McMURDO STATION, ANTARCTICA
Last night, I grabbed dinner on my way home from a long day at work and slumped into a chair and flipped on the news. The weather report comes on predicting another clear day, and reporting temperatures at the South Pole of -23. It is a daily ritual in which countless people partake. Right up until that whole South Pole weather part.
Life in Antarctica conjures up images of penguins clustered in blizzards and early polar explorers man-hauling sleds over sastrugi with their heads hung low in the blinding snow. The truth is, I sleep in a dorm with my window open because of an overzealous boiler. It is not unusual to see people wearing shorts on a Sunday. I work in an office that looks like it could be anywhere- harsh fluorescent bulbs and a drop ceiling with those terrible dappled white tiles. Sometimes I wish I had galoshes for dodging the summer mud puddles. When I need to haul boxes across town, I hop in a Ford F-350 pickup and drive over gravel roads to get there. I have been on a snowmobile a total of five times in the last six years. I only wear my big red parka on the flight to and from the continent. I gave up goggles months ago. It is Saturday night, and I will go to a dinner party, possibly stop by the local bar to enjoy some live music, or maybe grab a movie with friends. Tomorrow I will enjoy my one day weekend, sleeping in and staying up too late, and then regretting that Monday morning when I drag myself back to work. It's not quite the intrigue and adventure one might imagine my Antarctic life to be.
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