THE END of the world is much closer than you might think. It's only a few hours away, in fact.
The Celtic Tenors had performed at the annual fund-raising event for the Irish-American Association in San Diego, a night which successfully raised a million dollars for the Special Olympics, and the next day were heading for Ushuaia, Tierra del Fuego, the southernmost town on the planet, known, without a hint of irony, as "the end of the world".
Thankfully, we were flying business class all the way - not always the case - and on the overnight flight I found myself sitting next to Ivana Trump, or an older blonde lady doing an excellent impersonation. She was extremely glamorous for 70, all nips and tucks and Chanel suits. "My husband doesn't like it when I drink," she said as she demanded another Martini. "He says I get loud andobnoxious." Soon she was telling me her life story and trying to set me up with her daughter. She passed out before I got her phone number, and then I had to make do with the far less entertaining in-flight movies.
The Argentinians had the right idea; in the past, they used the desolate town of Ushuaia as a penal colony for their very worst criminals. This was the next port of call for a round-the-world cruise ship which we were boarding for five days as the ship sailed north along the Chilean Fjords to Santiago. During that time, we were to give two concerts. As we waited for the ship to arrive, I bought some local handcrafts, wine and clothes, but still didn't manage to part with more than $50.
Like most Irish people, I have an obsessive fascination with the comparative cheapness of foreign countries. Here, however, I felt like I could buy the whole town and stay within my Visa limit. The ship was the very last word in luxury, a floating six-star hotel. After we were shown to our individual suites, I went exploring and found a concert hall, a cinema, a casino, a pool, gym, tennis courts and at least three restaurants - one of which, I was later to discover, served first-class Thai fusion food.
A discreet note on my bed informed me that dinner that evening was formal dress, so I rushed to the guest laundry to try to remove some of my traveller's creases. While there, I met a helpful lady from Florida - most of the American guests were retired and living in Florida - who seemed to be enthusiastically washing and ironing for the whole ship, including the staff. She took my laundry and told me to come back in an hour, by which time it was all nicely cleaned and folded, even my smalls.
SOON I found myself standing on deck in my best suit, sipping champagne cocktails as the ship passed through the Beagle Channel where Charles Darwin sailed on his voyage to discover the origin of the species, watching electric-blue glaciers named after European countries (Ireland was the small over-priced one) and thinking the end of the world wasn't that bad after all. Cruise companies have to be very imaginative as they dream up entertainment for their captive audiences.
One morning, I was surprised to read in my ship's newspaper of an onboard auction. Dropping in for a visit, I turned out to be the only person there and soon found myself bidding feverishly (against myself) for a lovely modern picture by Dodsworth. I staggered out victorious with the huge fully-framed work in my arms, wondering how I would get it through airport customs and all the way back to Ireland in one piece.
Since the ship did most of its sailing at night, the days were often spent in port, giving guests an opportunity to see the country. We had arrived at the southern Chilean town of Punto Arenas and, rather than go on an organised tour, I wandered alone up to the main square. In one corner, a man was singing and playing the guitar. A couple of local children performed a traditional dance with handkerchiefs, very gracefully choreographed, while five old women sat in a row knitting alpaca hats for sale.
As the church tower struck midday - an elaborate cascade of scales and dissonances - I saw a woman waving at me from a taxi. It was Penny, the lady who had done my laundry, and she was sporting a bright red beret. "Have you seen the penguins?" she asked. "I'm going there now. I'll pay for the cab." Ever grateful for my clean clothes, I jumped in but I soon regretted it. We took off at perilously high speed and drove for well over an hour past makeshift houses and along dirt tracks that enveloped the taxi in clouds of dust.
When we got to the penguin colony, most of the penguins weren't home. One peered out nervously from a hole in the ground. Clearly, from the mess outside his door, he had forgotten to install an en-suite. I dreaded the journey back, with the incessant monologue from beneath that red beret. Next time I have a free afternoon in PuntoArenas, I must remembernot to spend it withPenny and the penguins ofPatagonia.
I spent the last day of my trip in Santiago, the capital of Chile. I took a ride on a rickety old cable car at San Cristobal Hill which gave me an amazing view of the Andes as they tower above the sprawling city.
Much to my surprise, I was missing the ship. I simply didn't know what I would do when I opened my wardrobe at home and the lights failed to come on by themselves. Who would deftly place luxury chocolate between the paws of my teddy bear? Would I feel the need to dress for dinner as I sat with a tray on my knee watching Fair City? I wondered to myself if maybe I had become institutionalised by the six-star treatment. Perhaps it was time to get a pair of white shoes and retire to Florida.