Fogbound at Calleo

Woken up this morning to the sound of bells ringing. Nothing to do with Quasimodo though. We were stranded off Callao harbour. It was very interesting and haunting to stand on the fo’c’sle and listen to the sounds of the foghorns from the various ships sounding like large prehistoric bovine creatures calling to each other across the still and largely unseen water. Eventually, the port authorities relented, and let us make our way gingerly across the misty water to dock at Callao.

Passengers were let off at about 11, though I, myself, have port manning, though I may get out this evening. Callao isn’t really my idea of a good time. I like South America very much, but possibly Peru isn’t my most liked country. That privilege would go to Argentina closely followed by Chile.

The last few days have been ordinary South America ones. Manta on the 12th, where I got off with Bob and Cade, and Sebastian, the lighting operator. Sebastian turned out to be a thoroughly nice chap, and very good company. Salaverry thoroughly lived up to my Peruvian expectations, as a bit of a shithole. Bob, Cade, Bram Glick and I wandered around, had some extremely ordinary chicken. (To Cade’s disappointment, the Inca Cola was warm).

The company has supplied my flight details. Little disappointed. Not only do I leave before I wanted (would have liked to have one final night in Buenos Aires with the boys, but instead I’m leaving at 12.05am on the 5th), but it’s $300 more than Princess charged me last year for the same flight, it’s on my least favourite airlines (American and United), and I have a 12 hour layover in LAX. Oh well. I’ll get a hotel and pamper myself a bit I think. Decided on the Hacienda as very close, and seems very good.