The bleached trees poked out of the ground like crooked matchsticks, cluttering the land, like unfinished business. We were speeding across the semi-cleared scrubland beyond Puerto Natales, the landscape a drab olive green carpet rolling away to low mountain ranges in the distance, wild thatches of lupine flowers in vivid shades of pink and violet along the roadside providing the only contrast.

And large corporate sheep station estancias appeared as we turned southwest, tracking the bluff shoreline of Magellan Strait; we had reached the end of the South American mainland, and all that lay between us and Antarctica now was the islands of Tierra Del Fuego.

Ramshackle huts dotted the hillsides outside Punta Arenas before we hit the industrial belt including the old "Standard Wool Co." building, pointing towards the history of the place as one the major wool exporting regions of the world. And entering the city proper, driving along the main avenue, the houses appeared more English bungalow than the Chilean fortresses we'd seen in other towns.

Disorientated at first, we soon found our bearings then our lodgings - an old English style country house with Drawing Room, Library, Sitting Room and large Dining Room downstairs. Upstairs rooms ran in all directions from a central landing, ours a large sun room with windows along 2 walls - the only problem being that so far south the sun rose at an un-godly hour and didn't set until after 11pm...

Run by a cheerful Chilean crew, it was also centrally located, opposite UNIMAC, the ubiquitous Chilean supermarket chain. Tomorrow had been unanimously voted a mandatory rest day: I skipped over to the supermarket in the twilight, stocked up on junk food and settled in with Adam and Felix for a cable TV marathon...

And of course there were the usual chores to do, the load lightened somewhat with Adam's unconventional approach to personal hygiene -
me: "Anything to wash?"
him: "No"
me: "Really!?! It's been days, surely you have some dirty clothes??"
him: "Yeah, I took a shower in El Chalten [4 days and 2 treks ago] and I've got six pairs of socks, leave me alone, I'm watching 2 and a Half Men".
Silence.

We did venture out, however, climbing to a lookout above town for a bird's eye view of Punta Arenas: colourful tin roofs, church spires and the port itself with the Straits brooding in the background.

The town had grown on us too, with a large tree-lined plaza surrounded by historic buildings in gothic-baroque style. Watched over by a star gazing Ferdinand Magellan it also seemed to have a magnetic pull on both Adam and Felix, drawn here by the groups of young people (especially girls) who congregated here in an age old ritual. We strolled along the nearby mall, impressed by the modern colourful shops and range of stock on display - this was a prosperous town.

And it was hard no to compare the two countries - at least superficially, for although they they shared common themes and arguably singular origins, they were today distinctively different. For us Chile seemed far more homogenous with a much grater consistency in physical appearance than their counterparts in Argentina where there was still a clear divide between the Europeans and the indigenous people. And perhaps as an extension, Chile felt more insular and closed, maybe shy pride? For they were certainly confident and prosperous in the main but in the towns their houses were built tight, sitting cheek by jowl, plain and flat fronted, abutting the pavement; sturdy castles, whereas in Argentina there was a sense of openness and frivolity, a lightness of touch and a more homely, inviting street vista. Yet, despite being far smaller and much less populated, not to mention the geographical "challenges" of being a thin slice of mountainous territory 10 times longer than wide, Chile's per-capita GDP was rapidly catching that of Argentina. The shock therapy of peso-fication in 2002 also contributed to Argentina's laggard status and today Chile attracts more foreign direct investment, another signal of future prospects and potential.

Injecting a little more foreign investment ourselves, we took a boat trip to Isla Magdalena, a huge penguin rookery on an uninhibited island, some 30-40 kms north east of Punta Arenas in the Magellan Strait. A totally barren clump of dirt and rocks in the middle of the Straits, it is home to over a quarter of a million Magellanic Penguins (yes, that's 250,000 penguins). And as we approached in our aptly named barge "Crux Australis", it was as if they had all come to greet us, the dirt hills heaving as if covered in a living black and white carpet.

We watched as they burrowed, picked down from young coats, squabbled, fed their young or just stood bolt upright enjoying the sun. And with THAT waddling walk, we couldn't help feel an affinity with these communal creatures unperturbed by our presence. We also ran into our Jewish troupe again, where it appeared that their own mother hen had not stopped clucking over her brood since we had parted ways at Torres Del Paine days earlier. And she wasn't even tired.

Desperate for some cultural stimulation I dragged Adam and Felix along to the Salesian Museum, a wonderful place where - if you could get past the overt proselytising zeal - there were some real treasures at hand, such as magnificent stuffed pumas and guanacos, a replica model of The Beagle and artefacts from the early days of European activity - including the Salesians own meteorological observatory (the first in the region) and the ingenious efforts in constructing and re-building the simple Christian monument that stands at Cape Froward (the southernmost point on the mainland of South America). The cheesiest item was a three metre tall sheepskin "throne" built for the Pope's visit in 1987...

We had a greasy dinner at a 24hr bar-cum-diner and fell into bed feeling slightly queasy.

Our last bus ride was our longest and most interesting - punctuated by the barge trip over the swirling waters of the Straits of Magellan, crossing the Argentinian-Chile frontier yet again and an anxious bus change in the rather grim and over-hyped Rio Grande. We'd finally made it to Tierra Del Fuego - so named due to the smoke and fires (lit by the locals in the forests and thought to be a trap) first observed by Magellan and his crew in 1520. But today the land was flat, loamy and dry at the shoreline, graduating to bald rolling hills and marginal pastureland.

Beyond Rio Grande we struck inland again, re-entering our more familiar Patagonian wonderland of soaring snow capped peaks, verdant forests (incredibly, still possible this far south), lakes and white water.

Ushuaia was another pretty word we never tired of saying. OOOSH - AHHH - WAY - AHHH; soothing and smooth, like the sound of the breeze in the tree tips at night. And this was another prosperous town, albeit due to special tax treatment and a constant stream of wealthy tourists, deposited by the flotilla of exotic cruise ships that plied these waters.

We enjoyed a celebratory dinner in the town's finest parilla (steak house) and toasted our success in reaching the much vaunted "la ciudad en el fin del mundo" or in English, "the city at the end of the world". We reflected upon the highs and lows, the challenges and tribulations, the laughs and thankfully none of the tears. Felix and I took a vote on "the girl most likely" for Adam and we each ordered and ate our favourite ice creams before climbing the steep hill to our Swiss cottage lodge - our last triple share (for this trip at least).

THE END