Friday the 13th; what a lucky day. We were scheduled to call at Cartagena, Colombia, but Cartagena has closed its port to passengers. Freight only. So we sailed on, and our stalwart captain, bless him, found us a welcome at Aruba in what used to be the Netherlands Antilles just north of Venezuela.

The question arises, “What happens when the weather is really putrid but you’re calling at a port?”

The answer is, nothing.

We arrived this morning on schedule at Puerto Montt (Montt was a local revolutionary hero) and dropped anchor.

Again I am having a horrid time trying to get online and stay on. I burned through 480 minutes of internet time mostly sitting and waiting for Yahoo or something. Now I’m started on the second 480 minutes. It is most frustrating.

Remember I was commenting on how empty of traffic the South Atlantic is? Sunday morning I looked off my balcony and there were three tankers in a row. Wait, There were four. No, five. No...in the end I counted 13 and then a few more appeared on the horizon. A convoy?

Cruise ships are parked beside the city’s container ship depot and you can walk three blocks into the old city. There are plazas every few blocks with grass and trees. And birds. Queen Victoria never did come through with a private bird tour, but I did pretty darn good on my own for free.

We will be at sea for the next two days and then some. What in heavens name does one blog about for two whole days when there’s nothing out there except an extensive supply of horizon?