We raised the curtain of our stateroom window at 7 AM,  needing to prepare for a 9:15 SOB departure. I only wake when the sun comes up so we had to set an alarm; the window shade is a total blackout affair. We were greeted with a view of a fishing vessel – Asian of some sort – Chinese? Taiwanese? – and views of Port Stanley harbor. Soon, a Southern Giant-Petrel and a pair of Kelp Gulls flew by. The birders on board tell me there’s no such thing as a sea gull. They all have a name, and there’s a ton of them worldwide.

And, what’s that spec half way between here and the fishing ship? Could it be? Yes! It’s a penguin and one we haven’t seen yet, a Magellanic Penguin. What’s he doing there all by him/herself?

Enough sightseeing. Off to the World Café to stoke up for the morning run, then into our regalia – red jacket, black water repellent pants, rubber boots and that infernal life jacket that, lo and behold, I managed to put on without assistance in what would prove to be the only time on this entire trip, I’m, ashamed to say.

The Special Operations Boat(SOB) ride lasted 45 minutes or so and was narrated by a member of the Expedition Staff from Italy. There weren’t many members of the wildlife kingdom to point out so she spent most of the time bemoaning humankind’s lack of care for the environment. I’m as much of a tree hugger as the next guy but, really, enough is enough. I did spot a fair number of waterfowl on our trip. There were a couple of abandoned ships rotting away whose salvage is uneconomic. We also had good views of the landscape and, toward the end, passed by downtown Port Stanley.

Port Stanley, as of the Queen’s Jubilee in 2022, has been officially declared a city, population 4,500 or so, which accounts for 80% of the total population of the Falkland Islands. I’d say it deserves the title. It’s not a town anymore. There’s a fair amount of industry, mostly associated with fishing, I’d guess. You have to be careful crossing streets for fear of being run over by a right-hand drive Land Rover.

And there’s no doubt about it. The vast majority of Port Stanley-ites are loyal Brits through and through. The go-to restaurant dish is fish and chips. The accents are all British. Nary a Spanish accent to be heard anywhere. The local museum presents the 1982 war as an incursion turned back by the Queen’s own.

Our next outing was a bus ride to Scenic Gypsy Cove, maybe 20 minutes out of town. Scenic it is and also home to more Magellanic penguins, cute little buggers that they are. The lady who guided our bus trip proudly displayed a certificate she earned by swimming in the ocean at Gypsy Cove last winter (you have to get your head wet). It’s more of an accomplishment than just getting cold. Gypsy Cove was not declared land mine free until 2020, the last part of the Falklands to be cleared.

The man who led us up the hill to see the penguins told us of being the Sargent-Major of the local defense force at the time of the invasion, some 34 lads in all. He was detained on West Falkland Island under house arrest. He pointed out the distant hills where some of the important battles were fought. The initial invasion occurred not far from Gypsy Cove.

Gipsy Cove is near the Port Stanley airport. The government runs the service. If you want to go somewhere in the Falklands, you call up that morning and state your desires. They devise a route that accommodates all comers that day. Tomorrow the route will be different.

The Gypsy Cove tour dropped us off downtown and, at 1 PM, ready for lunch. Not far along we found the Groovy restaurant featuring, of course, fish and chips. We were seated with shipmates who come from Minnesota. We all ordered the fish and chips and, after a considerable wait, consumed with gusto. Two ships are in port today, ours and a Norwegian Cruise Line boat of considerably greater size. Every restaurant and tee-shirt shop in town was mobbed.

Because we’d packed in carryon luggage coming down, we were lacking in space for the expedition jackets that we’ve been given to take home. So we found a gift shop with a suitable bag which, for a considerable number of Falkland Pound Sterlings, solved that problem.

We visited the local museum, giving us a good overview of life in the Falklands. I found most interesting the displays that gave us the story of individual characters who came here, married, raised a family and worked in fishing or other maritime pursuits. The war was given considerable coverage, of course.

Then, a problem. The zipper on our new bag was stuck. We went to the store and asked for a return and replacement. The nice lady demonstrated that the zipper could be freed and made to work just fine, but we asked for and were given a different bag, one costing 5 FILB (or whatever they call their currency) less. The difference was given to us in a handful of coins of unknown value.

What to do? Go for ice cream, of course. I held out my fistful of coins and asked the lady, “Is this enough for two dishes?” She took all but three coins. “I want chocolate syrup on mine,” demanded Judy. The lady took the three remaining coins and said, “Close enough.”

The good news is that the ice cream didn’t spoil our appetite for dinner one little bit.