Part 1: My Dream: Antarctica:  http://open.salon.com/content.php?cid=89071

Part 2: Falklands and Toward Antarctica: http://open.salon.com/content.php?cid=89978

Part 3: Arrived in Antarctica:  http://open.salon.com/content.php?cid=91141 

Part 4: Coming back up from Antarctica,  with surprises ahead.

Day 9
We enter the 600 mile stretch of water separating Antarctica from Cape Horn, the southern tip of the Tierra del Fuego archipelago at the bottom of South America -- perhaps the worst water passage on earth. Storms can intensify the westerly winds and whip the sea into massive, fast-moving swells unhindered by landmass.

A larger vessel than our 700-passenger Azamara Journey just lost 12 windows in these waters, but coming up from Antarctica we have no choice. During the night the ship dips and rolls, and to stop imagining what lies at the bottom of the sea I awaken at 5 am, hand wash some panties (beats whistling in the dark), then fall back asleep till 10 am. When I wake up, the worst is over and I didn’t get seasick. I heart that patch.

Midday, dead ahead, Cape Horn looms ever closer on the horizon, and the waters get really rough for about an hour – the Atlantic and Pacific battling each other in the Drake Passage. As we make it past, Captain Leif congratulates us as new “Horners.” Traditionally, sailors are entitled to the bragging rights of a gold earring in their left ear and a tattoo of a full-rigged ship. I settle for a certificate and a Cosmo.

Days 10-18

The rest of this remarkable solo cruise on the Azamara Journey is a succession of interesting land tours and ever-warmer days at sea as we head north. My steward brings me a rose on a solo Valentine’s Day, but unknown to me, romance lies ahead.

Ushuaia, Argentina- The Andes rise above “the world’s southernmost city.” Several museums to visit, and wild Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego to hike, but I’m a wildlife fan in more ways than one, so choose to ply the Canal Beagle on a catamaran. Darwin found this waterway while voyaging to the Galapagos; thus the channel was named after his ship. I closely view sea lions, sea elephants, penguins and look-alike black and white cormorants (they can fly; penguins can’t).

Sea Elephant

Back on ship, we dine along the Chilean fjords, viewing six huge glaciers and cascading water on our way to the Magellan straits. The last big ice we will see on this cruise, and an awesome backdrop in the fading light.

Puerta Arenas, Chile- This southernmost continental town’s fierce Patagonia winds can force residents to hold onto ropes along the streets. I again opt for wildlife, and drive two hours to view penguin colonies. A couple of hundred birds hang out, but disappointing.

In late afternoon a Japanese whaling boat docks alongside the ship. I see the lifts that hoist whales from the sea and the cavity to store the mammals. Several of us wonder whether any of the majestic creatures we’ve admired along the way will wind up butchered. Seeing that ship right after seeing the whales makes me sad.

But there is an antidote. A long-haired English comedian named Mike Goddard, who used to tour with the Beatles, has just come aboard, and entertains us with drollery. Classical musicians and small revues have been fine, but with all this awesome scenery we’re ready for some yuks.

At Sea- Last night dozens of us gathered at midnight on the top deck to observe a total eclipse of the full moon above the South Atlantic. The Milky Way, which I rarely see anymore, spreads across the black sky. I am okay being alone but suddenly a dashing, much younger mystery man sits next to me (not Captain Leif or ice pilot Ule, but a member of the ship’s team unseen by most onboard; he helps steer us safely through while the captain schmoozes with the passengers).

We had met a few times before and chatted about poetry and being vagabonds, and now spend two hours of eclipsed and re-emerging moonlight on our backs looking skyward, talking a bit, holding hands and –oh my-- sweetly kissing. (I guess if a werewolf evolves under a full moon, a cougar can come out under a full eclipse of the moon.) He invites me the next day for a “date” in a corner of the dining room, with the staff giggling, off –hours when we have the whole place to ourselves, he in his white uniform, me feeling lovely, for a change.

For the rest of this blessed adventure think romance novel –trysts at midnight, avoidance of video cameras in the halls, messages awaiting on my in-room phone-- and a smiling, plucky (surprised!) heroine. I am using him and he is using me and we both know it and could care less.

We like each other. And this beautiful man from a land far away is, gulp, my son’s age. (He asks me at one point, “How old are you Lea?” and I say, “I won’t tell you because you’ll fall in the ocean and we need you to get us through these waters” and he says, “I don’t care. You're so amazing,” and I don’t care if he means it, not a bit. 

Puerta Madryn, Argentina- A two hour drive from the ship is the place in Patagonia I have been longing to return to: Punta Tombo, a protected peninsula with the world’s largest concentration of Magellan penguins –up to half a million. When I came here 10 years ago I was charmed by these adorable little creatures who hang at the beach, swim in the clear water and Charlie-Chaplin-walk among us to their burrows. I finally get to interact with my fill of penguins. Life can’t get much better than this trip.

 Magellen penguins --my faves

Punta del Este, Uruguay- The ship docks way earlier than planned in this glam resort city of wide beaches, fancy houses and low-rise luxury condos. But perfection is impossible. In the early morning, our ship comedian Mike Goddard suffers a major heart attack and is brought here, near death. The passengers buzz with the scary saga of Mike. Is he ok? Nobody is sure. Captain Leif says he had flatlined onboard before he was taken off ship.

I hang around the harbor, where sea wolves – the name locals call their sea lions – beg for fish, swim and sunbathe on the rocks. Stroll, poke around, view some Latin American art and a quirky white house/hotel called Casa Pueblo, the home of artist Carlos Paez Vilaro. Ponder life at a café table over a “salad” of nuts, apples and pure cream.

We are subdued tonight because of Mike, but I dine with another solo woman who practically inhales two orders of foi gras, two orders of Brazilian stone crabs, and crème brulee. Comfort food? Or is she just a pig?

The Oscars are that night, and the cabaret is set up with huge screens, unlimited popcorn, champagne, and a huge ice-carved Oscar; the ship’s version of a Vanity Fair party. For an on-ship video I walk a red carpet and the cruise director playing Joan Rivers giggles when I brag “I’m wearing Chico’s.” Later I win a prize for guessing the most correct awards. Since I missed a bunch, I can only assume this crowd is more into whales than movies.

Montevideo, Uruguay- The most impressive thing about this small, riverfront capital city is its open-mindedness. Many ethnic groups have found refuge here, and a Holocaust memorial is surprising by the beach. At lunch, an old marketplace filled with bars and parilla restaurants – open fires, ceilings fans, and meat, meat, meat. Captain Leif in a red shirt, sits with crewmembers digging into a steak. He is still so happy to have steered our ship past 65 degrees south latitude – a record accomplishment.

My last dinner onboard, and as usual, I wait while the maitre d seeks interesting people for me to sit with. With open seating, each night I’ve met new people. But what’s this? I do a double-take. Next to me is Mike Goddard, the comedian who’d been evacuated with a major heart attack! He’s going into the dining room! Maybe it’s the fluids, but he looks better than before! Those Uruguayan hospitals must be on to something. We are all mystified.

The in-stateroom movie tonight on a satellite station: Titanic, with Clifton Webb and Barbara Stanwyck. Better now than when we were heading to Antarctica.

This remarkable cruise ends where it began, in Buenos Aires, A trip to a country “estancia” to eat more beef and dance with the gauchos. A sexy tango show.

We’ve covered over 5,000 nautical miles and have probably gained a collective ton (I’ve contributed at least five pounds). We’ve played games, enjoyed among others, a Paraguayan harpist, Israeli pianist, Australian singer, British violinist, Argentine flutist, Chilean dancers, and a comedian back from the dead. The moon eclipsed, and I scored. Dozens of whales, hundreds of icebergs, and hundreds of thousands of penguins later I’m humbled and mind-boggled.

As I wrote in the first segment of this blog, this trip was an extravagant anniversary present I gave myself in gratitude for good health, to a destination I’d always dreamed about. A celebration of life.

I fly back to appear on a panel on women’s travel at the New York Times Travel Show. With newfound conviction I tell the eager audience about this trip and hint about the romance, and tell the women that traveling solo --whether around the corner or to the bottom of the earth -- isn’t the best or worst way to go. It can be the ultimate way.

Update: Mystery man and I emailed, texted and called for months after, but he lives halfway around the world. At one point we almost met, but I wisely pulled out. Keep it a beautiful memory. But hey, there’s another full eclipse of the moon in 2010!

(image by Antonio Cidadao)