Draining the old sea monster

Ladies and gentlemen, one would have never thought it possible, that they'd be able to survive on something that needs to float, but alas it's true! Argentines have taken to sea. Not just one either, but 120 vessels took to open waters from Buenos Aires to Punta del Este, in the Democratic People's Republic of Uruguay (DPRU). One of these Argentine seadogs told me they've been doing this for quite a while without anyone outside the Plata estuary ever taking notice or caring.

The chance to embark with a prehistoric people in their neolithic vessels seemed like the kind of adventure a Western social scientist would die for, so I immediately requested passage with one of the crews. Having been here for a few months my language skills are of course unparalleled being there only minor glitches in communication with these primitive sailors. It is really a testament to American education. The vessel belonged to the father, the son informed me. It would be just the three of us and the boat, they promised, was the jewel of the River. I hope these words were hastily spoken.

I know Charley woulda had a word about this exploit. Same thing he told me when somebody foolishly mailed him a cruise trip on a Mississippi steamboat for Veteran's Day.

"Yee ain' gawn see me on naw Satn' boat. Ah lahckeet dra with mah church and mah cornfiel' das rite!"

Charley only likes two types of gifts: socks and calendars. His rage was such that he didn't even have words for the postal service, which he hates with fervor. A boat full of Argentines? Can't fathom what he would've thought of me.

Stranger sea rites must not have been performed by the ancient Greeks while requesting safe passage. My skipper was fearfully adamant about me appearing at "Prefectura Naval Argentina" where shoddily uniformed lawmen demanded all sorts of information about our trip and scribbled illegibly on a piece of parchment. The parchment was then stowed away into a metal cabinet with tons of similar scrolls that remained untouched since the day they were stowed. Clearly this information was never to be reviewed again so let me hypothesize that the gray box was some kind of vessel for divine offerings. This I call the "God-Box Hypothesis." They would later make known their intention to drink my blood to steal US naval secrets. I narrowly saved my life convincing them that the US is a landlocked country with no navigable bodies of water.

Such behavior was hardly surprising. Argentine recreational activities are marred with superstitious ritual. For example, the coach of their national soccer team is an overweight leprechaun who is supposed to possess "The Hand of God" and even though the Argentine team has the most stars and top ranked players in the world it only barely qualified to the world cup, boasting what can only be described as neo-abstract forms of tactical formulation. Their faith in the leprechaun seems stronger than ever.

Thus commenced our sea adventure, a 180 nautical mile regatta of the third world in a 30ft raft with no mainsail outhaul or boom vang. My appreciation for the Polynesian peoples has grown exponentially. The first night was a clear indication that their confidence in divine offering was misplaced. Nature unleashed 30kt winds to express its malcontent and made it a headwind just to fuck with us. As I screamed to the skipper-man, while reefing the main, that I don't get sea sick the gods decided to punish me by piercing the gas-oil tank which promptly inundated the cabin with its perfume. It became impossible to sleep down below. My naps, when not on steering shift were spent napping in the cockpit with waves splashing over me but at least not getting stoned on diesel. Such was my first lesson on rickety third world craft.

The rest of the 38 hour experience was a rather pleasurable mixture of scenic Uruguayan coast, close encounters with commercial vessels lacking proper navigation lights and a glorious final approach to Punta del Este in the AM with a rising sun and 18kts of broad reach.

Our port of call, a peninsula where the tribal leaders of South America spend their summer seems to have been fortified to keep at bay the communist overlord who took over Uruguay. Therefore the Principality of Punta del Este conserves the glamor of the 70's and 80's. I am sure you all would have enjoyed it very much.