Galley food, an orange moon, and celestial talking

All in all life down here, on the Ice, has been really sweet. Although, I will admit, those first few hours on the ice were surreal. When I got off the plane, I was giddy with Antarctia. Erebus looming and pluming, the Terra Bus awaiting us. But after 30 seconds in the galley I felt (very very oddly) as if I never left. Everything was known. So many of the same people greeted me with big smiles and familiar embraces, the food tasted the same (it was definitely not better than I remembered), and even the table conversations familiar. It was odd, like being home again, yet in some desolate far off land. Very very odd.

Yet then, at night, it got dark! *grin* The one continual day that I knew Antarctia to embrace broke open to reveal saturated black. I love the darkness down here! I love it.




The darkness feels special, and Winfly weather is wild. We've had some of the most beautiful sunsets and sunrises, some full on crazy Condition 2 (should be 1) storms! Last month, I also watched the lunar eclipse and as a group of us gathered up by the start of the Castle Rock Loop Trail. Dressed in what felt like a dozen layers, with our heads gazing toward the sky, we were all visited by a celestial god!

Photo by unknown artist

Aurora are AMAZING! I've seen them before, only once or twice as a child in Iowa, but this time was absolutely phenomenal. We laid on the ground and watched the white on the horizon grow to fill the whole sky with dancing green. Then the green swirled into pink and bright turquoise. The clouds opened and the stars sparkled above. Blue and green wisps dancing among bright twinkles everywhere. To the north, the moon shown orange. It was awe striking!

Photos by Erik Kawasaki

I am one of the luckiest women in the world!

Intermediary

In between June 23rd and September 22nd....I continued to write to all of you.

The problem is I have many ambitions. *grin* (I definitely haven't failed to post out of lazyness!) My postings are handwritten in my journal, and the photos in my library. At present I'm working to transcribe these onto my computer, match them up with photographs...and proof read them in attempt to catch my miserable spelling before you do (which rarely happens!).

But, in the mean time, I want to get on with telling you about my here and now.

So here is a wee overview to catch you all up to the present. (Don't forget details will come! LOTS OF THEM!)

End of June: After I left Japan, I continued my travels through China. I was based in Beijing, and took a few excursions from here including a stunning trip to the Great Wall in Huang Huay.

July: I traveled (mainly solo) through Thailand and Laos. I hiked through the jungle, lived in tree forts and at a temple, and spent glorious time swimming in Thailand's turquoise waters with J. It was absolutely amazing.

During the end of July I cherished a week with my WHOLE family in Iowa. I love that miraculous week each year!

Photo taken by my Pops, editing done by me.

August: I visited Teeo in Seattle; fell in love with the city and the fellow. Then I spent more cherished time in Iowa AND...

August 18th, I redeployed for Antarctica.

I have a position working in Mac Ops: McMurdo Radio and Communications Operations. I operate High Frequency (HF) and Very High Frequency (VHF) radios and utilize Iridium Satellite telephones to communicate with the South Pole, Scientists and support staff working in remote deep field locations. I also monitor and track flights, making comms with pilots flying helicopters, twin otters, and C130 military planes around the continent.

I love my job and my co-workers.

Down here on the ice August through October is considered Winfly, or Winter Flyover. Three flights are sent down the last week of August to officially end the Antarctic winter and prepare for the Austral summer; I was on the third flight. After these flights we are locked in, no more flights touch the continent until mainbody begins in October. Over the course of 6 weeks the sun very slowly rises, transforming 4 hours of light per day (as it was the first day I arrived) to 24 hours of daylight (as it will be in two short weeks).

Photo by Wade, Pegasus Electrician

The sunsets are phenomenal, the storms fierce, the temperatures frigid and the community cozy.

I am happy here.

Evans Again

Yesterday, I had one of those days, one of those days that remind me why I love this continent.

I went on a working boondoggle, a flagging trip out to Cape Evans.

Photo by Rob, a Line Soo Chief

Webster Dictionary describes a boondoggle as:
“Work or an activity that is pointless but gives the appearance of having value.”
This cracks me up. I especially find humorous the descriptor: pointless, which transforms the phrase 'working boondoggle' into an absolute oxymoron.

Photo by Erik Kawasaki, Network Engineer

My boondoggle: placing flags every 150 yards on a newly mapped sea ice road. I got out of town, back to Barnes Glacier (where I went on my birthday last year), into the Cape Evans Hut again!



Photo by Erik Kawasaki, Network Engineer

AND I got an amazing workout! Holding a running motorized drill and hopping on and off a snow mobile about 100 times while wearing 10lb boots and 4 layers of heavy clothing can keep the heart rate up! *laughter*

Photo by Erik Kawasaki, Network Engineer

We had contests to see which teams can make straight lines, laughing and poking fun at each other the whole way. Plus the –10 below temps really gave me (and the others) a reason to dance around out in the snow…

I had so much fun.

Why Antarctica?

There are many, many moments when I wonder why the hell I live in Antarctica. Usually this question follows a meal at the galley (our dinning hall), especially during winfly when the freshies (fresh vegetables and fruit) are at an all time low and my diet restricts me from seven eigths of the meal. Mush only tastes so good for so long.

Why Antarctica? That’s what I ask on a slow day at work, in our over heated building from the late 70’s; i feel like i could be anywhere in industrial america. Or on my walk home when the ambient temperature outside is 28 below and my hair wet from the gym freezes in the short 100 feet. Of all places, why did I pick the most isolated continent on earth? Sometimes, after I phone conversations Teeo, J, or my family I feel like I am 15,000 miles away…and know that I actually am.



But then, there are other days when nearly every second I am grinning ear to ear, giddy as a gallant hero or a 4-year-old full of laughter. All the details of habituated life are cared for, the creatively constructed parties turn me into a dancing machine...and the people make me laugh (hard!). Plus, the adversity of this lifestyle, the challenges that emerge from the climate, the isolation, and the intense social sphere push me to look inside and ask really big questions. Down here, I feel alive, more playful than I have been since I was a roll-y little tike living in Dyersville, Iowa. And strong. I am reminded of why I love traveling, what I love of life, and that…

I love Antarctica.

Languid

When J described me in Beijing she used the term, languid. This word, just simply the way it feels in my mouth, rolling off my tongue, articulates how relaxed I feel here.

Languid.



In China, I feel flexible. I like the grim. The city's always under construction, always in change. I like the people, breaking all the rules, ironically somehow free in their expressions, very open to us, the foreigners trying desperately to say anything in Mandarin. I like not fretting so much about every penny I spend.

China and Japan are very different from one another. The contrast feels almost intrusive. Japan is an isolated island, developed, rich with tradition, boiling in tradition. China, on the other had, is a massive land. From Beijing, it's boundaries seem so distant, travel time immense, and the change vast.

In Japan, I loved the sereneness, the quietness, the generosity of the people, the saturated etiquette, the gardens, and the onsens. I loved the onsens. (And I love my friends there, which definitely can not be left out!)

But China, china feels so light and pliable. Permeable in comparison. As the dust from the Gobi Desert, and the dirt from construction whirl into the smog, change is literally visible and breathable. Japan in impeccably clean. China doesn't hid its turbulence. It feels absolutely real to me. Like it's flaws are on the outside. I don't feel I can make as many mistakes here. I like that.

In my pocket

There are two distinct ways I recognize a good book.

#1: I try to save it.

I read a couple pages, or maybe two, or sometimes only half a page and then I shut the book and place it somewhere Safe. I tuck it away in my shoulder bag, or place it on lap just next to my stomach. When I was in Antarctica, a safe spot was usually on my lap. Sitting in the drivers seat of Van 219 or Delta 498 or Ivan, I would snuggle my precious book as close as I could to my stomach, right on top my lined Carhartt overalls, my capilene 4 long johns, and my silk long under ware. (I liked wearing heaps of layers, even when my colleagues insisted that the vans were sooo warm, I persisted. Toasty, I prefer toasty.) Then, I would then gaze out onto the ice shelf deeply enjoying my most recent thought or the feeling that arose in my chest during that last passage. Either that, or I would immediately pick up my journal or a letter writing pad and start what almost always became a long somewhat purposeful rambling of thoughts.

The more I liked a book the longer it took to read and the more letters I wrote.

Right now I am reading, "Eat, Pray, Love". It's one of those books that's so honest it picked a cheesy title. A title that, after having been in Japan, I feel I should probably cover up with a book cover so that I can capture the absolutely enjoyable book away from criticism. I mean, do I really want to reveal my joy when all the Tokyo train passengers are hiding their books from me? Why be that generous, right? But really, I don't care a hoot about what they think...or what the other passengers on this flight to Beijing feel about my book title. I just take a good savory bite and then slide it right underneath my sternum, in between my stomach and the strap of my shoulder bag, and I write.

Which brings me to the second way I know I love a book:

#2: When reading, I get the urge to write with such an intense insatiable force that I absolutely can not finish reading the sentence.

Often, with the best books, the inspiration is so strong that I struggle to ever finish the book. I spend so much time processing, piecing, accumulating, and arranging words (in my mind, on paper, on a napkin, on a slew of very tiny sheets of paper) that months later, when I realize I am only on page 35, I have to laugh. It's my only option.

The first time I became aware of this predicament was months after I began reading Annie Dillard's book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. Some of my friends have complained that her books are overwhelmed with description. I soaked every detail into my bones. In fact, I liked Chapter 2, "On Seeing" so much that I wanted everyone to read it. Or, more importantly, I wanted everyone to see the world with the attention she gave it. So, I photocopied the chapter minimizing the text to 8 pt. font. Then, I cut her words apart. Using scotch tape, I starting attaching the words to overlooked details all throughout my neighborhood. There were thousands. I kept them in a little plastic zip lock and always carried them with me. For two months I put up at least 5 a day. I did it on the sly, when no one was looking, and hardly told anyone about the mission. Not because I was trying to keep it a secret but rather because I didn't realize it was a sort of odd, or sometimes even compulsive thing to do.

My brother always gave me a hard time about Annie Dillard's book, but in a sort of endearing way. He would joke about it in conversation, usually after I proclaimed: "well, I started that book," or "was that book good, I began it but never finished." He was the one who revealed to me that I save books. I never did finish "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek" but I love it.

Which brings me to the other book I am reading now--in between onsens and bike rides, in between sleep and awake, in between planes, and on buses--

39 Microlectures: In Proximity of Performance by Matthew Goulish.

I am sure you may have noticed. I have been quoting that fellow. In fact, I find it so inspiring that in three weeks, reading it for nearly an hour or two a day, I am only on page 33. I keep writing. He keeps reading my thoughts. I wonder how he got to them before I did.

Open to an offering

"Japan Airlines flight 781 to Beijing is now departing from gate 85. The flight will be delayed 30 minutes. It's new departure time is 11:30am."

I am in Narita International Airport waiting. Waiting and considering generosity.

Japan has been very generous to us. Almost always in unexpected, unpredictable ways. Take the danishes and juice that has been provided for all Japan Airlines passengers who are experiencing a mere 30 minute plane delay. This is surely unexpected. Jules facial expression mimics mine: confused surprise. Such thoughtfulness. Yes, it is dairy laden thoughtfulness, preservative rich and sugar filled thoughtfulness. But never-the-less we would not be considered this way if we were flying with American.

Even more generous (far more generous in fact) were our hosts. Akiko, her family, and Shoko continually went out of their way to share such love! They treated us to, without question, the best meals we ate in all of Japan. Shoko and Akiko, toured us around a day in Tokyo, they came to Kyoto to spend time with us there, and we all met up last night to eat magnificent suchi in this cozy, friendly, contemporary rotating suchi bar. They were some of my favorite memories and made some of my favorite times. I want to go back just to meet more of their families, and see more of the places they love. And I feel I understand Akiko and Shoko in ways that were inexplicable before.

This morning, Akiko, her mom and her dad all awoke at 5:30am to sort out the logistics of our voyage to the airport. J and I assumed, when we went to bed the night before, that we had all the details sorted. Of course, they were ahead of us. Nariko left the house at six, picked up a cab and brought it back to their house. Then Akiko's dad loaded our bags and Akiko hopped in the cab with us. She left for work 2 hours early just to deliver us to the correct gate of the expansive Shubuya train station. Of course, she bought out tickets for us and then entered the platform just to wish us off.

I feel like a truly lucky woman.

"We are now boarding flight 781 to Beijing. All passengers please proceed to gate 85."