Part 7 in my Journey to Antarctica. If you enjoy the stories and photos, please comment and let me know!
John Smith. Long Island, Falkland Islands.
"Were as stoic as the land itself," said John Smith (yes, that's his real name) as he told me about life on the islands. Much like dogs and their owners, the people of the Falklands seem to have taken after their environs, in that they mostly seem to have a soft spongy exterior as they welcome a traveler with open arms and a handful of cheesy jokes, and yet have a rock hard core that allows them to survive the harsh conditions of this windblown land. They call themselves Kelpies, after the kelp that mostly surrounds their islands.
The Stanley Church, with humpback whale jaw bones sitting in the front lawn.
I (dis)embarked on an expedition to see what life is like here, and that journey led me to a sheep steering farm where I saw slices if life that have probably not been seen in the states in many, many years. A life that is self sufficient outside of the major city of Stanley, where small wind turbines and peat are what provide the energy and heat required to survive, as the government of this small place doesn't have the resources to provide electricity or water to anyone outside of the city proper.
"I'm ready for my haircut."
"I regret nothing..."
This little windmill provides all the electricity they need on the farm.
In the hopes of helping the people and the economy of the Falklands by growing their tourism, I highly encourage people to visit this unique destination. It's not all birds and penguins, but is also a place full of incredible stories that have lasted generations.
Steamer duck and it's ducklings.
Having said that, I'll leave you with the words that I always attribute to Lavar Burton: "But you don't have to take my word for it."
Go confirm it for yourself.
