieved to recognize mine in one of the piles. Otto was running up and down, checking his luggage, which included wooden boxes as well as a couple of small trunks. He turned to Jorge for help in communicating with the dock-hands, and the men, sweaty from heaving luggage, nodded and called over a couple of extra men to help them with the boxes.
We went up the gangplank onto the main deck, where we waited for our cabin keys. I heard one of the
Argosy
people calling out that the wooden boxes were to go to Prince Otto's suite, and should be handled with care.
While I was waiting for my key, Otto came over to me. “I hope you have a pleasant cabin, Vicky. I'll see you later.”
Finally the line at the desk dwindled and it was my turn, and a smiling, uniformed man handed me a key. “This is for your cabin, Miss Austin, and you'll find some information and a few other things there. Welcome.”
I had the marvelous luxury of a cabin to myself, thanks to Aunt Serena's generous planning. I had enjoyed sharing the hotel room with Siri. It was sort of what I imagined boarding school would be like, and Siri and I had become really good friends in a very short time. But on the
Argosy
I was grateful for my own cabin, and that Cook and Sam were next door. When Cook left, Sam would have that cabin to himself. The cabins, with the exception of the suite, which Otto was in, were all identical, and not that big even for one person. There were two narrow bunks with a small chest of drawers between them, two very narrow closets, and a tiny bathroom with barely room for toilet, washbasin, and shower.
On one of my bunks was a bright red parka, which my packet of information had mentioned; all the passengers would be issued parkas, which would make us easy to identify. I used one of the drawers for my notebooks and other books, which I couldn't have done if I'd had a roommate. I knew that the water would be rough, especially in the Drake Passage, and that it wasn't a good idea to leave anything loose when the ship was rolling. We had just time to unpack and settle in before we sailed, after which the whole group was to meet in the lounge, one deck up, the same deck where we'd been given our keys.
The ship's whistle blew, and I could hear the throbbing of engines, so I rushed up and out on deck. Everybody else had the same idea, but Cook was looking for me, so I hurried over to him. He turned away from the crowd of people at the rail, with their cameras and camcorders, taking pictures as the ship slowly eased away from the dock.
“Come,” he said. “I'll show you a better place.” I followed him back into the ship, through the lounge, and out a door to a deck where there were only a few other people. “The fo'c'sle,” Cook said. “My favorite place. The moment before we sail is always exciting. I never get jaded.”
Otto was there before us, and beckoned us to come stand by him at the rail. He put his hand briefly on my arm and smiled at me. “Every minute, I find I am more and more looking forward to this trip.”
The door to the lounge opened and Sam came out, followed by Jorge with his enormous Hasselblad.
When the
Argosy
was clear of the shore and heading out to sea, an electronic bell rang, ding-dong (and ding-dong was what we quickly learned to call it), and a loudspeaker summoned us into the lounge. A lot of people were already at the tables, and Cook and I found seats with Angelique and Dick.
I saw Otto being beckoned to join a group of men at a table near ours, with Jorge Maldonado and Jack Nessinger. They were not speaking English, and I wasn't sure what language it was. Dick remarked at the large group of foreigners on this trip, and that they were a rich mix, from Argentina to Zlatovica. A to Z.
“A real United Nations,” Sam said, coming over to us and
pulling up a chair, which could move only a short distance because it was attached to the floor by a chain so that in rough weather the furniture would not crash about the cabin. “Many Europeans still smoke,” Sam said, “and we're going to be divided into smokers and nonsmokers here and in the dining room. Okay if I sit with you as long as I don't light my cigar?”
Dick laughed. “Feel free.”
Angelique said, “We're delighted to have you with us.”
Cook ordered a Coke for me and joined the others in a glass of wine. I looked around the room, which had shelves stuffed with books on one side and a bar on the otherâport and starboard sides, I guess. In the middle of the fore wall was the door that led to the fo'c'sle. Ropes were strung across the ceiling for holding on to when the sea was rough.
At Otto's table several men, including Otto, lit cigarettes, and one of the crew came up and I could hear him saying that this was the nonsmoking section. “Of course,” Otto said, “sorry,” and stubbed out his cigarette. He was very nice about it, and so was Jorge, who was explaining to a couple of men who didn't speak English. One of the men scowled and said something that sounded cross, and Jorge spoke to him, smiling, and they all began to laugh. For some reason they gave me an odd feeling, maybe because I couldn't understand what they were saying. I thought of Suzy's joke: “Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean I'm not being followed.”
I was on the
Argosy.
No reason to be paranoid, or to let my imagination go on running away with me. I was out of Vespugia. I turned my attention back to my table and my Coke and a dish of nuts, and listened to what was going on.
A youngish man in blue jeans and a bright red sweater came in and introduced himself as Quimby Forrest, known as Quim, and welcomed us. He was, he explained, more or less the master of ceremonies, and he would be outlining our schedule for us each day. He introduced us to the captain, who greeted us and then left to go back to the bridge. The four lecturers came up, one by one. First, Benjy, the penguin specialist. I looked at him with interest, because he'd be looking out for me after Cook left at Port Stanley. He had sun-bleached hair and a rough, ruddy complexion, as though he was out in the wind and sun a lot, and eyes that were bright chinks of green. Then came Gary, the paleontologist, tall and thin, with glasses with thick horn-rims. Todd, whose area was mammals, with an emphasis on whales, was next. He was short and stocky; and he was followed by Jason, the geologist, who was well over six feet tall, big-boned, with dark brown hair and big brown eyes. They all seemed knowledgeable and easy and ready to like all of us passengers. I immediately liked them, and recited their names to myself: Benjy, Gary, Todd, Jason.
When the introductions were over, Benjy came to our table and sat by Cook, putting an arm affectionately around his shoulder. The two of them were obviously good friends.
Quimby explained that when we got back to our cabins after dinner we'd find a schedule for the next day, but schedules wouldn't be available ahead of time, because the decision of what to do wouldn't be made until he and the captain had considered the weather and then decided what would be the most interesting places for us to go. And we were reminded
that this was a research boat rather than a cruise ship, and that would affect our itinerary.
Quimby told us a little about efforts to make Antarctica a completely international community, designated as a demilitarized zone. “What we really hope for is a planetary international preserve.”
“Is such a thing possible?” Dick asked.
“Don't be a pessimist,” Angelique remarked, as though this was a regular refrain.
“Now,” Quimby said, “let me explain your manifest numbers. You've probably noticed the big board just outside the lounge, here on the main deck, full of small yellow chips with your numbers on them. For all our shore excursions, you'll turn your numbered chip from the yellow side to the red, and when you get back on the
Argosy
, from the red side to the yellow. That way we always know who's left the ship, and we'll know whether or not everybody has returned. Okay?”
Otto leaned over from his table and said to me, “That is a wise precaution. It is good to know everybody's safe.”
Dinner was in a large dining room with open seating. There were wide windows on both sides of the ship, so there'd be beautiful views of wherever we were sailing. Cook held my arm as we went in, so we wouldn't get separated. Sam was right: as I looked around, he was the oldest and I was the youngest passenger.
Siri and her roommate, whose name was Greta, were at our table. Greta was from Germany and spoke excellent, if heavily accented, English.
“Siri and I have much in common,” she said, “both of us
being university professors. But I am tone deaf, alas, and cannot share her love for music.”
Although it was eight in the evening, we were eating in daylight, with the sun slanting across the water. As we moved south, the days would get longer and the nights shorter, until we reached the Antarctic continent, where there would be hardly any dark at all.
By the time we went to bed, we were still far enough north so that we were moving through a long twilight into night, and the curtains were drawn across my porthole. I took a shower and got into my bunk. I was still tired from jet lag and all the travel, though my jet lag must have been nothing compared to Otto's. The boat was rocking slightly, like a great cradle. We were on the
Argosy
and Cook had relaxed. I went right to sleep.
I woke up feeling refreshed and ready for the day. At ten o'clock we had a boat drill, followed by a lecture from Benjy. All four of our lecturers really knew their stuff and had spent months at a time in Antarctica, living in tents or huts. Benjy had been there during the Antarctic winter, when it is always night and the cold is bitter and without relief. But he waxed absolutely lyrical, saying that his wife had decided he must have a mistress in Antarctica, he went so often. So he took her with him for one trip, and she understood that the land itself was the mistress.