Coffee and chocolate

I just have to share a very auspicious occasion with you - I suspect some of you could likely relate to my simple pleasures...

I finally ran out of food today, and had to do a shop for some more survival items (pb, bread, jam, fruit, etc). (Of course we're guaranteed to fly soon now that I've restocked the larder.) As I meandered through the supermarket, piecing together what the items were from my meagre pidgin Spanish, I spotted a little bag of something that I had not expected to find in Punta Arenas.

Introduced to them back in '99, I have only come across these little delicacies in 1st world countries - the UK (WH Auden), and the USA & Canada (Starbucks etc). Most South Africans have no idea what they are, and most would probably not enjoy the sweet and bitter taste thatthey leave on the tongue.

I'm talking about chocolate covered coffee beans of course, especially the ones coated in a thick layer of dark cocoa chocolate...

So great was my happiness at finding some of these little delicacies available locally, that I promptly bought a bag and consumed about half of its 80g contents (the rest got shared with my co-workers as part of my "the first one is always free" addiction-sharing programme). I expect I won't be sleeping much tonight - but hey, the taste and experience was worth it. :)

(And for those who have not tried a chocolate covered espresso bean yet - try it, you'll like it.)

We're still pending a clearing in the weather at 80S. As Jaco (fellow Sefrican and meteorologist at PH) phrased it this morning - "there's a horde of clouds conspiring to outflank our manoeuvres and dump a load of snow on the runway". The guys have fired up our snowblower (capable of moving 2500 cubic metres of snow an hour) and are clearing the runway - hopefully we get to bash through the clouds before they complete their flanking.

A blog starts

Spent some of my unproductive time of the last few days setting up my very own weblog (or "blog" as it's known colloquially).

http://whitingjj.blogspot.com

As managing this mailing list gets to be rather cumbersome at times, I'll be posting most of my reports to the blog - check back regularly to see if I've managed to rattle off a new missive. (Please feel free to distribute the URL to anybody you know that might be interested inwhat I'm up to.)

You might also gather that I'm still not at Patriot Hills, and how right you'd be. The chance I thought we'd had a few days ago very quickly faded into a snowstorm with 200m visibility, so we've gone nowhere. Now just hoping the runway isn't too snowed over (and if it is, that it can be cleared quickly) and that we can get moving shortly.

Fortunately I'm not in the same boat as one of my other teammates - he's been here for a month, just waiting for a (new) machine to reach PA so that he could help load it to go to PH. So we're both getting a bit frustrated with work to do, and nowhere to do it. (At least his machine is now on the aircraft, and he'll be heading in with me.)

Well, it's off to a quiet Saturday evening. The Straits have quietened down after masses of white horses galloped across the steely grey waters throughout the day, there are several ships at anchor just outside the harbour (just switching on their lights as the sun starts setting), and Tierra del Fuego and surrounding islands are slowly becoming amorphous mountainous blobs as horizon and sea assume the same blueish colour. Who said remote wasn't beautiful?

Take care all, hope to have some cool news soon!

Life from the outside

Just had a social dinner with some of my Antarctic crew-mates (those of us who have been down here more than 4-5 times), and retired downstairs to check up on some stuff. Took some time out, quickly read through the last couple of December Durban Clipper diary entries, found my mind suddenly in a very different space, and thought to drop a quick note.

Although it is now 22:30 here in Punta Arenas, there is still a lovely baby-pink hue to the night sky. Venus has just started strutting her stuff, the last pink of the day has left the clouds to continue their chilly eastward dance, and the twinkling of city lights down the hill remind one that there are people with normal lives.

Looking out over the city, I'm reminded of a feeling I still often get when driving along dark streets past houses gaily lit from within. Each passing house is different, each glowing with a warmth from within, and each lasts but a fleeting instant before it fades into the past. (Each also seems very distant, seemingly containing a life I cannot comprehend or attain.) Watching the houses pass by, I'm reminded that there are moments in life that - however fleeting they may be - are islands of warmth, bonhomie, life, friendship, and fun. We can choose to enter these moments, or just watch them pass by from the outside, forever wishing, striving, and (ultimately) regretting not being part of that which we witness.