10,000 miles of unbroken Southern 0cean separate New Zealand
from this, the southernmost point of the American continent,
a place feared and respected by generations of mariners - Cape Horn.
Commander, is this the real Cape Horn?
I know it as a place of mountainous seas and shipwrecks.
- It's like a millpond today. - It is real, but we have been very lucky.
This is very unusual to have this fine weather, really.
So it's true that, normally, it's a pretty rough place to?
Yes. No more than 20% of the time the weather is like this morning.
So we'll get across onto the... onto Cape Horn itself without any trouble.
Cape Horn is a place few people ever see, let alone visit.
Antarctica is only 500 miles away.
This is the one place on earth where the Atlantic and Pacific 0ceans meet.
Commander Merino and the Chilean navy are our hosts and saviours.
They know these unpredictable waters better than anyone else.
Apart from its security role, the navy supplies scattered communities, saves lone yachtsman,
and, just this once, a not-quite-lone television presenter.
So there's just the three of them here?
The three, I think, and a couple of dogs.
- Think they'll be pleased to see us? - Yes, I'm sure, yes.
They don't receive visits very often.
Do they get many visitors?
So it is that at four o'clock on a May afternoon, I land on Cape Horn.
(DOG BARKING)
Buenas tardes.
Hello.
Don't you start. (LAUGHS)
Hello, boy. Obviously hasn't seen anyone for a while!
Go on. Right, take us to your master.
So how long do these guys spend out here at a time?
They stay for two months here.
- Every two months, we have to change them. - Yeah.
And do they see other people? Do they get visitors?
Not very often, really. Could be...
Cape Horn is, in fact, a tiny island no bigger than Diomede where my journey began.
The few buildings here are a surprising mixture.
A lighthouse I expect, but not a church.
Is this chapel just for the three people who live here?
Yes, only for them.
Normally, every two months, we send a priest from Puerto Williams
when we are changing the people and then they have a service then.
0utside Antarctica, this is the southernmost place of worship in the world.
- Someone obviously looks after it, don't they? - Yes.
Such a bleak place. It's beautiful.
It's still. Still and peaceful.
The extraordinary thing about coming to Cape Horn,
besides being a lifetime's dream realised,
is that it is the end of the American continent.
Those are the last few yards of America over there... or the first few.
For me, they are the first few, 'cause now I turn north
to follow that spine of mountains which winds up to the Bering Strait
and Diomede from which I started.
But another 10,000 miles to go.
Before I set out, I can't resist sending a card from Cape Horn post office.
So this will have the Cape Horn stamp on it and be sent from Cape Horn?
- Yes. - Great. How does it get out?
We will have to send it... go with... take it in the ship
and send it from Puerto Williams.
- Oh. Which ship? Our ship? - Our ship.
- Oh, there you are, then. - OK. Thank you.
(MICHAEL LAUGHS) I thought there was a post box somewhere.
Maybe I'll institute one. The Palin Memorial Post Box.
We turn north for the first time on our journey, picking our way round Tierra del Fuego,
aiming for Punta Arenas where the road begins.
0ur route follows the Beagle Channel.
It's a safer alternative to rounding the Horn.
It's called after HMS Beagle, a British ship which discovered and charted these waters in 1831.
Charles Darwin sailed on the Beagle.
His "Theory 0f Evolution" was shaped by his observations
of this dramatic, ever-changing landscape.
Darwin called this "nature's workshop".
There is a real sense of scenery being created,
of solid rock under remorseless pressure.
Next morning, the weather has changed.
We're through the Beagle Channel and putting ashore at a small bay.
There is a unique record here of the price paid by the first British sailors.
Commander Pringle Stokes RN captained the Beagle on its first voyage.
He never returned home.
A simple cross reads "In memory of Commander Pringle Stokes RN
"who died from the effects of the anxieties and hardships
"incurred while surveying the western shores of Tierra del Fuego."
The truth is he committed suicide.
At Punto Arenas, I renew acquaintance with two old friends,
Patricio from "Pole To Pole" and Magellan from Geography 0 level.
Magellan - the man who first called the Pacific the Pacific.
- (PATRICIO) Yep. Nice monument. - It is, isn't it?
(PATRICIO) Yeah, quite powerful.
And the good thing, at least for me,
is that this is one of the few monuments in Chile that is not related to the military.
I suppose not, although he did wipe out the Indians. Well, he didn't. Others did.
This is the lucky toe. If you kiss this, you come back. I did that before.
- That is why you are back here. - I should do it again, I think.
Just a quick peck!
- People still believe in that, do they? - Oh, yes, yes, still believe.
0ur first northbound road runs 160 miles out of Punto Arenas and no further.
This is our first sight of the Andes, the Torres del Paine mountains,
a foretaste of what lies ahead of us all the way to Alaska.
They're stupendous up there.
I don't think I've ever seen peaks quite so jagged and so tall
as the towers through there.
They're probably very new geologically. That must be kind of early.
(PATRICIO) It's probably new, but when I was here the first time, they were here!
(MICHAEL LAUGHS)
0ur only way north from here is by boat from a place called Puerto Natales.
It's evening when we reach our destination.
There's a cargo ship, the Puerto Eden, leaving at midnight.
It's rough and ready and smells ominously like a farmyard.
(SHEEP BLEAT)
Islands litter the southwest coast of Chile like pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle.
0ur route dodges between them to the island of Chiloe.
It will take half a week to get there.
Sunrise reveals that overnight the Puerto Eden has become a Noah's ark.
Sheep and cattle are squeezed onto trailers that are squeezed onto the cargo decks.
The animals look healthy enough in the fresh sea air and the morning sunshine.
The truth is that for four days and nights they will have nowhere else to go.
The human cargo may have more room to move, but not much more to do.
I try to remember how to play chess and beat myself quite convincingly.
There's excitement as we approach a shallow and dangerous narrows called the Kirke Pass.
With so few passengers aboard, it's easy to get a grandstand view.
As our captain cuts speed to negotiate the pass, we become a welcome diversion
for the local seals and sea lions.
They follow us with the joyful expectancy
of those who've been waiting for a ship to run aground for years.
With less than six feet to spare beneath her keel,
the Puerto Eden sails through the Kirke Pass with aplomb and a blast of self-satisfaction.
(SHIP'S HORN BLARES)
The island of Chiloe has a reputation
for poverty, superstition, independence, black magic, music and rain.
To find out if this was earned, I talked to Catherine Hall, an American living here,
on a typical Chilote day.
My guidebook did say that Chiloe was renowned for rain.
It's chilly!
- Accurate today. - It's usually like this in the winter.
- It also said it's renowned for witchcraft. - That's true.
The people here say, "No creo en brujo, caray! Pero que los hay, los hay."
That means, "I don't believe in witches, but they exist."
They do exist. There are witches here. I believe there are, too!
- Have you ever met one? - Not that I know of.
But I think maybe. I'm not sure.
This is the thing about the witches. They only reveal their identity one to another.
They're a very, very secret society.
We believe that this form of operating secretly is from the days of the Spanish conquest.
- It was a kind of a resistance to scare them. - What are the characteristics of the Chilote?
It's hard to explain the Chilotes. I'll have to get you to meet them.
I'm gonna take you to meet them and then you'll know how they are.
They're very special.
Catherine's right. No sooner have I arrived at a local festivity than I'm put to work.
Peeling the potatoes.
Sonia's done 153. I've done four.
Sonia is my host at a curanto, a sort of traditional do-it-yourself barbecue.
- (SONIA SPEAKS RAPID SPANISH) - I know.
Trouble is I belong to that softy world
of people who buy Marks and Spencer's ready-peeled.
I haven't seen potato peel in our house for years!
Actually, that's not true. Not at all true. My wife won't thank me for saying that.
It's just I don't see much of it, as you can tell. I do more cerebral things.
Habla ningún poquito de castellano, de español? No?
- Um... hablo un poco español. - Si?
Yeah. Poco. Poquito.
- Poquito, poquito. - Yeah, but I like the patatas.
Patatas that may well have originally grown on this island.
- This is where they came from. - Hola.
Estamos pelando papas.
- One of the original world spuds. - Ella es una gringita igual.
It's not like any barbecue I've ever been to.
Some of the preparations are alarming.
Se le pone un poco de manteca de chanco.
Mm, that's a bit of shaving cream. What's that? That's fat?
Some bits of pork and fat.
- Don't try this at home. - Todo se amasa.
The fire is kindled with special slow-burning wood.
These slow-burning properties are enhanced by the start of steady but generous rainfall.
At which point, the guests start to arrive.
Despite the downpour, the stones have heated nicely and are ready for the clams.
Inside, dancing begins.
- (SINGING) - The cueca is one of the oldest dances of Chile.
The man plays the strutting cockerel and the woman the playful hen.
(ACCORDION MUSIC)
By now, the barbecue resembles the scene of a serious accident,
but still more food goes on, bedded down beneath strips of fresh-cut turf.
(COUGHING)
(UPBEAT SONG)
At last the curanto is ready.
Somewhere under here, apart from my rissoles,
are clams, mussels, pork chops, salmon, ham and strings of sausages.
All we've got to do now is find theml
(CHILEAN MUSIC CONTINUES)
(SINGING IN SPANISH)
Chiloe is an eccentric place, but they do know how to have a good time on a rainy afternoon,
and where else could you learn to play the horse's jawbone?
(TOOTH DROPS)
E flat?
E flat - gone for good.
It never did stop raining on Chiloe,
but by the time we move on to Chile's capital Santiago 650 miles north,
it is dry and warm and suddenly, shockingly, full of people.
Five million of Chile's 13 million people live in Santiago,
where the most popular name seems to be 0'Higgins.
(CAR HORNS)
Bernardo 0'Higgins, illegitimate son of an Irish immigrant,
liberated Chile from the Spaniards in 1818, and they haven't forgotten him.
There's even a street named after Bernardo in the cemetery.
Santiago's General Cemetery is a city in itself.
Its long avenues cover 220 acres.
The remains of two million people lie here, lodged in every kind of property
from an earth mound to a marble palace.
Such is the demand for space that a rental system operates.
It can cost up to $200 a year to be dead here.
The cemetery has a haunting and powerful presence.
Miracles have been known to take place.
Away from the tombs of the rich and famous are those who died
in the repression that followed the military coup of 1973.
They were murdered methodically and secretly and their bodies dumped outside the cemetery.
Their names are still not known.
This dark, unhappy period of Chilean history
is remembered by the most powerful memorial of them all.
A wall of marble bears the names of those victims who have been identified.
From the president of the republic himself down to the most ordinary people...
...some of them children as young as two years old.
These are the names of the dead and disappeared.
Another 2,000 remain to be added.
The iron grip of military dictatorship has loosened.
General Pinochet and his army may wait in the wings, but Chile is again regarded
as a well-behaved democracy.
In the Plaza de Armas, life goes on.
Men without women cluster round the open-air chess boards.
If you're lonely, this is the place to find a partner. For chess, of course.
Spurred on by my great success against myself on the boat up from the south,
I decide it's time to put my new-found skills to the test.
Er...
It's a bloodbath. He wins before I've even got the hang of the clock.
Finished already! I was just getting warmed up!
I know. Next time I'll put my glasses on.
- Thanks, Gustav. So that's really... - That's because you lost the game.
But you're allowed five minutes. How long did we have?
We are already playing chess for maybe three minutes.
Shhh!
As evening falls over downtown Santiago,
the hilltop park of Cerro Santa Lucia offers a quiet getaway from city smog and traffic.
0r so they tell me.
(MAN SHOUTS IN SPANISH)
They didn't tell me it's also the pitch of a local evangelist,
who turns up every night to give vent to his passionate feelings. He's not the only one.
(HE CONTINUES SHOUTING)
Next day, we set out on an adventurous, some would say foolhardy, mission.
400 miles due west of Valparaiíso is one of Chile's most remote possessions,
a volcanic speck in the Pacific called the Juan Fernandez Islands.
This is the start of the Chilean winter and our flight has twice been postponed.
It's fine for now, but any rain will turn this dirt airstrip to mud.
If that happens, we'll be stranded.
The runway will accommodate a light aeroplane if the wind's in the right direction.
We all breathe a sigh of relief when we're safely down and heading for the terminal.
Though it seems unlikely at first, the islands are home to 4,500 people,
one of whom is my guide Marietta.
(MICHAEL) It's in the lap of the gods. Depends on the weather.
This is our car to go to the bay. You can take the boat to the town.
OK. I'll just join you in a minute. Just got to pay a call.
The facilities are not geared up for tourism.
Some of the flights have been delayed indefinitely.
The main road from the airport starts well on the hard volcanic rock,
but peters out at a rocky bay full of basking seals.
From here, with a bit of luck, a local boatman will take us around the coast to the only town.
These islands are world famous.
A man called Alexander Selkirk was abandoned on this coast in 1704
and lived alone here until his rescue in 1709.
Daniel Defoe was inspired to write a book of his story.
He changed Selkirk's name to Robinson Crusoe.
300 years on, we retrace Selkirk's first slippery footsteps.
OK.
Pair of mountain goats here.
They've tidied up the cave from which he must have scanned the Pacific
for four and a half years.
He lived here with only goats, rats and wild cats for company.
In reality, there was no Man Friday.
In "Robinson Crusoe", Defoe makes it all sound rather romantic.
I've got my little book here, which says something about him.
"I fancied myself like one of the ancient giants
"which was said to live in caves where none could come at them."
This was the exact cave and hole in the rock.
- Somebody could come into here. - It's tiny.
- It's very small. - Mm.
It's actually warm, isn't it, once you get in the middle here.
Alexander Selkirk was a thoroughly unpleasant character who deserved all he got.
But after spending four minutes in a cave where he spent four years,
I come away with a sneaking admiration for the old bastard.
- How long have you lived here? - I've been here for five years.
- Where did you live before? - In Santiago.
- Don't you miss Santiago? - No.
I miss the cinema or the newspaper, but... that's all.
What brought you here? Why did you come to this lonely island in the middle of nowhere?
I came like a tourist for five days
and I never left the island.
- Did you marry an islander, then? - Yes. And I have two kids.
This is a very nice place for the kids because it's very safe.
They can go everywhere they want. There's no danger.
There is something appealing in the seclusion of this dot in the ocean.
Unlike Selkirk, I'm in no hurry to leave.
(DRUMMING)
It's my last day in Santiago. In La Pintana, one of the poorest parts of the city,
a group called Caleta is working with the young children
who grow up in these tough surroundings.
(DRUMS BEATING)
Caleta, which means refuge, tries to create an alternative to poverty
that doesn't involve drugs or crime.
Everyone mucks in and learns something - even if they feel foolish. I'm in my element.
Caleta, with few resources except energy and enthusiasm,
is committed to helping these children.
Very few others are.
It's time to move north again,
from the fertile centre of Chile to the bare and spectacular landscape of the Atacama Desert.
Trapped between the high Andes and the cold, rainless offshore current,
there are places in the Atacama where no rain has ever fallen.
This is what I imagine it must be like to drive across the face of the moon.
Before and after me, there is utter silence.
Nothing moves in this petrified landscape day after day after day.
But not far below the surface, there is plenty going on.
At El Tatio, in the mountains above the desert, the earth's crust bubbles and boils
and geysers belch steam like factory chimneys.
Well, contrary to appearances, this great jacuzzi of a landscape
is actually set in a very, very cold part of the Andes.
My wonderful gadget here says it's about minus 10
and we are at 4,270 metres which is - wait a minute -
14,190 feet.
Which is, I think, the highest I've ever been in my life.
And, fortunately, the earth has provided its own natural warming device, which is just a blowhole.
Now for an Atacama breakfast - an egg boiled on the earth's crust.
Oooh! Ahhh! Ow! Oh, God! Ooh! Ooh, gawd!
Ahh.
Brilliant, just brilliant.
It's a long way to come, but it's worth it.
As in many great wildernesses, of the Pacific Rim, from Siberia to Australia,
the rocks beneath the Atacama contain some of the most valuable minerals on earth.
Chuquicamata is a company town built on copper.
In the last 80 years, an amphitheatre 2.5 miles long and 1.5 miles wide has been gouged out.
Every week a controlled explosion blasts more rock away.
This week, there's a special guest countdown.
Cinco... cuatro... tres... dos... uno... fuegol
Chuquicamata is a world of giants. It's the largest open-pit mine in the world.
Shovels lift 60 tons at a time and fill dump trucks high as a two-storey house.
Each of these tyres that are rolling over our cameraman cost $12,000.
But this is only half the operation.
I'm taken down to the smelting plant
where thousands of tons of rock are turned into tiny amounts of pure copper.
Chile is the world's largest copper producer.
These furnaces have been working continuously for seven months.
Despite pollution problems and recent scares over arsenic poisoning,
neither Chile nor the world could afford to shut down Chuquicamata.
Arica is Chile's most northerly town. It's nearly 3,000 miles from Cape Horn.
It has a church designed by Eiffel, of Tower fame,
and a rail link with Bolivia.
(TRAIN BELL CLANGS)
This isn't it.
Twice a week, a railway service leaves Arica for the Bolivian capital La Paz.
Gonna take for ever. Do you want a hand? Can I help?
There's only two of you to do all...
It's gonna take two hours. OK. You've got a system.
Captain Hook up there and you down here.
I've rarely felt quite as embarrassed at travelling with 45 cases.
Each one must be hoisted up by hand and stowed on the roof. The train is quite small.
In fact, it's a lot smaller than most of us had expected.
Some passengers are local, some have come from countries far away.
None have come quite as far as the train itself.
(TRAIN WHISTLE BLARES)
We're to cross the Andes on a rail bus built for the branch lines of Munich 30 years ago.
From the world's tiniest galley,
two of our three-man Bolivian crew produce the first of several hot dinners.
This line was built by the British in 1911.
The chief engineer, John Roberts Jones, died of malaria during its construction.
At one point, it climbs a thousand feet every three miles.
All this land used to belong to Bolivia, but Chile seized it in 1884.
Now Bolivia has no link with the sea, except by arrangement with Chile and Peru.
0ur engine needs constant cooling.
Water is pumped through a plastic pipe which runs the length of the track.
In this shadeless, treeless desert,
the nine o'clock from Arica has developed a considerable thirst.
Three and a half hours after leaving the Pacific, we're at 10,000 feet and still climbing.
Freight wagons from the mineral mines of the Andes
are a reminder of how vital this railway is.
In a land of harsh climate and impassable mountains, this is the only lifeline.
It's also my first taste of the altiplano, the high plateau of the Andes,
where the air is thin and simple things suddenly become difficult.
The main feeling is just... shortage of breath, shortage of oxygen,
and also a slight wooziness in the brain.
I feel... even more than usual...
I just want to sort of quietly sink off to sleep... as I'm sure does the entire crew.
As if to confirm I've arrived on the high plane, herds of llamas are everywhere.
They're the Andean beast of burden domesticated by the Incas.
They're perfectly adapted to this rarefied air.
(TRAIN WHISTLE BLARES)
Oh, yes!
Six and half hours and a few llamas after leaving Arica,
we've reached the Bolivian border.
It's only 130 miles from the Pacific, but everything is different.
It's the poorest country in South America - the walls are made of mud
and the soldiers' uniforms are a shocking contrast to their crisp counterparts in Chile.
Maybe it's Bolivia or another miraculously produced dinner,
but everyone's started talking to each other.
You're very adventurous - New Zealanders. All over the world, there's always New Zealanders.
- Why's that? What's the reason for it? - I don't know.
I guess because we're so isolated, it's good to get out and...
So you come to Bolivia! That figures!
- How are you feeling? - (AMERICAN) Terrible, terrible.
- Is it the altitude? - It gives you the headache, nausea.
And it's hard to breathe. You start to wheeze.
Did you not expect this? Guidebooks tell you about this.
The book said there'd by oxygen on the train and I was hoping there would be,
but when I asked him was there oxygen, I said (SNIFFS) like this,
and he says, "No, Colombia" and I said, "No, I don't want that. I want oxigeno."
So... So now I got coca tea.
- Oh, coca tea! - The coca tea is helping.
- Is it working? - Yes. If you keep drinking it.
The problem is that you drink it and you gotta run and pee, so you're drinking and peeing...
Does it make you feel a little high?
Yeah, a little bit light-headed... light-headed, but you still have the headache.
- Is it the journey of a lifetime? - It's the journey of everyone's dream!
Coca-leaf tea is illegal in Chile, but up here, two and a half miles high,
it's a tried and tested way to soften the effect of altitude.
A few hours later, the lights of La Paz twinkle below us. The end is near.
(SCREECHING BRAKES, SCREAMING, GLASS BREAKING)
Having climbed all the way up over the Andes, we saw the lights of La Paz in the distance.
Beginning to feel a little bit complacent. Suddenly there was juddering underneath.
We actually have ridden the points here.
We're still about an hour from La Paz.
Lots of people are trying to help out. People are emerging from the darkness all the time.
They're trying to get it back on the rails by putting stones down,
reversing back up so it'll reverse up over the stones and back onto the railway line.
Sounds extremely unlikely to me, but...
- (GRINDING) - Can you hear it?
- Ah. - (CONVERSATION IN SPANISH)
(TRAIN ENGINE STARTS)
(HARSH GRINDING)
(ENGINE RUNS)
(TRAIN'S ENGINE RUNS)
(DISTANT SHOUTED INSTRUCTIONS)
- Whoooo! - (APPLAUSE)
The rock theory of how to re-rail a train - it obviously works!
Gotta have a derailment where there's plenty of rubble.
The delay is much less than we'd expected. After all, what's one hour on a 14-hour journey?
But the new mood of euphoria is misplaced. Trouble awaits at the next level crossing.
The gates to La Paz are opened for us, but no one's been told we're coming.
(TRAIN WHISTLE BLARES)
As you can see, we've got a right-of-way problem here.
This is the railway line and this is the road.
Our conductor's trying to get people to clear out of the way.
He's cleared them out so we can go on.
Getting to La Paz is not easy.
(TRAIN WHISTLE BLARES)
(MICHAEL) Go on, off you go.
Barring a few drunks, dogs and rubbish,
the rest of our journey to this, the highest capital in the world, is plain sailing.
(DRIVER SPEAKS SPANISH INTO RADIO)
To our relief, the lights are still on at La Paz station
when our heroic vehicle finally pulls in.
We've crossed the Andes
at 16.4 miles an hour.
Is it a baggage trolley or a hearse that's come to meet us?
Quite frankly, either would suit me.
(PASSENGERS CLAP AND CHEER)