Malvi/klands. Days 5 & 6

"...Their lives are bigger than any big idea" ("Peace on Earth" U2)

Malvi/klands: Day 5 saw the end of the visits to the 1982 battlegrounds. It's about time, as the war theme -although central in this journey, should not eclipse other, forward-looking, issues. After a mutually agreed half-day postponement due to bad weather conditions, Sebastian -the guide- dropped by and we went straight to those fields where actual physical battle took place. It was impressive: shallow holes in the ground (a little over a meter in diameter) semi-covered by a crescent of piled up stones and branches, protecting a soldier from the chilly June South Atlantic winter but also from the British fire. We saw an abandoned, rusty Argentine cannon also. Interspersed, there were deeper holes, almost perfectly rounded: it was those left by the mortar shells launched by nearby warships, or by air raids. In one of those trenches I left the third and last kid-painted rosary, paying a posthumous tribute to all those people from both sides who gave their lives in such unwanted conflict.  We went on to Mt. Longdon, one of the several elevations sorrounding Stanley (a.k.a. Puerto Argentino) and where some of the bloodiest soldier-on-soldier killing occurred during the final offensive by the British Army. Longdon's summit is filled up with plaques, small monolyths, crosses, small shrines for that is the place where with the British advancing by night due to their better vision devices, numerous killings took place when the two front lines collided. The place is unbearably windy, and the capital is at sight. But if such was the temperature under a sunny spring afternoon, one can hardly imagine what could it have meant for a poorly equipped teenager on a winter night. We came back down to the city after a few pics, and went straight to the city airport. Coming from behind the runway we could see a huge crater in the ground: 3 meters deep, 6 mts diameter. Those were the air raids done by the Vulcan and the Sea Harriers, which aimed to destroy the runway to prevent Argentine planes to land further supplies. For a change, we finalized the day in Gipsy Cove, a very scenic wildlife protection area with (although filled with mines) nice, pristine beaches where penguins breed along with seagulls and other bird species. The views over the sea are simply stunning. Back in the hotel, the day was not over. A pub crawl was about to start. The tour started in the Globe Tavern, the most popular pub in the Islands, where I could meet Don, a well known Island veteran from WWII with whom I arranged to meet the following day. The second pub, Victory, looked a bit threatening to me, as the cult of British victory literally floats in the air in the shape of dozens of small British hanging flags. But nothing bad finally happened. An interesting detail: as I was cleaning my hands in the washroom I thought "what an original mirror" as I could see a toilet lid hanging from the wall. I lifted the lid and -surprise- it was not exactly a mirror, but a mag-sized picture of Galtieri (President of the Argentine military Junta which launched the occupation in '82, and who resigned days after the surrender) with actual birth/death dates printed over, and a straightforward statement: "May you rot in Hell you asshole". The third port of call was Deano's, where I was approached by a strange-looking patron. He started a conversation, candidly introducing himself as Patrick. He had many friends in Argentina, he had actually been educated in the city of Cordoba before the conflict broke out. He began to tell a story about how he and his brother would shoot Argentine soldiers up in the Mounts, but not by belonging to any Armed Forces, but just as a 'partisan'...the 'resistance' for the Fatherland, the Falklands, he said. And he began to weep. He could not stop for 10 minutes. Politicians, Governments ... That is (in Spanish). People are not to blame. People are good. Regret had taken a toll on him. How stupid I am, he'd mumble, and he would cover his face up. For a change, I enquired him about Spanish expressions still kept by the Islanders ("ché", "pasolibre", "rincon grande" and "camp"). When it was 11 pm, I greeted him, and went back to my room.

Day #6 started calmly. An early wake up allowed a slow and invigorating shower. When having my breakfast (somewhat controlled as an arguably healthy mix; the rich 'English breakfast' option will only repeated on my final day as a sort of farewell - under risk of suffocation in the hands of my nutritionist...) the two Belgian engineers also located in this Bed & Breakfast joined the table. Nice chat on a number of items: the '82 War, their trips, Belgian beers of course. We then departed to duties. 

I then met Arlette, who runs Lafone House, to the East of town. She had been referred to me as a good person to discuss with. So we had a lengthy conversation about Argentine visitors, how they changed overtime, the mutual need for fresh ties, and how the rethorical speeches from "Mrs Kirchner" had made things worse. Nice, illustrating dialogue. After a lunch back in the hotel, I went on to meet a war veteran, Don, the gentleman who every night attends the Globe for a sip, and who's got a chair with his name on it. It was yet another long discussion about details of how everything turned out, including vivid stories about disoriented Argentine conscripts. When I was walking back to my room, I decided to go for some gift hunting. I got amazed at how many people greet you in the streets. Completely unsuccessful, and not wanting to head back straight away, I stopped by the Cathedral for a few minutes. A man entered the place, gently smiling. He was the Priest in charge, and was about to prepare the Friday service, in memoriam of Sir Rex Hunt, Governor of the Islands during the 1982 conflict, who passed away a couple of weeks back. We introduced to each other, and kept talking for a while, where he invited me to attend tomorrow. I went back shortly afterwards: it was cold, and a mushroom soup was waiting for me.