Punta Arenas, January 10, 2011, 8:30 a.m. (14 hours earlier)...

     ... The impression that the admiral gave, given the whole situation with the scientific community, was that he didn't care too much about the consequences of his invitation, which could perhaps be considered arbitrary, although, he said, invitations like that were common, especially in the case of illustrious people. I was flattered by the illustrious. However, the invitation was, to say the least, inappropriate for the moment. I was reluctant, but Regina encouraged me:

     "Honey, this is a unique opportunity!"

     Unfortunately, she couldn't go: there was only one seat on the plane. Even so, she was excited about the idea and encouraged me:

     "Gosh! I'd go running. And you don't have to worry about me, I'll be accompanied by Clara and Jairo."

     So, a little later, at half past eight, surprised by the fact that I had agreed to go without putting up much resistance, perhaps with my mind already dulled and frozen by the cold, I set off for the Comandante Ferraz Antarctic station. My suitcase was practically packed and, with Regina organizing it, everything went very quickly — and it had to, after all, between the invitation and boarding, the deadline had been tight: close to an hour.

     By an incredible coincidence, we were joined on the trip by the man and woman who had been kissing in the hotel the night before. I was surprised:

     "Well, well! Who could imagine?"

     They announced themselves to us. Husband and wife: Carlos Eduardo Aranha and Ema Arantes. Both biologists from USP. Ema, a beautiful woman with curly blonde hair, was about eight years older than him. Carlos, an athletic young man with masculine features, the kind who impresses with his physical size alone. The admiral then explained to me that the two of them were being funded by USP and that they were just hitching a ride on the FAB plane. They had nothing to do, at least not directly, with the financial problems facing Proantar.

     "They were originally expected to stay at Ferraz Station until the end of the summer. Given the impossibility, I was instructed to take them to the Antarctic station and from there, by sea, to send them to the Besnard as soon as the ship anchored in Martel Cove."

     "You didn't know them, admiral?"

     "Not until last night. After you left the piano bar, they came back and talked to me. They introduced themselves and asked about the trip to Ferraz Station. Until then I'd only known that two biologists from USP were coming with us and that we'd be meeting here earlier today."

     The couple arrived just as I was kissing Regina goodbye, so I had time to introduce them to her. A small detail: the FAB flights are not directly related to Proantar, but serve to support it. First and foremost, Ferraz Station is a Brazilian territory, making the presence of the Armed Forces indispensable, and there are also numerous operations and maintenance tasks that scientists are unable to carry out.

     I don't even know what kind of plane I was thinking of traveling in, but I wasn't expecting a basic heavy transport aircraft, i.e. a cargo plane! When I saw that it was one of the FAB's famous Hercules C-130s, I got a little excited. I was in front of a legend of world aviation. But my enthusiasm didn't go beyond the visual when I saw the interior accommodations.

     With the consent of Lieutenant Colonel Ernesto, commander of the First Air Transport Squadron — the Tracajá Squadron, we set off at 8:30 am towards the unknown. We flew over the Drake Strait and were soon told that the waters were very rough, which was nothing new.

     The plane had a lot of space inside. We sat leaning against the fuselage, with few portholes to see outside. We had to stay seated and buckle our seatbelts on account of the strong turbulence. Part of the interior was full of cargo, the transportation of which had been contracted by the Chilean base. The interior of the Hercules was very versatile, and central seating or even bench-type seats could be installed when necessary.

     It was unbearably cold, zero degrees, and we had to wrap ourselves up to the neck in totally uncomfortable polar clothing. Strong winds made the plane sway, giving us the impression that it could crash at any moment. At some point, someone had the unfortunate idea of recalling stories from previous trips about the landing gear not wanting to lower — very appropriate indeed.

     The crew's apprehension was clear, with the prospect that the plane, due to bad weather, would not be able to return to Chile the next morning as planned, especially in the event of a storm on the island. I was scared:

     "Is that a storm?"

     "They usually occur, superintendent, with the possibility of blizzards, even in summer", commented one of the crew members.

     "Blizzards?"

     The admiral came to my aid:

     "Calm down, Basílio."

     "Calm down? But how? I feel like I'm in a warplane and we're still facing a blizzard?"

     The admiral was having fun, what a horrible man:

     "You know how to pray?"

     It was a tense three hours to the Chilean base Presidente Eduardo Frei Montalva, on King George Island.