Seabourn Quest had two very busy days when she was in Fort Lauderdale on November 21 and 22. On both evenings, the ship rolled out the red carpet and hosted hundreds of travel agents and their clients for special poolside cocktail receptions, dinners and shows. The ship also welcomed local government and port officials onboard for a traditional plaque and key ceremony to commemorate the ship’s inaugural call to Port Everglades. Here are a few pictures from the two days on Seabourn Quest. You can see more photos on our Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/Seabourn.

Port Everglades Director Phil Allen, Florida State Representative Hazelle Rogers and Seabourn Quest Captain Magnus Bengtsson

Carnival Corporation & plc Chairman and CEO Micky Arison, Seabourn President Richard Meadows and Miami Heat President Pat Riley

Guests enjoy a beautiful evening under the stars onboard Seabourn Quest!

Seabourn Quest’s maiden transatlantic voyage naturally included a number of “firsts” for the ship and her crew. Among these, none was more eagerly anticipated than the traditional on-deck Tug of War featuring teams from the various onboard crew departments. On Friday, November 18, guests assembled on deck to witness the titanic struggle, and some formed cheering sections for their favorite teams. The event was hosted by Captain Magnus Bengtsson and Cruise Director Handre Potgeiter. Teams were fielded by the pursers department,entertainment,  bar staff, housekeeping utilities and stewardesses, restaurant brigade and carpenters. After much straining and grimacing, the bar team “the Fuzzy Labels” experienced the thrill of victory. For the rest– the agony of defeat.

Stewardess team "Aristocats" put their backs into it.

The entertainment team pulls against the carpenters

Champion Fuzzy Labels' patented pot-banging rally technique

Captain Bengtsson starts the final pull

I am Bruce Good, Seabourn’s director of public relations. I am currently sailing aboard Seabourn Sojourn on a Patagonian Passage East from Valparaiso, Chile to Buenos Aires, Argentina. It’s a region I’ve always wanted to visit, and I thought I’d blog from here to let you know what it’s like. Hope you enjoy it.

The penultimate day of my Patagonian Passage voyage was a half-day visit to the capital of Uruguay. After weeks of marveling at albatrosses, petrels and shearwaters, this morning I looked out the window from my treadmill and saw a standard-issue urban pigeon flapping by! We cruised up the wide La Plata river and soon the skyline of Montevideo hove into sight. The port was busy, even on Sunday, the cranes ceaselessly lifting containers from one end of the huge cargo ships and setting new ones at the other end. I had been to Monte several times, although that was a long time ago. I didn’t book any excursions here, although there are some good ones. I planned to walk into town and try to get some pictures of the vintage architectural details in the old town, which I remembered fondly from a couple of decades ago. The helpful tourism person gave me a good map and pointed out the well-marked pedestrian streets that criss-cross the old town to and from the main Independence Square. I should mention that we are now officially back in summer. The weather is balmy and the sun is bright. I walked along the streets, lined with shops mostly closed but quite a number of street vendors of everything from fresh produce to hand-crafted jewelry and antiques. I did manage to get shots of some interesting buildings and especially entryways, but I found that since my last visit a lot of the ornate Art Nouveau and Art Deco entries had added security gates or shutters, and, this being Sunday, these were closed, so the pickings were slim. Nevertheless a few examples are below. I strolled around for a couple of hours and then went back on board, passing a Brazilian military vessel just ahead of Sojourn that had a pop combo in uniforms performing on deck, presumably for visitors. Tonight after dinner I went to my suite to, as the saying goes, “Set on my grips” to get them out for pickup later that night. After that, I sat a while on my veranda watching the play of lightning along both shores of the river as we slowly threaded our way through the tortuous channels between Montevideo and Buenos Aires.

Next morning, I woke early and prepared to disembark. I had hoped to visit the incredible Natural History Museum in nearby La Plata, which is filled with huge fossil skeletons of dinosaurs and prehistoric beasts such as mastodons and the giant ground sloths and tank-sized armadillos that once roamed the Pampas. But it was Monday and the place was closed. So I opted for a “Day with the Gauchos and airport transfer” which would give me a different experience before my 10:15 PM flight home. This turned out to be a fun day and a great way to say bye-bye to Argentina. We drove about 90 minutes north and west of the city into the Pampas, which our Porteño guide reminded us went on for “days and days” just like what we were seeing right now. Hernan filled the trip with information and anecdotes about Argentina, Buenos Aires and various other topics. When we finally reached the entry to the estancia, the driver missed it, and backing onto the shoulder of the two-lane road, immediately mired the wheels in mud from last night’s rain. In vain he gunned the engine, which only caused the rear to sideslip and mire deeper. Sheepishly, Hernan said we’d walk across the road and into the estancia. It wasn’t far. The estancia was lovely and pastoral, and as we walked up the drive the hostess came out and gave us each a traditional “Hola” and a peck on the cheek. She was charming and energetic, and ushered us to the house for empanadas and wine. Later we went outside and those who wished took a short ride either in a horse-drawn carriage or on horseback on the traditional gaucho saddle stacked with plenty of sheepskin. A young beef was roasting on the spit in front of an open fire, and we enjoyed a luncheon of barbecued chicken, beef, and plentiful vegetables and salads. A concert of folk music and dance followed, with opportunities to take part in both. Then we repaired to an open pasture to witness the Gaucho “games” which are contests of horsemanship and skills at hunting, droving and retrieving suspended rings from the back of a galloping horse. But probably the highlight was a demonstration of the “Indio” way of horse handling. The gaucho in question began by climbing to a standing position on the saddle of his horse. From there, he began what I can only describe as a slow, sensuous survey of his mount, touching and in some cases massaging it, revealing along the way the tremendous bond of trust and affection that he had established with the animal. This was no slouch horse. We had just seen it galloping the length of the pasture and back, and believe me, it was a good strong horse. He crawled between its back legs and forward between the front. The culmination, for me, was when he lifted the horse’s foreleg and slowly tipped it onto its side, where it lay seemingly content and trusting as he lay on top of it, curled up under its foreleg, and finally turned it onto its back and lifted its forelegs onto his shoulders, give it a kiss. It was an astonishing performance, accompanied by the soft plucking of guitar music by his associate. Later a woman from Texas was overheard to say “My father used to shoe horses, and he’d lift their legs up and put them on his legs so he could get at the shoes. But I imagine he’d say that there was just perverse!”

Equestrian statue of Jose Artigas, Montevideo

A street of vintage edifices, Montevideo

Faded glory, Montevideo

Gaucho "musical chairs" on horseback!

"Indio" starts his horsemanship display

Trust and respect, gaucho style

After spending nine days cruising the Atlantic Ocean from Europe, the new Seabourn Quest made its maiden arrival in the U.S., arriving into Port Everglades at Fort Lauderdale, Fla., early on the morning of November 21, 2011.

Seabourn Quest will be docked for two nights in Port Everglades, where it will roll out the red carpet and host local travel agents and their clients for a special dinner and show on both nights.

“Since her Europe debut in the summer, Seabourn Quest has received many rave reviews and positive feedback from guests, travel agents and press alike,” said Richard Meadows, Seabourn’s president.  “We are very proud to show her off to agents and their clients in South Florida, so that they can see what the excitement has been all about in recent months.”

Following the two nights in Port Everglades, Seabourn Quest will operate a series of 13- and 14-day roundtrip Caribbean cruises from Ft. Lauderdale. On Jan. 5, 2012, Seabourn Quest will embark on its 109-day Maiden World Cruise on a unique eastbound course via South America, South Africa, the Indian Ocean, Southeast Asia, the Middle East, and the Mediterranean. The voyage ends in Venice, Italy on April 23, 2012.  Limited space is available for guests wishing to book segments on the World Cruise.

I am Bruce Good, Seabourn’s director of public relations. I am currently sailing aboard Seabourn Sojourn on a Patagonian Passage East from Valparaiso, Chile to Buenos Aires, Argentina. It’s a region I’ve always wanted to visit, and I thought I’d blog from here to let you know what it’s like. Hope you enjoy it.

One of the nice things about this itinerary is its pacing, with relaxing days at sea interspersed between the compelling ports of call. I already wrote  about the scenic cruising in places such as the Chilean Fjords and the Beagle Channel. But sometimes a day at sea is…a day at sea. On those days, the ship’s staff takes extra care to schedule a lot of alternative activities for various interests. Everything from contract bridge to language and fitness classes, deck games, team trivia tournaments and much more is available throughout the day. On Seabourn, these are simply listed in the daily onboard Herald program, and guests are free to pick and choose among them and make their own way to the location at the scheduled time, without irritating PA announcements throughout the ship. On this cruise, executive chef Andrew Soddy has held two cooking demonstrations, both well attended and popular. Chef Soddy is British, with a slightly irreverent sense of humor that guests find very appealing. His first demo was a butter-poached Atlantic halibut dish garnished with clams and mussels in a casserole, followed by his award-winning lemon tart dessert that delivers lemon flavors in three or four different ways on the same plate. His second one, delivered today, concentrated on chocolate and dessert recipes, with special attention to the different ways of preparing and using caramel syrups. Recipes were handed out, as were scrumptious samples of the finished products in all cases.

One of Seabourn’s most popular day-at-sea activities is the Galley Market Buffet luncheon in The Restaurant. Guests enter to find a pair of magnificent dessert buffets center-stage in the beautiful dining room. At the back, twin buffet lines offer an impressive array of salads, cold cuts, seafood cocktails and breads and rolls. Then diners are invited “behind the swinging doors” into the galley proper, where stations have been set up serving roasted meats and fowl, fresh pastas, soups, colorful sushi and a variety of vegetables and side dishes. All told, the Galley Market is a tour de force of temptation guaranteed to please any palate.

Of course, Seabourn guests do not live by bread alone, and intellectual nutrition also finds its place during time at sea. On this cruise, we have heard from two of the top experts in their respective subjects. Dr. John Billingham is a luminary in the scientific pursuit of possible extraterrestrial life in the universe. His lectures unfailingly inspire deep thinking about how little we know and how much we wonder at our place in the grand pattern of spinning bodies in space. Anthony Maingot’s lectures on Latin America shed light on the roles, both obvious and obscure, of economic forces, military misadventures, pure happenstance and human foibles in the unfolding drama of geopolitics from century to century. On Saturday, November 19th, they participated in a fascinating roundtable discussion that had them fielding questions about their own and each other’s specialties from the audience.
As always, these and all activities on board are completely optional, and subject to the urge to simply curl up with good book, a movie on the interactive TV or just a well-deserved snooze after lunch.

Chef Andrew Soddy incorporates the caramel

Artful: Chocolate Mousse Gateau with glazed berries

Galley Market cold buffet

One of two Galley Market dessert buffets

Anthony Maingot (L) and Dr. John Billingham share a laugh with guests

I am Bruce Good, Seabourn’s director of public relations. I am currently sailing aboard Seabourn Sojourn on a Patagonian Passage East from Valparaiso, Chile to Buenos Aires, Argentina. It’s a region I’ve always wanted to visit, and I thought I’d blog from here to let you know what it’s like. Hope you enjoy it.

The entrance to Stanley Harbour is guarded by reefs of rock which intercept inbound seas and send them skyward in eruptions of white spray. Threading around these, Seabourn Sojourn made its way into the sheltered waters and found an anchorage in Port William between low-lying points tufted with dun-colored scrub and occasional outcroppings of whitish rock. In brilliant sunlight, the harbor was patterned with whitecaps and scoured by a cold, steady wind from seaward. The port itself was obscured by Cortley Hill and Navy Point, and tenders began churning through the chop to disappear around the point. The tender ride was about 15 to 20 minutes, and once around the point we could see the whole town, which is about seven streets wide at its widest point, climbing the slope above the harbor. We passed along the neat, well-kept houses, most with corrugated metal roofs painted in assertively cheerful hues of cosmetics-counter pink, canary yellow, crimson and green. The town cemetery was visible, with a memorial wood dedicated to soldiers lost in the 1982 war. Another ship, Hapag-Lloyd’s Bremen, was anchored in the harbor, and zodiacs full of passengers in red parkas and orange life vests ferried back and forth to and from the shore. We arrived at the hospitable public jetty and went ashore at the visitor’s centre. Since I had an hour before the scheduled departure of my excursion, I walked down Ross Road, the main waterside thoroughfare, and visited the Christ Church Cathedral, the southernmost Anglian church in the world, and its arch of blue whale jawbones, constructed in 1933 to commemorate 100 years of British administration. I also passed Victory Green, with a gaggle of Upland Geese grazing contentedly. Across the harbor, the names of the warships that defended the islands during the 1982 war were spelled out in white stones on Cortley Hill.

Back at the visitors’ centre, a party of 12 of us was gathered for a tour to the Rockhopper Penguin colony on Murrell Farm. We were loaded into a small coach driven by Mrs. Lisa Lowe, who owns Murrell Farm with her husband. Lisa is a cheerful woman who pointed out the town’s highlights as she drove down Ross Road and out of town. After a 20-minute drive, we pulled into the farmyard and were divided among three 4WD vehicles for the drive over the peaty moors to the colony. This entailed a 50-minute, slow crawl over a pitted and rutted countryside with deep peat bogs, presently dry, and rocky outcrops. We learned that Murrell Farm is 10,000 acres, one of the Falkland’s smallest, supporting 3,000 sheep, 60 cattle and various other animal resources. The Lowes are surprisingly self-sufficient, burning peat for heat, generating electricity with a windmill, and otherwise taking every advantage of the spare but sustainable resources of their island home. Presently we came out onto a high bluff overlooking the sea, and there, on the rocky edge of the bluff, were the penguins. A rope was stretched along the edge of the colony, a bare few feet from the penguins, beyond which we were asked not to stray. The penguins went about their business regardless, but not entirely oblivious to us. The bolder ones wandered over toward the visitors, watching carefully for any proffered bit of stick or weed that they might add to their nests. They alternately nestled affectionately or squabbled noisily with each other, and raised shrill alarums whenever one of the ever-hovering skuas got too close. They were tending their eggs, which will hatch in a matter of a couple of weeks. True to their name, they hopped artfully over the jumble of rocks that is their home. We had an hour to photograph, observe and fall in love with these irresistibly endearing birds. A small cabin nearby gave shelter from the relentless chilly wind, and offered tea and home-made cookies and cakes (by Mrs. Lowe) and souvenirs of various sorts, plus an amiable chat with the wife of the warden who tends the shop and the kettle. In hindsight it’s difficult to say which was the more satisfying, the birds or the chat, but in the brilliant sunlight, with the shining sea below and the rolling moors behind, and the endlessly engaging penguins arrayed at our very feet, the experience was everything we could have asked and much more. Just as we were about to succumb to the chilly wind, the vehicles came crawling over the peat and brought another dozen visitors. We happily took their seats and began the trip back to the farmyard. Our driver this time was Mr. Adrian Lowe, Lisa’s self-identified “second in command.” As cheerful and whip-smart as his spouse, Adrian began to recount the chores his wife does on the farm. She drives the coach and sometimes the 4x4s, bakes the cookies and cakes, cooks and cleans, hand-milks six cattle (soon the be 10), and then he began to laugh. She also herds the sheep, on her ATV with the working dogs, mends the fences, cuts the peat and makes the butter. He quickly added that he does the separating of the milk, but sheepishly admitted that it is an electric separating machine. Raised on this farm, she has done this all her life and raised five children. He laughed again and said that he personally leads trout-fishing trips, which, he said, is “very hard work.” One of us asked him whether he was born in the islands, and he said no, he was from England. And why did he decide to settle in the Falklands? He chuckled as if it were self-evident: “For the women!”

Christ Church Cathedral, Stanley

Cheerful Roofs Competition

Star attraction

A squabble

Close encounters

Loveable birds in a beautiful place

I am Bruce Good, Seabourn’s director of public relations. I am currently sailing aboard Seabourn Sojourn on a Patagonian Passage East from Valparaiso, Chile to Buenos Aires, Argentina. It’s a region I’ve always wanted to visit, and I thought I’d blog from here to let you know what it’s like. Hope you enjoy it.

The first thing one notices is the penguins. Penguins in their thousands, packed densely onto every foot of space. And the sound of them…no, wait. No sound. No smell either. How odd. Because these are not Emperor penguins, nor Adelie, nor Macaroni nor Rockhoppers. These are souvenir penguins. Penguins in every size and material, from semi-precious stone to synthetic microfiber fleece. All pleading with endearing orphan eyes for you to take them home with you. They line Avenida San Martin from end to end, aggressively, competitively on display and on sale.

Ushuaia is an outpost. It clings tenaciously to the shoreline of its bay, encircled by looming sub-Antarctic peaks and buffeted by scouring winds. It is a political statement, a colonial capital bravely hoisting its flag at The End of the World. In fact its apparent main industry is Being There. The visitors who file along the avenue dressed in expeditionary haute couture have come to the Far Corner, and they want their proof. Arrayed between the penguins are T-shirts, ball caps, parkas and sweatshirts emblazoned simply with the name. Ushuaia. I was there.

Getting there is an accomplishment, no matter how you do it. Captain Elliott asked the pilot about the weather report, and received a dismissive laugh. “Those are written by people in Buenos Aires,” he said, “who don’t know anything!”  Winds in Ushuaia’s bowl of a bay bring new meaning to the word ” fickle.” They change velocity and direction with almost demonic whimsy. Within a short time after Seabourn Sojourn was made fast to the pier, the wind came around 180 degrees and began to intensify, snugging the ship against the fenders and singing in her riggings as flags ashore snapped flat out. Many of her guests went off to explore the surroundings on shore excursions—cruising the Beagle Channel on a catamaran, trekking in the wetlands around beaver dams, riding on horseback or on the quaint little Train to the End of the World. I made a survey of Avenida San Martin, the main shopping street, perusing the penguins, liquor stores, trekking gear vendors and duty-free electronics stores. At one PM, true to its word, the town’s retail community shut down for the obligatory siesta, leaving the visitors to seek a luncheon among the variety of eating establishments. I chose an atmospheric cottage off the street called Los Pionares, and contributed to the local economy for the fare of a plate of local King crab, al natural. While I was eating, the promised rain blew in, not hard but chilly and windblown. When I finished I snugged down my cap and zipped my collar, and trudged back down to the pier. Late in the afternoon I went forward to the Observation Bar to take a look at the town. The bay was lacy with ragged, wind-blown chop and the peaks stood out against the blue sky, their grey flanks above the tree line pied with hieroglyphic patches of snow, Stepping out onto the terrace, I ventured forward of the bar and was very nearly blown off the deck. I thought to myself that the captain was going to need some help getting off the pier.

At our appointed departure time, Captain Elliott did in fact come on the PA to say that we were effectively pinned to the pier by the wind, and that there were no tugs in Ushuaia to pry us free.

We would have to wait for the wind to abate, which was prophesied in the questionable weather report to occur a few hours later. In a short half hour, we heard the engines erupt into working frequency, and Sojourn began to churn away from the pier with bow thrusters jetting water under the pier and props muddying the bay aft. Captain Elliott told us later that he sensed a lull in the wind and decided to break for it, by the time he got everything underway, the wind had come around 180 degrees and was pushing the ship away from the pier before we got all lines free, and he had to reverse and push back in to get some slack in the lines. A ticklish exit masterfully handled.

Headed for the bright lights.

Pity about the name…

A prom queen amongst the linebackers.

In the local shops, lingerie and baby shoes, go figure.

Pinned by the wind.

I am Bruce Good, Seabourn’s director of public relations. I am currently sailing aboard Seabourn Sojourn on a Patagonian Passage East from Valparaiso, Chile to Buenos Aires, Argentina. It’s a region I’ve always wanted to visit, and I thought I’d blog from here to let you know what it’s like. Hope you enjoy it.

Monday was a day of spectacles from beginning to end. The Beagle Channel is one of those classic cruising icons, along with Milford Sound, Geirangerfjord and Glacier Bay. The day started with a glorious sunrise that ignited the snow on the nearby peaks. Seabourn Sojourn was gliding along at close to 19 knots with a favorable current, as the walls of granite slid by. Terns danced above the mirror surface, dipping to pick up breakfast and raise a dimpled ring on the water.

A sea lion broke the surface and left puffs of steam as it undulated along. A pair of dolphins briefly arced alongside, but decided the pace was too energetic for them and left it. Ducks scurried toward the shoreline as the ship passed. We slid past a single house standing alone on a small flat at the base of one of the mountains. I guessed this must be home to one of the loneliest men on the planet, watching the occasional ship go by. Small glaciers began to come into view high up on the surrounding slopes. And then, in late morning, Captain Elliott announced that we were entering Glacier Alley, a passage lined with great hanging glaciers on either side. For close to an hour we dashed around on the sun deck in glorious sunshine, snapping pictures and gaping and shaking our heads in wonder at the scale, beauty and color of the ice rivers. Several had dancing waterfalls leading down over the rock at their bases. One hung off the slope in a great, blue overhanging crest, like a breaking wave in a Hokusai woodblock print.

Captain Elliott announced at his noon briefing that the weather was favorable and we would go ahead and make a run to Cape Horn. All afternoon we enjoyed the sunshine despite the chill wind. Guests were wrapped in blankets lying on the loungers beside the pool and on the terraces aft of the Club and Seabourn Square. I was in my suite reading in the late afternoon when I noticed a change in the light. I went to the veranda window and saw odd, billowing cloud formations in the distance. I got my binoculars and scanned the horizon, seeing wind-whipped waves and curtains of rain. In five minutes we were in a squall of 70-knot winds and horizontal rain. I laughed out loud. It was Cape Horn defending its reputation! “You come down here and mess with me? I’ll mess you UP!” We passed through the dark and rain for a couple of hours.

Albatrosses swirled around the ship. Then it grew calmer. We passed rugged, upthrust slabs of rocks fringed with dashing whitewater surf. Birds circled endlessly. The sun broke through in the west and lit the scene with a dramatic golden glow. Dinnertime approached but the Restaurant was nearly empty as guests stayed in the Observation Bar and near windows watching the drama outside. Finally Captain Elliott came on to announce that we were passing Cape Horn and that we could wave to the lighthouse keeper, who is on duty for a year with his wife and young son. We were less than 400 miles from Antarctica, and more than a thousand miles further south than Africa’s Cape of Good Hope or the tip of New Zealand. We lifted our flutes of Champagne in a toast to reaching another far corner of the world on our steady Seabourn Sojourn.

Morning in the Beagle Channel

The incredible hanging glacier

In Glacier Alley

Another view

Cape Horn bound

Five minutes later...

On Sunday, Seabourn Sojourn approached Punta Arenas on the Strait of Magellan. The strait was discovered, of course, by Ferdinand Magellan, who believed it was the long-sought passage westward to India. It was of limited value to sailing ships, however, due to strong contrary currents and limited fetch for tacking into the wind. As for the wind, it greeted us at Punta Arenas in all its notorious strength. The waters were whipped by gusts in the range of 50 knots, and although the sun was brilliant, the chill was penetrating. The picture of the tug escorting us to the dock tells the story. Captain Elliott carefully brought the ship alongside, although it required some extra muscle from the tugs to get her snug to the fenders. Once there, he also used extra lines to secure here against the gale blowing straight on her beam. At last the gangway was secured and those of us participating the 11-hour tour to Torres del Paine National Park sprinted to the coach for the airport.

Torres del Paine was a big part of why I chose this itinerary. I had gazed at pictures of the massif for years, and it was one site I really wanted to see before I shuffle off this mortal coil. The Torres (Towers) are granite peaks that rise sheer against the sky, surrounded by lower but equally impressive black shale peaks called the Cuernos or Horns. The derivation of the name Paine (pron. PIE-nay), like a lot of things Chilean, seems to be the subject of some controversy.  The most logical explanation seems to be that the word means “blue” in the native Mapuche language, and refers to the river of that name that feeds several lakes in the massif. The towers themselves are pink granite.

Our quest began with a flight from Punta Arenas airport over the flat wetlands to Puerto Natales, at the mouth of a huge glacial valley. We were 28 souls on the brilliantly painted motorcoach, as we turned up this valley and drove by broad pasturelands nestled between smooth, rounded hills of glacial moraine dotted with beef cattle and sheep. At their tops, the hills broke with tilted strata of rock obviously thrust up above the reach of the ancient glaciers. At one point, our guide spotted a condor in flight, and we stopped to watch it. To our surprise and delight, it continued to glide directly toward us, and finally began to settle into a pasture just off the road. At that point, we noticed several others already on the ground, and it became apparent that they were homing into some sort of carrion, which is their sole source of food. We stopped the coach, quietly got out and snapped pictures of a rare close encounter with a whole flock of Andean condors. Our November visit is prime time for condor sightings, since it is early lambing season in the region, and the quantity of lambs that die shortly after birth provide a bounty for the birds. Further on, we saw a Buzzard Eagle flying on the ridge, another bird that takes advantage of carrion for food.   A bit further on we came across the first small herd of guanacos. These handsome animals are the largest of the wild South American camellids. They are protected here and largely indifferent to vehicles of people. We had a number of opportunities to observe and photograph them at close range throughout the day, including one instance where they were grazing along with a few rheas, one of South America’s native ostriches. We entered the Torres del Paine National Park and moved ever closer to the massif. However the clouds were being coy with us, engaging in a sort of meteorological Dance of the Seven Veils, revealing just enough to keep us excited, but not everything. After pausing at the requisite photo locations for “insurance shots” in case the weather deteriorated, we repaired to a lovely restaurant on a lake island for lunch. A repast of barbecued lamb (no surprise, but delicious), potatoes and vegetables, accompanied by a nice Chilean wine followed. We then headed back toward the massif. A stop was made for a short walk to a rushing cascade, and we made one last pass by the veiled massif. It was magnificent even in its reluctance, but the clouds would not relent. We started back down the valley toward our Sojourn “home.”  Again we passed through the soft, feminine undulations of the moraine valley, so different from the polished, muscular granite walls of the fjords.  If you had asked me whether I would have been disappointed had I not been able to see the towers before I went, I would have said yes. So I went and the towers were next to invisible, was I disappointed? Perhaps a little. Do I regret the trip? Absolutely not. We saw an amazing amount of wildlife, some astonishing scenery and spent some unforgettable time in the presence of the massif itself.

A windy morning in Punta Arenas.

Our “jumbo” plane to Puerto Natales.

Andean condors’ picnic on the lawn.

Guanacos at Torres del Paine

The elusive Cuernos del Paine

Getting the shot

I am Bruce Good, Seabourn’s director of public relations. I am cruising the Patagonian Passage East aboard Seabourn Sojourn, from Valparaiso, Chile to Buenos Aires, Argentina, and blogging as we proceed.

About mid-day Friday we re-entered the protected channels and fjords that provide a dramatic course southward along the Chilean coast. All afternoon we cruised between massive humps and walls of glacier- polished granite. The scale is beyond my photographic skills to capture, so I won’t bore you with the dozens of images I gathered hoping for the perfect one. The image below I hope conveys some of the Wagnerian character of the rocks—rippled and muscular, furred with scrubby vegetation wherever there are crevasses, and tinseled with lacy ribbons of cascades from the mists above. I had the album Le Mystere des Voix Bulgares on my iPod, and the majestic harmonies and wild, rustic timbre of the women’s voices made the perfect soundtrack for the passing splendor. Just at dinner-time, we cut back west toward the Pacific, and as we encountered the first vigorous swells of the open sea, we passed a huge flock of seabirds, albatrosses, fulmars and shearwaters, bobbing at rest in loose rafts on the rolling silver swells or wheeling effortlessly in lazy circles and figure-eights in the frigid, whistling wind, their wingtips just inches above the waves.

First thing on Saturday, I noticed that we were lying still in the water. I went to the veranda doorway and swept back the drape to a glowing blue expanse of glacier right outside. The clouds hovered over the tops of the peaks, and a shining river of ice curved down the valley toward the glacier face and the sea. The weather was perfect for glacier viewing, with low clouds masking the glare and bringing out the myriad blue colors. Amalia glacier is just one of the numerous ice-flows that make up Chile’s Los Glaciares National Park. Captain Elliott slowly turned Seabourn Sojourn in the ice-littered bay, and sent a team off to gather in a small berg to bring back aboard. Again I am suitably humble about my photography, but I hope the images convey even a hint of how magnificent the sight was. After a while, we left Amalia astern as we threaded our way back down the channels of the incredibly gorgeous and unspoiled Chilean Fjords. Tonight we turn eastward into the Strait of Magellan.

Along the Chilean Fjords

Amalia Glacier from my veranda

Amalia Glacier's "river of ice"