Anu Tara Tiki: A Black Stone on the White Continent

By Lorraine Saint-Hubert and Ludovic Des Leuques

The discovery in Antarctica by Emile, a modest French tourist, of a fragment of antique stele covered with cuneiform writing triggers a merciless fight between greedy businessmen and idealistic scientists. Professor Samuel Kahn, an American sumerologist at Harvard, sees this stone as an opportunity to make his fortune by selling it to an industr

• Language: English
• Publisher: GLRD Publications
• Release date: Mar 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9780578652689

Book preview

1

Blue Planet

Émile was walking in what they called the Quartier Latin , a neighborhood of Paris he loved. He’d hung out there a great deal in his younger days, back when he was a student at the École des Mines . Now that he resided in the western suburbs, he hardly ever came to the area, but today was different because the tour operator he was making for, Planète Bleue , had set up its headquarters there. He’d parked his car a fair distance from the agency, not only to enjoy a brief stroll but above all else to save himself the cost of the underground parking lot, which he found extortionate. It was the end of September and it was raining. Émile was sweating under his windbreaker as he wondered why Americans always thought Paris was so romantic. He remembered an Italian author who’d dubbed it The Gray City. He got that right, but what was his name again? Goddamn memory lapses... Tabucchi maybe?

Émile reflected on the idea that Parisians seemed much attached to their city. It was no doubt down to the smell of hot croissants as one walks by a bakery in the morning, or the crowded bistros where regulars put the world to rights, leaning on zinc-topped bars, a glass of red in hand and a cigarette stuck between their lips.

The sporadically potholed sidewalk was riddled with unavoidable puddles, which made him grumble at the idea of mud splashing up onto his light-colored pants. Romantic, right? It’s the stuff of nightmares. Roll on Christmas so I can escape this awful place, if only for a short while.

This was precisely the reason behind his visit to Planète Bleue: to find a destination for the epic trip he and his wife Monique always took during the Christmas and New Year holidays. The Delaportes, by now in their early sixties, had taken up this habit twenty years earlier, after their two grown-up children had fled the family nest to fend for themselves. From then on, spending Christmas on their own in their apartment on the outskirts of Paris became altogether unbearable. These vacations, tailor-made for the both of them, were the only luxury that the couple, whose lifestyle was fairly modest, ever allowed themselves. They’d almost traveled the entire globe and, with the impression that they’d already seen everything there was to see, finding a new place to go on their great annual voyage had become a real headache for Émile.

Here it is. Planète Bleue has certainly grown. It’s nothing like the small agency it once was, Émile thought.

He was somewhat overwhelmed by the state-of-the-art design of the brand-spanking new building and the ubiquitous I.T. equipment that he spotted through the large store front. He entered tentatively, did what he could to escape a receptionist who’d come forward to meet and greet him, and rushed to the section of wall where the brochures were displayed. He idly flipped through around ten of them, without any of the suggested locations grabbing his attention, since he and Monique had already visited every last one of them. Eventually, his eyes were drawn to a spectacular photograph on the cover of one of the booklets, showing an immense colony of penguins on a snow-covered beach, framed by enormous blue-tinged icebergs.

Émile began to leaf through the pages of Antarctic cruises.

I never imagined there’d be tourism in Antarctica, he thought. But why not Antarctica? It’s an original destination at least. And seeing as it’s the Southern Hemisphere, December is probably just the right season. Plus, Monique has always dreamed of going on a cruise. We could make the most of it and stop off in Peru and Bolivia along the way. It’s worth looking into...

Loaded down with stacks of literature and his head full of ideas proposed by the expert at Planète Bleue, Émile returned to his car and made his way toward Rueil-Malmaison, where he and Monique had lived since their wedding day forty years earlier. The journey home went much better than expected. He’d feared the worst, since it had become impossible to get through the recently pedestrianized Bois de Boulogne.

Another whim from the mayor and his increasingly ridiculous initiatives, he muttered aloud. "A music festival that swamps the capital for a week, a man-made beach along the Seine that puts the river-bank road out of use all summer, and now the Bois de Boulogne closed to traffic. Time to draw the line! All this is to amuse the masses. It’s bread and circuses - like in ancient Rome! We aren’t making any progress. We’d rather go backwards. What a time to be living in!"

This last phrase was one of Émile’s favorite expressions. He’d rattle it off about everything and nothing. Émile was fundamentally resistant to change and anxious about the idea of anything novel or unexpected. His annual trip was the only adventure he could afford, but everything had to be perfectly under control, organized to the nth degree well in advance and without room for improvisation.

At least there’s one good thing about retirement, he thought. Now I have all the time I need to plan my vacation.

As soon as he was back from his Paris outing, Émile settled down in his office to take a closer look at the pile of documents he’d picked up at Planète Bleue. He had a good two hours ahead of him. Monique wasn’t in, for she spent every Wednesday afternoon visiting her mother in a retirement home on the other side of Paris. After a great deal of umm-ing and ahh-ing, he thought he’d managed to create the ideal itinerary and was starting to get very excited about it. They would combine an Antarctic cruise with a short stopover in Argentina and a tour of Peru and Bolivia. All he had to do was discuss it with his wife, hoping that her hard-to-predict reaction wouldn’t put an abrupt end to this rather off-the-wall idea. He wouldn’t talk about it with her tonight, because he was going to have to hear her out as she gave him all the usual gossip: his mother-in-law’s poor health, how awful the caregivers are, how bright the head doctor is, the exorbitant hospital fees, ad infinitum... It was better to wait for a more favorable opportunity, perhaps next Sunday lunch in the presence of the children and their respective other halves.

Against all the odds, Monique accepted Émile’s suggestions for their next vacation with delight. She seemed particularly enthusiastic about Argentina, a country she had always dreamed of seeing, with its tall pampas grasses, its gauchos and its preponderance of lefties and sunny cities where they perform the tango. She loved the tango and had danced it quite well in her youth. Unfortunately, Émile had two left feet and she wondered whether she herself would get into the swing of it again. She decided that she’d take some classes before they left. At first, she felt somewhat reserved about Antarctica, until Émile explained to her that it would be a short cruise and they’d be staying in a luxury cabin. This completely changed her perspective: heading off on an original and adventurous vacation in conditions that only rich people tend to have access to would certainly impress her friends. She was already picturing her neighbor’s face, a woman who was always in charge of taking in the mail and watering the plants when they went away, and just couldn’t wait to tell her the very next day.

That old gossip will be knocked for six with this! she exclaimed.

As for Émile, the Argentinean part of the trip was just a stopover of little interest before they hit Peru and Bolivia. What fascinated him most were the ruins of former civilizations and age-old monuments, including the various types of pyramids they’d toured in Egypt, Mexico, Guatemala and even China. However, there was one main goal for him on this trip to Antarctica: it would mean they had really been to all four corners of the globe. After this trip, apart from a handful of insignificant and very isolated places, Émile would have seen the whole lot and he could sit back, browse through his photos and meditate on everything he’d discovered and learned over the years. At the end of an otherwise rather insipid life, he felt as though this would be a pleasant way to go. Émile could never have imagined that his escapade to Antarctica would turn that quiet little existence of his completely upside down.

The Paris-Buenos Aires flight seemed to pass pretty quickly in business class. Between meals and movies they barely slept a wink, but the excited anticipation more than compensated for how tired the journey made them. They’d taken off from Paris at five in the evening and landed in Buenos Aires at about the same hour due to the time difference. The black limousine waiting for them at the exit of the terminal saw them arrive at the Gran Palacio, a five-star establishment in the heart of the Recoleta district, in no time at all.

Once in their room, Émile couldn’t help but immediately uncork the bottle of Argentinean chardonnay, a welcome gift from the hotel team, which was sitting on the coffee table in the living room and pour himself a small glass. In the meantime, Monique ran herself a bath, into which she emptied virtually the entire bottle of green tea-scented bath salts elegantly positioned next to the immense tub.

"It’s funny how you never find Perrier in these palatial hotels!" shouted out Émile.

What makes you say that? You’ve never even set foot in a hotel like this before, replied Monique, lifting her head from the cloud of foam that was starting to engulf her.

Our globe-trotting son told me that! He recommended this place, you know. What do you think of it?

This bathroom is just beautiful. With the living space and bedroom, I’d say it’s almost as big as our apartment! What are we doing tonight? We’ll be tasting the famous grills, no doubt. And then shall we go dancing?

Oh no, not tonight, I’m too tired. I’d prefer a light salad somewhere local and then an early night.

"We didn’t just travel five thousand miles to eat salad and spend our evening in a hotel room, did we? You could make an effort! We can’t leave Buenos Aires without going to a churrasqueria for dinner and dancing the tango somewhere!"

All right! I’ll ask the concierge to book us a table in a cabaret bar where you can stuff yourself and dance the night away!

Monique was delighted. She quickly got changed and they took a taxi to the address given by the man down at reception. Émile was pleasantly surprised by the welcome they received at the restaurant. They were taken to a comfortable little table next to the dance floor, before the waiter gave them descriptions, in impeccable French, of all the various meat dishes on the menu. A sommelier then arrived and advised them to order an excellent malbec from Mendoza, which was supposed to be the ideal accompaniment to the regional specialties. The combination of churrasco with chimichuri and malbec made Émile momentarily forget his desire to go to bed early and he agreed to share a dulce de leche tart with Monique to finish off their meal. As they were both relishing their dessert with a languid bandoneon playing in the background, a swarthy local rushed over to Monique and urged her to join him onto the dance floor for a tango. Monique didn’t have to be asked twice and soon found herself in the middle of the room, glued against the individual with his slick hair and thin mustache. Alone at their table, Émile could do nothing but watch his wife’s performance. She looked delighted as she shook her derrière and rubbed herself, without a shred of decency, against this stranger’s muscular body. Monique seemed ridiculous to him, in her form-fitting, frilly yellow dress, perched on five-inch heels and wearing garish lipstick. When I think that she’s bought those shoes and dress just for tonight and that she’ll never put them on again, it drives me nuts! We’re going to be lugging that stuff around in our suitcases the whole way! I can’t wait for the day after tomorrow. Let’s get to Peru already!

Monique would have stayed there all night. It was with regret, and upon seeing her husband’s defeated face, that she agreed to head back to the hotel. Thank goodness we’re staying another day! We can come back here tomorrow evening, she thought in the taxi as they returned to the Gran Palacio.

The atmosphere was quite different in Lima. The city seemed more foreign than Buenos Aires, which to all intents and purposes felt like a European capital. Émile pointed out to Monique that at least now, they felt far from home and that this little tour in Peru would be much more pleasant than their stay in Argentina. Monique didn’t agree in the slightest. She’d loved Buenos Aires and her first impression of Lima was comparatively disappointing. Plus, she’d read in a guidebook that pick pocketing was common in Peru and so held her purse very tightly against her, watching anyone that approached them with a suspicious look. In the streets, there were a great many individuals with a very pronounced American-native look: small, poorly dressed men alongside plump women wearing large petticoats and black felt hats. Monique wasn’t particularly reassured. Added to this was the fact that the hotel was much less luxurious than the Gran Palacio de la Recoleta and no one spoke French there. Monique managed to relax once in their room, which was, in fact, very comfortable. Her mood definitely improved when Émile suggested they go to dinner in a famous tourist restaurant overlooking the Plaza Mayor. She went on to totally forget her negative bias towards both Lima and Peru when, towards the end of the meal, a group of musicians in traditional folk costume began to play some local music. When one of the musicians, dressed in a large multicolored poncho, approached their table and asked Monique if she wanted him to play any song in particular, she felt touched. "El Condor Pasa, please," she asked. She failed to repress her tears when, accompanied by the Andean flute and charrango, the singer, with the most warm and melodious voice, sang the words she knew by heart, the only words she had ever learned in Spanish.

Émile was very embarrassed. He was the shy type and any sign of emotion, especially in public, made him very uncomfortable. He had the feeling that the whole dining room was staring over at their table. He wondered how Monique could possibly know the lyrics to this song and why it caused her to get into such a state. What did she know of South America and its culture? Nothing, as far as he was aware….

Obviously, you’re quite the fan of Peruvian music, he said once they were back at the hotel. I had no idea you were such an expert on the Andean flute. I think you’ll enjoy what I’ve got planned. We’re going to see every single inch of the Andean mountains, top to bottom!

What do you mean by that? Aren’t we staying in Lima? asked Monique with a hint of concern.

"Just one more day. We’ll be visiting the Oro del Peru Museum and the National Museum of Archaeology. Is there anything you’d really like to do while we’re here?"

Actually, I’d like to go to lunch in a restaurant I’ve heard about. There’s a Japanese chef who set it up, Nobu, and I really admire him. He’s invented a lot of very famous dishes. I’d love to sample his grilled octopus, one of his most well-known creations. I imagine the seafood must be particularly fresh here. I mean, we’re on the Pacific coast, so I doubt we’d be served farmed salmon or frozen crab legs!

"That’s true enough. But I can’t guarantee that we’ll get a table at Nobu’s tomorrow. If it’s anything like Paris or Tokyo, we’d need to have booked several months in advance. Let’s hope the hotel concierge knows what he’s doing. Anyway, Nobu or not, I promise you, we’ll fill up with grilled octopus, ceviche and sashimi of every kind before we leave the coast."

And then, what’s next on the schedule?

The day after tomorrow, we’ll fly to Cuzco, where we’ll stay three days. It’s the heart of ancient Peru and there’ll be so many interesting sites to visit. We’re going to take a look at this spectacular place called Sacsayhuaman and then Machu Picchu, the lost city of the Incas. We’ll be dropping in on two or three traditional native villages in the valley along the way. Then we’ll head towards Lake Titicaca before passing through Bolivia and exploring Tiwanaku, where there are enigmatic ruins to be seen. Some say that they date back as far as Noah’s Flood!

I’ve got a feeling I’ll be seeing more than my share of old stones and hearing my fill of you and your incessant chatter about the origins of humankind, forgotten civilizations, Atlantis and all the rest of it. I mean, that’s what you’re passionate about! Actually, despite what you might think, I’m quite interested in it too.

That’s reassuring. I was getting worried you’d only be interested in dancing, eating… and the Andean flute!

After their cultural and gastronomic day in Lima, Monique and Émile headed for the airport early the next morning en route to Cuzco. The plane flew over some stupendous snow-covered peaks before plunging into a wide valley, drowned in clouds. As they disembarked, a damp cold hit Monique and Émile, whose warmer clothes remained neatly tucked away in their suitcases. They quickly developed a painful and dizzying sensation in addition to a low-level yet persistent headache due to the sudden change in altitude.

Let’s hope the weather improves, said Émile, I don’t see myself trudging around the city and visiting a load of ruins in the bitter cold.

Yes. You didn’t plan for this, did you? Monique grumbled. It’s going to be a real laugh if we’re stuck here for three days in these conditions...

By the time the private minibus journey to the Casa del Inca, a magnificent colonial period convent transformed into a five-star hotel, had reached its end, the cloud cover had begun to dissipate, and the sun had just started to show its face. After lunch, they left their room and ventured outdoors. The sky was now bright blue and the temperature almost summery. Émile, a map of the city gripped in his hand, led Monique to the main square, which was only a stone’s throw away from their hotel in the historic center of the city. In front of the imposing cathedral dominating the square, Émile started to complain in an almost depressed voice:

Just look what they’ve done to the Incan capital! From what I read, there was a magnificent temple here, made of enormous cut stones and walls covered with gold plaques. The Spaniards stole the gold, dismantled the temple and used the blocks to build the foundations for their homes and churches. It’s exactly what also happened in Tenochtitlan, the capital of the Aztec empire. It was a beautiful city in the middle of a stunning lake, and they transformed into the filthy megalopolis they called Mexico City. I don’t think there’s been a worse colonization than the one perpetrated by the Spanish!

Well! It can’t have been any worse than what the French or English did!

It was much worse, because not only did they enslave the indigenous people and impose their cock-and-bull religion on them, but they burned all the documents that could have told us of the history and culture of these peoples. Almost nothing is known of their civilizations! And when you think they melted all those gold masterpieces to pay for the wars of Charles V! All that remains are a few oral traditions, which our European historians call legends and which only give a vague idea of what their world was like before the Spanish arrived. Feeling up to all this?

Of course, why?

Well, I just want to show you what the Inca world was like before the barbarians got their hands on it. If you’re fine to walk a while, there’s a really authentic little spot not far from here, called Sacsayhuaman. I’d rather see that than these churches and convents.

When they arrived in Sacsayhuaman, Monique and Émile were amazed by the gigantic size and enigmatic nature of the incredible buildings before them. Except for a small group of Japanese tourists in the distance, crowded around their guide who kept waving a small flag over his head, and who looked tiny at the foot of a cyclopean wall, they were alone on the vast esplanade, which gave them the strangest of sensations. It was as if they were entering the home of giants from some distant galaxy. Neither of them knew just how to feel or what to think. They remained speechless for several minutes, until Émile finally spoke up and broke the silence:

It’s just incomprehensible how these huge blocks of stone are so perfectly cut and assembled like this. We’ve never seen anything like it elsewhere.

It reminds me a little of Stonehenge or the menhirs in Brittany, Monique ventured.

No! Come on! replied Émile, shrugging his shoulders, it’s nothing of the sort. The menhirs are huge megaliths, I know that, but the stone is rough, and they don’t form an architecturally complex ensemble like this. It reminds me rather of some of the Egyptian monuments, like the Osirion that we visited in Abydos.

Are there pyramids around here too? continued Monique.

Well, yes, from what I’ve read, said Émile. We should see one in Tiwanaku, or at least what’s left of it. Some archaeologists have recently discovered dozens of them all scattered along the Peruvian coastline. Too bad we didn’t plan on going there.

What does your guide say about Sacsayhuaman? asked Monique, moderately satisfied with her husband’s explanations.

It doesn’t give a clear picture, Émile muttered. They claim that it was a military fortress built by the Incas shortly before the arrival of the Spanish. But I know that there are thinkers out there who suggest that it could have been a machine to extract precious metals, built by a very advanced antediluvian civilization, even aliens... Basically, nobody really understands anything...

And what are your own thoughts on it? asked Monique with a mischievous look.

In all honesty, it leaves me totally perplexed, Émile confessed. The men who built something like this had to have reached a significant degree of technological development, but then I don’t see the Incas, as described by the conquistadors, capable of such a feat. In this day and age, we remain incapable of manipulating blocks of stone of this size, despite all our modern contraptions.

After spending a good part of the afternoon climbing the gigantic walled sections and trekking back and fore along the Sacsayhuaman esplanade, Émile and Monique returned to their hotel with similar thoughts in their minds. Something wasn’t right about official history...

The next morning, the couple made their way down to Cuzco station at dawn to board the little train that would take them to Machu Picchu. The atmosphere on the platform was almost clichéd: Hippies dressed in faded blue jeans and Peruvian lama wool hats, local peasants loaded with baskets and surrounded by a horde of chapped-cheeked kids, and street vendors harassing the gringos, trying to sell them postcards and brightly colored blankets. When the train entered the station, a lively crowd stormed the economy class carriages trying to secure a place. Fortunately, Monique and Émile had first-class tickets and didn’t have to fight to find their reserved seats. Through the window of the compartment, Émile had plenty of time to take some snaps; full-length portraits detailing the picturesque costumes of the Andean peasants, close-ups of their angular and chiseled faces and panoramic views showing the incredible hustle and bustle that reigned in the small station.

Their discovery of the ruins of Machu Picchu was a truly dazzling experience. Up close to the sky, nestled on a narrow promontory surmounted by two elegant rocky peaks and surrounded by precipices at the bottom of which snaked the thin silver ribbon of the Urubamba River, lay the most enchanting abandoned city imaginable.

Monique and Émile sat on a stone bench of sorts, overlooking the central square. They stayed in situ for some time, contemplating the imposing sections of the walls of the now roofless buildings, the countless terraces running down the vertiginous slopes and the remains of temples whose significance had been lost over the centuries. Sitting a little further away, a small group of young Westerners had formed a circle around a musician and, lulled by the rasping yet warm sound of the instrument, by the serenity of the place, and by the large joint they were passing from one hand to the next, were smiling with ecstatic looks on their faces as they contemplated the majestic panorama. Normally, Monique and Émile would have disapproved of such behavior in a youth they might have described as degenerate, but here, not only were they not shocked, but they almost hoped they’d be invited to join in.

This place really is quite magical! said Émile, breaking the silence. It’s ridiculous that we don’t know more of the origins and function of these buildings. The only thing we do know is that the last Inca took refuge in Machu Picchu to try to escape the Spanish conquistadors. The city was abandoned after the conquest and soon became covered in vegetation. They only found it again in 1911! I really can’t fathom how so many big cut stones could have been brought to such an inaccessible place. How did they do it?

I’m sure there must be lots of places like this, still buried underground or in the jungle and waiting to be rediscovered, Monique said.

It would be wonderful to find an equivalent for Latin America of the Rosetta Stone, added Émile. Not necessarily in Peru, since there’s not much evidence of ancient writing in this region, but in Guatemala, for example, where it would allow to better decipher the Mayan script and perhaps to see a little more clearly when it comes to all these pre-Columbian cultures.

Enchanted by their excursion to Machu Picchu and with their heads full of dreams of lost cities and forgotten civilizations, Émile and Monique returned to Cuzco and continued on Émile’s impeccably planned journey. First, they took a trip around some of the native villages in the Incan Valley and then explored additional archaeological sites within the surroundings of Cuzco which they felt were perhaps less spectacular, but just as mysterious as Machu Picchu and Sacsayhuaman. They then took a train ride to Puno and a visit to the floating villages on Lake Titicaca. Monique, who was beginning to develop a taste for archaeology and extinct cultures, forgot her initial desires to stay by Lake Titicaca and had no objection to them heading straight for Bolivia.

In Tiwanaku, whose visit they combined with the nearby site of Puma Punku, Émile and Monique were once again stunned by what they found. On the vast and desolate plateau, perched at an altitude of twelve thousand feet, they were confronted with the intriguing ruins of a distant past that were beyond all comprehension. An incredible pile of enormous megaliths littered the site, testifying to the destruction of monumental archaic buildings by some dreadful cataclysm. The shape of the stones was surprising, as if they’d been designed to fit together like pieces of Lego and industrially shaped using sophisticated tools. Among the few buildings that had partially escaped destruction were a loosely pyramidal construction and a stone arch, the so-called Puerta del Sol. On its lintel they noticed traces of a figure whom the guidebook claimed to be Viracocha, the Inca god of the sun.

There are just so many mysteries in South America… Émile commented with a faraway look in his eyes. There’s no real evidence that it’s actually a representation of Viracocha and there’s nothing to say that it was the Incas who built these monuments. Do you know what they found buried in a field not far from here? A vase covered with cuneiform inscriptions that look Sumerian! Incredible, isn’t it? There’s really something we’re just not getting about all of this. When I see these things, I can’t help but think of Atlantis. And those increasingly popular extra-terrestrial stories don’t seem too far-fetched after all...

Instead of wasting billions sending men to the moon or rockets to Mars, Monique suggested, our governments should better invest in archaeological research so that one day we might understand the meaning of all these strange monuments. They’re all over the world! It would definitely contribute more to the progress of humanity!

The problem is that people at the top don’t care a bit about the progress of humanity, Émile deplored. What they want is to keep the public in ignorance. They want us to swallow a whole bunch of nonsense. What a time to be living in!

This exchange of ideas continued throughout the journey from Tiwanaku to La Paz. Émile talked of the remains of the primitive civilizations they’d seen in Central America, Asia and the Middle East and compared them with what they’d just discovered in Peru and Bolivia. He evoked certain similarities between all these places, which on the surface have little to do with each other. Common to all these sites, he noted, was the implausibility of the official explanations. At best, experts recognize that they have no idea who, when, how and why; at worst, they attribute the authorship of these incredible achievements to people who had only just emerged from the Stone Age, affirming that all this was to honor violent and tyrannical gods or to bury their leaders, whether they were kings, emperors or pharaohs.

I really missed my vocation! Émile concluded as they neared their hotel in La Paz. Why did I study electro-mechanical engineering? I’ve wasted my time for forty years working for large industrialists exclusively interested in financial profits. I should have tried to become an archaeologist. I would have loved to have dug deeper, to have learned more about these lost people and the origin of humanity...

2

A Black Stone On The White Continent

The long flight that took them to Punta Arenas, with a short stopover in Santiago de Chile, where the only thing they saw was the transit lounge at the airport, forced their conversations to return to more prosaic subjects, such as the poor quality of the food and the discomfort of the seats on the local airline.

They didn’t expect much from Punta Arenas, just that it would be the starting point of their Antarctic cruise, but they fully believed they’d be seized by the freezing cold as soon as they stepped off the plane. They were surprised, therefore, by the relatively mild temperature, which wasn’t that different from how it had been in La Paz despite the fact that they were now in one of the closest inhabited places to the South Pole. The journey from the airport to the Aventura Hotel gave them the impression that this was a small, clean and relaxing place. In the late afternoon, they walked along Cristobal Colon Avenue, on which their hotel was located, and then pushed on to Cerro Mirador, a kind of observatory overlooking the port from where one could enjoy a vast panoramic view of the entire city, the Magellan strait and beyond, the Tierra del Fuego mountains. As they made their way back to their hotel, they followed the historical route, along which plaques had been placed commemorating the exploits of some of the great names in South Pole exploration. The thought that they themselves would, the very next day, follow in the footsteps of Amundsen, Scott, Charcot and Shackleton made them both very proud as well as somewhat anxious. This Antarctica cruise was in fact a big deal; until this point, they had only really considered the incredible spectacle of the adventure, but they now realized that the trip might still involve some risks: Many of these Antarctic explorers had not made it home alive…

Their Antarctic adventure began with a short flight from Punta Arenas to King George Island, the largest of the Southern Shetlands, bypassing the dreary Drake Passage and thus arriving much sooner at the coastline of the great Antarctic continent. Before they knew it, they found themselves comfortably set up in one of the best suites aboard the Thetis Adventurer.

Monique couldn’t quite believe it. Who would have thought that she and Émile, modest French pensioners, would ever experience such an extravagant adventure, out there on the waves at the other end of the planet? She had never been on a cruise before and felt pleased that their cabin was so surprisingly spacious and comfortable. As they’d boarded, a hostess had informed them that the ship had an excellent restaurant, shop, spa and conference facilities. A small floating town of sorts. Instinctively, images from the film Titanic crossed her mind, and she hastened to ignore its tragic outcome so she could focus on the more romantic aspects. It’s a pity Émile doesn’t look anything like Leonardo Di Caprio, she thought.

Émile was busy uncorking the bottle of champagne that was resplendent in an ice bucket in the middle of the coffee table. He had completely neglected the envelope with the Thetis Adventurer stamp on it that lay beside this welcome gift. Monique grabbed it and ripped it open. On the cardboard inside the envelope, she was flattered to read: Mr. and Mrs. Delaporte, welcome aboard the Thetis Adventurer. We hope you have a very pleasant cruise. Best wishes for your wedding anniversary. Compliments of the captain and his crew.

My Émile really knows how to do things well, she thought as she pointed out the note to her husband.

This is a thoughtful little message, but why is the captain wishing us a happy anniversary? It’s not any time soon! she asked.

Actually, you’re right, we did get married a bit later confirmed Émile. But when I made the reservation, it stated somewhere that if we were taking this cruise to celebrate a special occasion, we’d get a discount and a few extras thrown in... like this bottle of champagne and a free spa session... and we could even have a renewal ceremony if we wanted. So, I said we got married on December twentieth.

Good thinking! I’m so looking forward to the spa! enthused Monique.

The clientele on the ship was very international. Monique and Émile got friendly with a Belgian couple, who were among the few people with whom they could converse in French. The Americans, besides saying: Hi, how are you today? at every opportunity, avoided speaking to them because they had little to no French and conversation in English with Émile and Monique was extremely limited. However, the captain spoke French to near-native level. He’s such a charming and educated man, thought Monique. One evening, in the restaurant, while Monique was unsuccessfully trying to pick up her spaghetti carbonara with her fork, unaware that she was supposed to be using the spoon as well, the captain approached their table and asked them how they were enjoying their trip. Monique, slightly awkward and unfamiliar with the customs, embarked on a long speech in which she thanked him with effusion for the bottle of champagne, as if it had really been a personal gift from him, and praised him for his kindness and perfect French. Contrary to all expectations, the captain neither displayed annoyance nor a desire to quickly move to the next table. He found it refreshing to see that there were still simple, straightforward people around who recognized such small attentions and remained impressed by the quality of service on board... and the presence of the captain. This was vastly different from the majority of customers, especially Americans, who demanded maximum value for their money and threatened to sue at the slightest inconvenience. This is how, quite naturally, he got into the habit of coming every evening to speak with the couple.

Captain Mario Zampeze was Argentinean but, like a great many of his compatriots, he was the descendant of Italian immigrants who had fled their miserable lives at the end of the nineteenth century. At the age of fifty, he was a former naval officer, hero of the Falklands War, and now this new career at the helm of a cruise ship was allowing him to continue to indulge his sole passion: sailing, particularly around Cape Horn, which he knew like the back of his hand.

Their cruise on the Thetis Adventurer seemed to be flying by far too quickly to Émile and Monique. It was as if they’d never tire of admiring the majestic mountain ranges and immense, immaculate white glaciers that were scattered along the Antarctic coast. It often happened that entire sections of these ice facades broke away into terrifying creaks, crashing into the ocean and generating huge icebergs with tortured shapes and psychedelic bluish tones. Émile and Monique were surprised at the abundance of life in this seemingly inhospitable landscape. Contrary to what they had previously imagined, Antarctica was literally teeming with multiple species of birds and marine mammals. They spent long periods of the day up on the ship’s deck, wrapped in their large parkas and huddled together, gazing in wonder at the silent appearances of peaceful,