The Falkland Islands

I thought that I would never visit the Falkland Islands, so I did not know what to expect. Certainly the history books that I have read did not prepare me for what I saw and experienced.

I was up before six am to gain some good views as we anchored. My resolution on this holiday has been to maximise all opportunities. This morning I was rewarded with a great sunrise, and spectacular views of Port Stanley, a metropolis of 2,000 people. The landscape is very similar to the Scottish Highlands, bare mountains, no trees, with much exposed moorland and sea lochs.

Stanley has a narrow harbour so tour transfer was by tender, effectively the ship’s lifeboats. After a ten minute ride we reached the quayside and the “Welcome to Falklands” sign, I was disappointed that there was no mention of their twin town, Whitby, North Yorkshire.

I was taking the tour of the battlefield, although I had read the Max Hastings and Simon Jenkins history, nothing prepared me for the isolation of the settlements and the fact that places mentioned in the war were often no more than three or four houses. Our guide was very knowledgeable from an old Falkland’s family who had lived through the war. It is the war of 1982 that shapes the whole of the Island. Everybody refers back to it while geopolitically it means they cannot have a relationship with their nearest neighbour. Instead anything urgent has to be transacted with Chile. Meanwhile the Islands have now achieved prosperity thanks to the sale of fishing licences, netting £200 million a year. I must investigate if any of this helps to fund and maintain the British military presence of 1400 on the island. In other ways the island is throwback to Britain. All red phone boxes, post boxes and driving on the correct side of the road.

About an hour out of Stanley along gravel roads we visited Bluff Cove where the troop ships Sir. Galahad and Sir. Tristram were sunk by the Argentine Air Force. It is a beautiful, remote cove that is absolutely tranquil. The poignancy comes from the two war memorials at the edge of the water. It is very hard to imagine the horrors of the war that took place here.

We then went to the village of Fitzroy for coffee. Village is an overestimate only fourteen people live here. It amused me the catering was in the village hall; in the corner was the door to the bar, for “members only”, as if random members of the public were going to turn-up at the door. As we drove back to Stanley are we followed the advance of the British soldiers across hugely inhospitable terrain, ending in the mountains that encircle Stanley. Again it was obvious that the mountains were a formidable obstacle for the British against a well dug-in defence force. I gained a perspective of the war that I did not have before.

Stanley is very small; I looked in the supermarket that was full of Waitrose branded goods but shopped for local beer without success. So I was forced to stop in the Globe Inn where I drank a pint of the local beer, Iron Maiden. It was an unexceptional American style IPA. Again no success at buying a bottle of the local brew. Along the harbour front was the mast of the original Great Britain that had lain in Stanley until it was salvaged in 1970.

Then it was back to the boat and out on deck to watch the departure from Stanley. I saw penguins swimming beside the boat and a couple of albatrosses following. The expedition staff on the boat are extremely knowledgeable and give really good advice. I would go so far as to say that they make a real difference to the experience. So now I have some tips for capturing birds in my viewfinder.

This evening after a lovely dinner we watched a stunning sunset as we head south to Antarctica. The Captain has said that we should expect a reasonable crossing of the Drake Passage, so here’s crossing our fingers.