Du Hast

The Germans, Austrians and French - the last of whom is our first mate, and a lady, Pascale, contrary to my assumption of a Frenchmen - are on boat to Puerto Williams, home of our yacht, Santa Maria Australis. This boat is a 20 person passanger ferry, packing a pair of V8 Yam´s (Urgfh, Urgfh, Urfgh.) The Germans have opened proceedings by christening the voyage with a bottle of scotch, which we pass and swig like family - some backwater, misfit, crooked family. We are merry bunch. Other than Pascale, all fall somewhere between twice and thrice my age. We briefly chase a few whales with partial success and come almost uncomfortably close to a hundred year old shipwreck.

Pt. Williams.
Photo: Frithjof Behne

We're greeted on arrival by Wolf and are introduced to Williams, a naval base town of 2000-and-something people. It's a quaint, quiet little town, where roving packs of both dogs and horses roam wild and free. We're not leaving today, so hit the museum and later enjoy chips and sliced frankfurter sausages to the sounds of CCR, which later transpires to be on a loop. We like CCR and chips and sliced frankfurters.

The conversation is ninety-five percent German, of which I can follow some five percent. The key pieces are translated for me. Verner, a German, asks permission to tell an Austrian joke. It's very well recieved in both it's native German, then broken English versions.

An Austrian astronaut is sent into space with a monkey. When in orbit, both open an envelope containing their mission instructions. The monkey opens his envelope. The instructions are to grow a range of plants and study their progress, to build and repair navigation instruments, and to dock their space craft with the International Space Station. The Austrian astronaut opens his envelope. His instructions: "Feed the monkey three times each day."

Terrific.