Chile

December 4–5, 7–9, 12, 2012

One of the three convenient ways to get to the South Pole is through Chile (the other two are through South Africa or New Zealand).

Punta Arenas

I never thought I’d end up in this Southern Chilean city once again. Almost nothing has changed here. It’s sort of like finding yourself at a train station where your train once randomly stopped ten years ago and knowing where the snack bar is.

The city is filled with people either preparing to go to Antarctica or returning from there.

There are dogs of strange shaggy breeds everywhere. They resemble the local trees, which grow in conditions of constant wind.

The wonderful local traffic lights.

An excessively informative pedestrian crossing light. You’d assume that these days everyone knows what the countdown numbers next to the red signal mean. But here, the sign specifies: “Wait time for green pedestrian signal.”

Newfangled LED blinkers on striped poles at pedestrian crossings. There are only a couple of these in the city so far.

Street signs with traffic one-wayness indicators.

A pedestrian road.

Oh, and speaking of pedestrians. Tactile pavers for the visually impaired are made of concrete here, and in places where their path crosses over public utility manholes, the tactile pattern continues on the manhole covers. Simply brilliant.

A trash dumpster.

A prim, expensive trash can.

A less fancy trash can.

The no-frills Chilean license plate.

Some kind of obligatory certificate on every windshield.

Rugged southern beauty.

Nicely manicured trees on an unkempt boulevard.

A fire hydrant.

A payphone.

The main form of public transportation in Punta Arenas is the taxi colectivo, or share taxi, which is just a regular passenger car here.

Expensive alcohol (anything more expensive than a bottle of beer, that is) is sold on supermarket shelves as empty boxes. After you pay for your purchase at the register, someone brings the bottle from the stockroom and puts it in your box.

Flights from Punta Arenas to Antarctica are carried out on an Ilyushin Il-76 cargo plane, obtained on the down low from Kazakhstan by American Mormons in the early 1990s. The crew is, naturally, Russian.

Santiago

I spent two days in hotels and layovers here, but was too lazy to go out and take photos—it was either dark out or I wanted to sleep.