South America & Falklands - part seventeen

Welcome to Ushuaia, Argentina. The world's southernmost city - end of the world - fin del mundo.

Friendly, but not necessarily if you're British. A harbourside hoarding proclaims Ushuaia as the Capital de las Malvinas (the Falklands).

At the port entrance a sign reads 'English pirate ships prohibited from mooring', while a map shows the Malvinas. Minerva, with mostly British passengers, is registered in the Bahamas.

Consider the hullabaloo if, at Heathrow in London, a sign said 'Despicable Argie invaders go home (but, on second thought, we welcome your tourist spending)'.

Along from the port, another sign.

On the main street, near souvenir shops hoping for British customers, a sign, partly and unmistakably in English.

At the city tourist office, along with the usual brochures, are pamphlets in English and Spanish stating Argentina's claim to the islands.

This is not to deny the suffering of the ill led, under equipped and supplied Argentine conscripts serving a popinjay dictator who invaded the Falklands in 1982. Many fought bravely. A city plaza has a dignified monument in their memory. 

Around the periphery are enlarged war photos worth studying. What do this young Argentine couple, born long after, think as they look?

The caption in English reads: 'He is alone and waits. He is accompanied by one anti-air machine gun and a peculiar landscape. The bay is calm. The Harrier will not be long'. The Harrier was Britain's principal attack aircraft in the war.

An Ushuaia museum has a small exhibit on Argentina's worst single loss of the war. The General Belgrano was torpedoed by a British submarine. 323 died. 

This photo was taken from the British periscope as the Belgrano sank.

This is old stuff. Like constant advertising, the Malvinas signs likely register, not on locals but on visitors. The memorial - or, more likely, politicians - only occasionally awaken bittersweet memories. Not all here is festering recollections of conflict and ancient competing claims.

A DC-3, the Cabo de Hornos, molders against peaks.

Cheerful lupines brighten brief summer.

A skateboarder whizzes by.

And in an Ushuaia park, I find Evita. Time for the trip's one 'selfie'.