First 48 hours in Antarctica. 2004.

by, sandwich

4:00pm. Sunday, October 24, 2004. I have been here exactly 48 hours.

Temperature, 7 degrees F. McMurdo population 916.

Friday

2 hours = Transport from the C-17 to the Chalet, brief briefing, lay my bags down in the galley, chase down my keys from housing.

2 hours = Dinner with Jonnie*, greet my welcome wagon, bring bags to my room.

2 hours = Coffee house, hug a bunch of people I haven't seen since the last time I hugged them, Bushmills on the rocks.

1 hour = Ping pong with Jonnie in dorm 211. Defeat.

8 hours = Sleep.

Saturday

.5 hour = Shower, dress.

10 hours = Work. (It's what I'm really here for.)

1 hour = Dinner.

1 hour = Shower. So as to not smell as much like food.

1 hour = Return to Galley to find out where to meet that Jonnie and Phil.

2 hours = Ping pong with Jonnie, Phil*, Kitty Cupp*, her dad (Papa Cupp*), Anna*.

4 hours = Coffee house, Gallagher's, Southern Exposure pub crawl with Maryann and Lavonne. Love those ladies.

8 hours = Sleep. I'm doing good this year.

Sunday. Day off.

.5 hour = Shower, dress   

2 hours = Brunch. Coffee.

1 hour = Supervise John Lyons shave his head into a mohawk.

2 hours = Bowling with Jonnie and Marsha. I won an 8 foot scarf and a South Pole hat.

= 48 hours.

They say your first 48 hours, you may experience feelings of confusion, disorientation, and possibly asking yourself "what did I get myself into?"  Yeah. No. Lots of familiar faces, which makes it so much easier to get back into the swing. It's interesting being here, so Far Away From Home, yet feeling So Much at Home. People have been saying "Welcome Home." My response to this is not easily translated onto a keyboard but sounds something like "ahhhhh" with several rising and falling tones. Maryann, my former roommate, says, "Oh, you had to come back. You belong here." That's weird. Who belongs here? I guess we all do. That's why we're here. It takes a certain person to bury their dignity under their blue shirts, sacrifice 4-5 months to come here and scrub pots or toilets, and still come back for more. For most, it's the Adventure! Mystery! Romance! Maybe it's an escape, or to find something or someone new, whether they're looking for it or not. Or maybe it's because your husband is an electrician here. Whatever. I felt like I had to come back. To define the emotions this place inflicts on an individual. To figure out why this places changes me. To gain clarity. To make sandwiches. Antarctica will always be a part of my life. Whether that's a blessing or a curse, I am yet to find out. Or decide.

The days leading up to this journey were unsettling. Why? I've done this before, and I knew what to expect. I'm usually so cool when it comes to uprooting and diving head first into a new adventure. It's kind of a high for me and I love to ride it. Yet, I was just feeling like it was a cold day outside, and I was comfortable under my warm blanket, dammit, and taking a shower was the last thing on Earth I wanted to do. I lived in a big house in San Francisco with 5 of my best friends and a cat, inspired to create art and make stuff, learning to love my new neighborhood, and just happy to be in SF because I was just getting the hang of the city's rhythm again and wanted to dance. The week before I left I had a slumber party, invited a bunch of  friends, had pillow fights and played Atari all night. A few days later I begrudgingly put all my stuff in storage and sat in my blank room with my blank fort, empty furniture, and the cat. I stomped and stropped around cramping, "I don't wanna go! I like it here!" I've left for lots of long trips to crazy far away places lots of times. It sounds dumb, but the hardest thing about leaving is actually doing it. Getting out from under that warm blanket on a cold day and taking that damn shower.

And I won't see a cat till February.