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In my days in Ushuaia, I did one thing only: wait.

I waited to board the ship heading south.

Since I arrived in Argentina, I had been waiting for the fabled last-minute boat ticket, so my itinerary kept changing. When Ushuaia became the final stop, I felt a quiet joy, as if a story were close to a perfect ending.

Because there was little to do, my memories of this place are simple and clear.

First, there was a thrilling sunset.

In the summer at the southern tip of the earth, night comes very late. After dinner, I finally headed out, and in less than ten minutes, walking down a slope from my place, I reached the coast. In front of me was the Beagle Channel, where the Atlantic seemed to dance toward the Pacific.

In the golden moment before sunset, golden light and shimmering ripples mixed with colors that should have belonged only to the sky.

In the first act, called Gold, daylight did not intend to leave yet. It still opened a corner of the stage and peered down at the land.

Across the snowy mountains, it seemed as if fierce flames were burning, and even the clouds looked as though they had been invited to join the show. Act II, Song of Ice and Fire.

In the film Happy Together, the character Xiao Zhang says, “Say the things that make you sad and leave them at the end of the world,” so say it to this sunset. For two people to have seen such a sunset here, it would surely become one of countless memories for the rest of their lives.

The island of Tierra del Fuego, where Ushuaia is located, was named by Magellan. It is said that when he discovered the place, he saw smoke signals rising from the indigenous people on the island, and so he named it after fire.

But I’d rather believe that in 1520 Magellan also saw a sunset as captivating as fire.

Ushuaia is small, with only a few main streets. You can walk back and forth on the bustling Saint Martin Street in no time. Yet this tiny city has a surprisingly big reputation in the traveler world.

The town is ringed by snowy mountains, colorful and built against the slopes, with a vivid, layered landscape.

Its quiet harbor is clear and blue, beautiful and charming, and small boats fill the bay in rows. Despite the high latitude, the Southern Hemisphere summer is still lush and full of life, adding plenty of energy to Ushuaia.

Every road running northwest to southeast has one end touching the mountains and the other reaching the bay. Even sages and the wise would agree here.

Geographically, this is the southernmost city in the world where people live. Even though Chile, not happy about it, built Puerto Williams on the opposite southern bank, its population of fewer than 3,000 does not stop Argentinians from putting up a big Fin del Mundo (End of the World) sign.

So everything here has an extra label: “of the End of the World.” There is a train at the end of the world, a post office at the end of the world, a museum at the end of the world, a lighthouse at the end of the world—even the nightclubs use the title. A place near my stay called Bamboo is a Chinese restaurant at the end of the world.

If I wanted, then just by walking far enough through the city, I could become an end-of-the-world Chinese person—or simply a human.

Here is a couple at the end of the world, drinking mate.

The phrase “end of the world” seems to have a kind of magic that draws travelers here. Whether one comes alone, with a partner, or in a group, no matter what mood they arrive with, they have, in some way, arrived.

Ushuaia may be small, but the Tierra del Fuego archipelago it sits in is vast. Snowy ridges stack up and rise one after another, while lakes spread across the land. Fagnano Lake, the largest glacial lake, covers hundreds of square kilometers.

On the way to Ushuaia, we had a full chance to take in the majestic scale of this place. For someone heading to the end of the world, it was the best reward.

Tierra del Fuego National Park, with its dense forests, is an important stop on a Ushuaia trip. The park includes the small train and post office mentioned above, plus several short and long hiking routes.

It is also the terminal point of the Pan-American Highway network. This road starts at Prudhoe Bay inside Alaska’s Arctic Circle, carries the chill of the far north through mountain rainforests and ocean, and continues all the way to the world’s southernmost end.

Beyond that, the red-and-white lighthouse in the Beagle Channel, Ushuaia’s museums, and the local handicraft market are all nice things to see.

But I didn’t do any of those, because I was waiting.

Travel is like dating: when there is one thing most important to your heart, everything else feels irrelevant (the polished saying is “Apart from Wushan, it’s not clouds,” but in reality I simply overslept and missed the bus).

During the days of waiting, I walked to the harbor every morning, noon, afternoon, and night to keep watch. When the internet was much less developed, waiting in Ushuaia was probably even more romantic—and lonelier. A backpacker, after a long overland trek, standing in cold weather at the harbor, would wait desperately for a ticket that would take them south.

I had clear expectations, but fewer stories. Like dawn by West Lake, where people once queued to buy thick bundles of lotus leaves cleaned by boat crews the night before, when I happened to pass by there a couple of years ago, the original lotus-buying spot had a new sign: “Please order on WeChat Official Account and deliver to home.”

Every day, long-distance cruise ships returned to port, so I nervously asked people who came back from afar about that white world. Once they confirmed I wasn’t a scammer, everyone willingly shared their stories. I’ve forgotten the details by now; all I still remember is the happiness on their faces. That happiness also sparked hope in me.

When I was young and reading The Count of Monte Cristo, the final line I remembered was: “The whole wisdom of humankind is in these five words: waiting and hope.” Waiting and hope were everything I had in Ushuaia.

I sat for an afternoon in a café beside the post office, turning waiting and hope into postcards and sending them out one by one.

Fortunately, besides hope, there was also king crab.

At that unbelievably low exchange rate in Argentina, we were able to taste a rare treasure from the frigid waters of the Southern Ocean for only 200 yuan each, which really soothed a lot of the anxiety that came with waiting.

On the night before leaving Ushuaia, I wrapped myself in a thick down jacket and walked along the strait as far as I could. The quiet end of the world was unexpectedly beautiful.

Suddenly, I thought, if I could keep waiting here forever, that wouldn’t be so bad.

But in the end, I would board my ship the next day.

I stood on deck and waved goodbye to Ushuaia.

From the End of the World to a harsh winter wonderland.

- The End -

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