Ice, White & Blue

Redhead Amok in Antarctica

And Then There Was Ruby

1990 Wine red Subaru Legacy, two previous owners, 180,000KM on her, new tires, in grand shape.

Ruby. Mine. The world is my oyster and I gasp and tremble at the responsibility and freedom of owning a  car in NZ.

I can go anywhere.

Anything can happen.

I had spent the afternoon with James & Zondra trying to find a rental car to no avail. Nothing in the South Island available for a week and nothing affordable after the week.

I wanted a car. I didn't want to hitchhike this time.  I loved it last year, but I sort of felt the need to have a wheeled purse to haul my stuff around with, instead of using my own back to hump my life on. I passed places inaccessible to me on foot, hikes passed up because I'd have to pay $100 to get a ride to the start of the hike. I was incredibly dependent upon the goodwill of Kiwis to pick me up and take me places off the track. And indeed, the goodwill of kiwis is legendary, and I was the beneficiary of a great deal of it.

Still, I craved independence, even if it came at a price.

So we three Ice folks climbed on board the bus back from the Antarctic Centre, the CDC (Clothing Distribution Centre) and discussed in our loud American accents our possibilities. J & Z had done the buy/sell a car in NZ post-Ice several times and had all kinds of recommendations. But we came stuttering to a halt eventually. In the pause, an attractively elegant young woman leaned over from her seat opposite us and apologized for eavesdropping.

"I'm selling my car," she said.

We discussed the car, which sounded, in theory good, if way out of my price range of intended costs. She answered all our questions, and asked some of her own. We revealed why we were so pale and sunburned and weirdly ADD, and why we needed a car. She gave me her card and I promised to call her.

I called her the next day, met Ruby the Suby (she came pre-named) at noon in front of the Y, and bought her several hours later.

An hour after that we were on the road to the Maruia Hot Springs.

I own a car in New Zealand.

I own a car in New Hampshire.

I am aware of my privilege, I am aware of my overconsumption of the world's resources. I am experiencing some guilt about it.

I'll work hard to expiate it.

But first, I'm on the road again. I've got kilometres to cover, views to see, hitch hikers to pick up, bridges to camp by.

posted by: coldwish at 13:17 | link | comments (6) |
nz 2007

Peeping Tom Conclusion

I figured it was a crime of opportunity, some easy access that Charlie B's hadn't known about. All I wanted was that they know about it and take care of it.

I imagined a slightly younger, less sanguine, jaded even, woman experiencing the same thing as I did, and not responding as calmly as I had. Okay, so I was fresh off the Ice, I did think I had to be hallucinating. I was in a state of disbelief anyhow, just lying there after my alarm had gone off, stunned silly by the whole concept of being responsible for getting my own breakfast, and finding a place to put my head. I had lain there shaking internally over the idea of having to think about those things, and I had considered actually just going to the Travel Office at the Antarctic Center and booking a flight home for the next day. Breakfast seemed that intimidating right then.

Peeping Toms? *shrugs shoulders*  That seemed manageable, unexpected but handleable.

Anyhoo...the manager of Charlie B's asked the young man to have a seat in her office. I didn't stick around, all my gear was spread out in the corridor and I wanted to get it packed for my move to the Y, and carry it over there. As I was packing she came out and asked me to come into her office and positively identify this guy. He was "looking cornered", as she put it, and she wanted me to put the pressure on.

I did. Odd request, to have the "victim" confront the "perp", but I did. I didn't realize what her intentions were at this point, I was still pretty amused by the whole thing. I went in and positively ID'd the kid. He turned out to be a young French student just starting classes at a local Uni here in Christchurch, with shaky English at best. But sure enough, it was him. No doubts about the ID part, but sudden doubts about the pursuit of justice thing that the manager wanted to undertake.

She called the police.

Urk.

I figured a swat on the hand and a kick out of the backpackers would suffice, then they'd fix the shower with a view and get on with it. But no, I had to hang around there for the next few hours, waiting for the police to come and investigate.

He started freaking, and pleading with me. Refusing to admit guilt. He called in an older more English-fluent bloke who came in and threatened me with a lawsuit for false witness or some such nonsense. The manager left the room and it was me and these two French blokes threatening and begging me alternately in the room. They spoke French together, but with no admissions of guilt, just discussions of how to deal with this. They, of course, did not know I understood. I got pretty fed up with it, and told the manager I'd be stepping out of the room until the cops arrived. I figured I didn't need to be there and it was inappropriate anyhow.

The police's arrival was delayed, but eventful enough, with two cars pulling up within seconds of each other. Their entry into the backpackers during the busy busy front desk time when all the previous night's tenants were checking out and new people we moving in, caused a sudden silence and a stir of averted eyes. Guilt ran like a tremor through the crowd. When they spoke to the manager and came out to claim me, relief was tangible and immediate. I appeared to be the one in trouble. Phew! I could smell their thoughts.

They asked me to point out which stall I was in and how it happened, and I did so. They did some investigating and discovered that there were beaucoup tracks and evidence of years of accumulated dust disrupted above my shower, and tracks up the wall from the shower next door. Ha! I wasn't hallucinating. That was comforting. I kept on saying I didn't think it any big deal really, and they kept on saying it could be the start of escalating behaviour on his part, he could have an international history.

Ummm...He looked about 19 years old?  A really juvenile international crime spree?


The female officer was about my height, and was quite concerned for me, as I had been the "victim" in this "crime". (Crime? Stolen glimpses of nudity? When did that become a crime and why?) I think she was a bit disconcerted by my preternatural calm, until I explained to her my previous experiences traveling, and how mild this was in comparison. She and her male fellow officer were relieved, visibly, to be dealing with a calm articulate victim, and it certainly made me more credible. Credibility is always a concern for "victims of sex crimes". (Snark! Snork! Guffaw! Moi? Victime? Pas moi!)

She asked me if she could take a statement from me, and we retired to the garden out back, where people continued to avoid my eyes as they saw me with a police officer. Mind you, she was a very attractive police officer: about my height, a little heavier than me, short spiky blond hair, a shy smile, but a confident manner. Offcier Becc Helps. Yup. Officer Helps. Bestill my beating heart. I felt like inviting her out to dinner.

We sat in the sunshine, my feet surreptitiously caressing the grass (Grass!!!) beneath the picnic table, and I gave my statement to her. If this is pursued, and this kid has a history, then they may indeed need me back to testify. I explained my circumstances to her, and she said if I am not in NZ at the time, they would pay my ticket back here for the case.

I kept on getting distracted by birds (BIRDS!!!) and bees (BEES!!) and flowers (bloody loud things, flowers, with their seductive scents and colours...) and people's flesh in shorts and sleeveless shirts all over the garden, and tried not to mutter about these things as she wrote out my statement in her bold all caps handwriting. I gave her my email address, and I'll keep you all posted if anything comes up in terms of follow through.

I walked my stuff over to the Y and found James and Zondra for lunch at Govinda's and related my story.

I think everyone thus far who has decanted from the Ice in Chch has heard it now. Even in Chch, we are a small community and it is hard to get away.

I'm also being discussed as the owner of a new car.

But that's for next time...And Then There Was Ruby.

posted by: coldwish at 13:00 | link | comments (4) |
nz 2007

The Peeping Tom

I was booked into Charlie B's, a backpackers in Christchurch where I had had an unpleasant experience before, and was miserably unhappy. Everywhere in Chch was full, and my two choices Akron Lodge and Thomas's had no space for me.

It's 1am or thereabouts in my first dark sky-ed night in Chch, I'm fresh off the plane from Mactown, wrapped in humidity like a too warm blanket, and looking for a place to rest my head. I grab the shuttle along with a host of other Ice folks who finished up at the CDC at the same time I did. We are dropped off at our respective hotels and backpackers. I, at Charlie B's only to find yet once more, like last year, my reservation was fucked up. 1am and I'm standing there being charged for a twin room I didn't request. I protested like last year, and they said they could put me in this twin room at the charge of a dorm room ($25Kiwi) as long as they could sell the other bed in the room to someone else. I was tired, I said sure.

The room, though a twin, was a bunkbed twin. So round about 3am, just like last year, a young man keys into my room and climbs onto the bunk bed above me.

And he wasn't the peeping tom. He was a young man, exhausted, looking for a bed. he got the one above me. I slept well, despite it. I think I've become more flexible about sleeping with strangers since last year.

But, black mark number two against Charlie B's. If I'd thought about it I would've, and I know for next year, listed Charlie B's as the LAST place I wanted to stay.

The next morning my alarm goes off at 8:30am and I roll out of my bottom bunk, quietly search through my things for the makings of a shower kit, and head out of the room to ablute. The only shower open is a tiny cubicle with a  tiny wet-floored foyer and I get undressed and start to shower. As I lean my head back to rinse shampoo out of my hair I chance to look up at the shower vent/fan in the ceiling because something caught my eye.

"Hmmm..." I thought, "I didn't realize Charlie B's had a cat. I could do with a cat visit, this could be good." The head moving back and forth over the fan vent, framed against the white tile of the ceiling beyond, had soft spikey hair framing it, but no cat ears. 

Still, must be a cat. I continued staring up and the eyes came into view, way too far apart to be a cat, I was looking at the top 2/3rds of a bloke's face as he peered down through the vent trying to get a better view of me through the spinning fan. I considered my options. I stared back hard, sure I'd recognize him, or that he'd see me staring back at him.

I was dead tired, I was not busting out of there in the too small towel provided dripping with soap looking like a madwoman, in order to shriek at the front desk they have a peeping tom. I continued to shower, looking up every now and then. The head disappeared, then came back a bit later at a slightly different angle. I finished my rinse, considering my options, then stepped out & turned off the vent and light both. I dried myself, got dressed and headed, somewhat bemusedly, out to the lobby to report their issue. I thought they should know that one of their showers had a view from the top.

They were shocked and asked what they could do. I requested a move to the YMCA or to Thomas's. That was taken care of, with alacrity even.  Meanwhile, as they phoned around looking for a space in the city for me, I pulled the rest of my stuff out of the room I was in, as quietly as possible, and proceeded to pack my stuff up, out in the hallway so as not to disturb Mr Sleeping Beauty in the bunk above me. Yes, I looked, I had no idea the gender of my middle of the night visitor. He was young, muscled and tanned and slept shirtless. What?! I'm not the peeping tom here. Shhhh.

As I packed, a young man came out of the showers and walked past me. I looked at him, recognizing him, 90% sure, and had my suspicions confirmed by his start of surprise, seeing me there, and his quickly averting his eyes from me as he walked past. He had to go to his room, and came out again. I followed him casually as he emerged into the lobby and asked the manager (to whom I'd spoken about my peeping tom). He was very nervous to have me behind him standing there, waiting for my "turn". He kept on glancing around at me guiltily.

I caught the manager's eye over his shoulder and pointed at him. She looked startled and asked him to step into her office.

Cont'd later...running out of coins.

posted by: coldwish at 21:48 | link | comments (3) |
nz 2007

Born Again Polie

I have found my home in the program. I have been converted. I'm ready to defect. The Pole is my new love.

I am a Polie at heart. Despite all the physical hardships, I LOVED the Pole. Much to the consternation of all the other Fuelies who hated it and would rather not go back, I'm champing at the bit for a rerun of my 5 weeks there. At some level, they all look pleased that I liked it so much, because it means they may not have to go there if I want the rotation.

I was explaining why I loved the Pole to a Winterover here in Mactown, and he said it sounds like I'm meant for a Winter at Mactown, as they are the same reasons he likes Winter over Summer.

I just got my Mactown eval, and then my Pole eval. What a difference between the two. I got lost in the crowd of Fuelies here in McMurdo, in a dept of 22 (including Scotty the mechanic, Bodie the Foreman, Scott the Supervisor and Megan the dispatcher) people. I was always shorter and stupider and weaker than someone here, and learned slower, with less background in plumbing or engines than most. But I hit Pole and as one of four people, I did a good job. I stepped up. I learned a whole shitload of stuff and took pride inbeing in on projects from start to finish and doing the bulk of the work in between. Without that continuity I think I am handicapped in learning well. I gained great confidence at Pole, and it shows in my eval.

I'm meant to be at Pole.

But not next year, not for a full season yet. I'm holding out for a three week rotation at Marble Point next season, and that'll have to do for next year. But after that? I may never bea able to look a Mactown Summer in the eye again.

I've been born again as a Polie.

Tomorrow I fly norther to Christchurch, NZ.

I am already looking forward to next season.

posted by: coldwish at 17:36 | link | comments (6) |
fuels 2006-07

North

Hit Mactown and skidded in on a wave of humidity and sweat, oxygen pumping through my body and making me tingle all over head to toe. Warm here, in the positive twenties.

Long luxurious guilt-inducing shower, exfoliated, rinsed, moisturized.

Good to see friends. Hugs massive and warm from so many. Goodbyes at the C17 flight out, I'm next.

Pics up of the trip up from the Pole.

posted by: coldwish at 12:38 | link | comments (4) |
fuels 2006-07

Thursday's Flight

I will be on it for Mactown, then on the 18th, I fly to New Zealand.

I have been dreaming of New Zealand lately. Humidity, oxygen, sun on my skin, rain, wekas, peeing in the long grass, stars overhead, fantails, visiting friends old and new, renting a car and traveling the southern part of the South Island.

I can taste it.

Yet still, I mourn my departure, despite the hardships here.

 

 

posted by: coldwish at 23:05 | link | comments (1) |
fuels 2006-07

I.O.U.s

posted by: coldwish at 23:00 | link | comments (2) |
fuels 2006-07

Beneath The Ice

posted by: coldwish at 21:43 | link | comments (2) |
fuels 2006-07

Finger-Splitting Good

I have split the tips of a few of my fingers open this last week, and though my mind runs riot with things to tell y'all, my fingers pain me considerably.

I owe you the tunnels.

I owe you the emotional goodbyes as the season closes and people leave on the planes I marshall in.

I owe you the tearing down of Pit 2 with winterovers and frosted gaiters. We looked like aliens, I lost the sensation in my fingertips, and I was happy as a clam.

I owe you the fantasies I have as I ride the skiway on the old skidoo, the fog bound distant station a shy link keeping me from just going on into the horizon.

I owe you walking outdoors with my hair wrapped in a damp towel.

I owe you the sounds of the snow.

I owe you the glassine tubes of contrails in the sky.

I owe you more cold, more feelings of it on my skin and in my bones, and the hunger that rides me constantly as the temps drop and my stores of fuel are inadequate.

Temp: -47F

Windchill: -77F

posted by: coldwish at 21:31 | link | comments (5) |
fuels 2006-07

Temperature Right Now

Ambient: -40.5F (-40.3C)

Windchill: -69.1F (-56.2C)

I work outdoors at the South Pole.

Today, it felt warmer than it was.  We had a cloudbow in the Herc contrail, a bright rainbow spot in the sky. The moon, three-quarters full, faint white yet distinct against our blue sky, circled around us all day. My eyelashes crisped instantly in the cold, Chadley grew an icebeard in which each individual hair had a string of frozen balls like white streptococci. My gaiter froze solid on my face with my breath.

It's a privileged life I am leading.

It's late and I need to go to bed. The satellites are just not cooperating with my sleep/work schedule right now.

posted by: coldwish at 21:54 | link | comments (2) |
fuels 2006-07