Tag Archives: sea

Navimag Ferry, Chilean Fjords, Patagonia

There’s nothing that confirms real life more than flicking through reams of holiday photos, quietly weeping into ‘proudly Scottish’ porridge while a cup of non-Colombian coffee cools at my arm.

Yet while the experience can be depressing, it also serves as a timely reminder that adventure really did happen. As pictures of bug-eyed sloths, endless multi-dogs, fantastically bright street art or fluorescent blue glaciers flick by, I’m reminded of the small details: the wonderful gringas served in a tiny Mexican canteen miles from anywhere, the local who adopted us on a street in Antigua and gave us our own personalised tour, the staff on one endless bus journey who opted for a game of bingo before serving us tumblers of wine and yet another ham and cheese sandwich.

And it was whilst I scrolled through thousands of photos that I was reminded of one of our last adventures in South America, a ferry trip through the Patagonian fjords in Chile. It being Autumn we’d gambled with the weather, and having had three unfathomably sunny days while trekking through Torres del Paine we assumed our luck wouldn’t last. As we boarded the ferry a stiff wind was shooting icy rain into the cargo deck,  it’s persistent howl mingling with the mournful lowing of the truly intended passengers. Yet by morning the clouds had passed and the ship set forth into stunningly bright sunlight, the first of the islands set to contrast against the luminous blue sky.

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Though the boat itself was no cruise ship – truly meant for cargo, there’s little in the way of luxury and the interiors all come in industrial pea green, or municipal wipe-down white – the unexpected weather let us spend our days out on deck. From here we’d watch gangs of sea lions pups tumble through the waves, tiny dolphins riding the wake and the effervescent clouds of spray from hundreds of reticent minke whales. With little in the way of entertainment, we’d spend our time watching the horizon, reading books or sleeping in the sun, our reveries only broken by the regular meals provided by young staff, where we’d join tables of fellow tourists or squeeze next to jovial drivers clearly enjoying their truck-free travel. Though made for many and decidedly simple (breakfast was, you guessed it – pan, queso y jamon) the food was surprisingly flavoursome, certainly providing enough fuel for another days’ sitting around.

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TripAdvisor will testify, this isn’t for everyone; those after plush bedrooms, private showers and constant access to the internet will not fare well. But for us, happy to watch the sun move across a series of snow-tipped mountains that built the channel of the fjords we sailed through, we didn’t need anything more sophisticated than a cup of coffee and somewhere to perch. And the photos, at least, are an excellent reminder of that.

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Hotel Apacheta, Arica, Chile

It feels slightly ridiculous booking treat nights during what is, essentially, an entire treat year. With nothing to do but head vaguely south, stopping when we find somewhere we like to drink coffee, wander streets or beaches and devour cloth-eared spy novels, it hardly seems necessary to spend more money on the building in which we sleep.

And yet there are times when a hostel just won’t do. When shared bathrooms of varying cleanliness, neighbours of alternating volumes and kitchens with a hundred spoons but no knives starts to wear a little thin. At times like these hotels towards the middle of the sorted price list start to look very tempting, and it doesn’t take much – “it was my birthday last month”, “we didn’t go on that dive in January”, “it’s, um, Wednesday”- to justify spending that bit more. Which is exactly what we did before making our way to Chile’s northern coast.

When we arrived in the town of Arica we weren’t overly impressed, the closed metal and chipboard buildings and huge motorways doing little to pretify the vast swathes of arid desert. There was sea, to be sure, but limp waves and a string of high-rise resorts didn’t make it all that tempting to spend a day on the beach. As we’d arrived late the night before our booking we chose to stay the first hostel we saw, a dark place opposite the bus station run by a monosyllabic man with a tribal neck tattoo. Our room fit two single beds at an angle and no more. But we didn’t mind much, as it would provide a stark contrast to the hotel we’d booked for the following nights. Or so we hoped.

In the morning we left the hostel early and made our way into town to wait it out until check-in. The centre was a bustle of pedestrianised streets full of shops, bars and cafes and we set about drinking coffees at a snails’ pace to pass the time. Eventually we were on the road to Hotel Apacheta, a place so fancy it didn’t even have a sign. Online we’d been wooed by pictures of sea views, minimalist designer interiors and promises of giant beds and drench showers. In real life, that’s exactly what we got.

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Saturday afternoon

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Our bags were swept away by the owner, athletically rich in a former-banker–now-surfer kind of way who bore an uncanny resemblance to Prince Eric from the Little Mermaid. We took in the views of waves crashing all around, the building designed in a clever L-shape that means all the rooms point to the sea, blocking the view and the noise of the road behind. Safely in our room we launched ourselves across the huge bed and watched seagulls and a handful of pelicans bob on the surface of the water; as bigger waves struck, there would be an explosion of noise and feathers as they all took flight.

So unaccustomed are we with such settings that, once we’re in, we’re likely to stay. We decided we’d seen all that ‘town’ had to offer, so instead spent our days reading, snoozing and horizon-gazing to the sophorific melody of the tide. The only times we ventured out were for food, forcing our sluggish bodies down the road for dinner, or down the small set of stairs to our hotel breakfast – and it was here that we were most in our element. Bagging a table closest to the huge windows we’d watch for the resident sea lion as plates of food were brought by friendly staff. Granola, yoghurt and honey, fruit salad and scrambled eggs were all on offer, as well as individual caffitieres of coffee that I tried to deny made me feel fanciest of all. This would be life for three blissful days and on our last we eked out our breakfast for as long as possible. Finally we had to admit that the road – and its myriad hostels – was beckoning us on.

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Breakfast at Hotel Apacheta

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The New Club, West Pier, Brighton

20140201-191257.jpgThere are some mornings where it’s perfectly necessary to hunt out booze at breakfast time.

Our heads foggy from last nights’ festivities we wandered the lanes of Brighton, navigating a warren of retro emporiums, free-range market vendors and psychedelic postcard shops to find ourselves, at last, at the sea. Greeted by the somewhat sinister scene of the burnt-out pier with a backdrop of brooding storm clouds, we made haste towards The New Club, a diner with a reputation for encouraging drinking way before the watershed.

There is food too, of course. For those able to get out of bed before 2pm they have a robust brunch menu with a heavy emphasis on reconstituted pig. Brilliantly, bacon features just about everywhere: atop their infamous ‘dirty burgers’ and even in the booze. For The New Club is the home of the ‘Breakfast Club’, a pig-infused Bloody Mary with pickles and their own special spicy sauce thrown in for good measure.

This is not for those who think tomatoes are meant for pasta sauce and pizzas; in all honesty, it spoke a little too much of passata for my taste, too. But the bacon-infused vodka is a stroke of genius, and those who enjoy a Bloody Mary or Caesar will be happy here. For those of a more delicate disposition, there’s a host of other brunch cocktails with enough liquor to stave off any two-day hangover (my Kentucky fizz – Woodford Reserve bourbon, Prosecco & fresh mint – was divine).

If you need something to soak up the liquor, aim to get their before the lunch menu kicks in. Their warm pretzels with salted caramel and buttermilk pancakes (with, you guessed it, maple bacon) have had good reviews but their burgers were a little tasteless and heavy on the condiments. Then again, two cocktails in and you’ll just about forgive anything.

Price: from £2.50 (toast & jam) to £9 (full breakfast). Cocktails from £7 (Bloody Mary).

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February 1, 2014 · 8:11 pm