For once the navy is my savior, they take me on their routine visit to the area. Walking to the pier its cold and the first snow has painted the hills white, but otherwise its sunny and no wind, not what I imagined being just north of Cape Horn. After a few hours I see red roofs and a few houses painted in different colors. The navy ship is too big to dock at the pier, so they have to anchor and drop me with the dingy at the pier. A constant noise of an engine fills my ears, the generator provides electricity to the sixteen families who live here: some fishermen and some police. Once it was the lands of the indigenous Yagan, but very few remain and none in Puerto Toro.
On my way out is to my surprise the pier full of boats, they are from the region and came to rest for a few hours. With ropes around their bodies they walk towards me, they look rougher then the weather today.
The end of the world
How to imagine the end of the world? Where the land ends and the seas continue, where the weather is rough and getting colder and colder. There is this last village in the southern hemisphere. They call it Puerto Toro, the port of the bull. To get there is not easy; only once a month a ferry serves the town and of course the departure that just passed.
