Antarctic Field Course - Study Abroad

Alyssa's Journal

QA

Name: Alyssa
Major: History
Year of Study: Sophomore
Why Did I Want To Study in Antarctica: When I was 9 I read Trembling a Star by Madeleine L'Engle and became endowed with the knowledge that I had to go to Antarctica, somehow, someday.
Biggest doubt before the trip: The fear of spending three weeks with anti-intellectual Midwesterners whom I didn't know, and doubted I wanted to know. (This doubt developed the morning of December 12, when I arrived at the Miami airport, though)
Best moment/experience: I cannot/will not choose just one.
Worst moment/experience: The first night of the second trip through the Drake Passage
Favorite Scenery/Place: The LeMaire Channel (this has a lot to do with the weather that day)
Favorite Animal: Chinstrap penguins
Would I Do This Again? In a heartbeat
What do I think differently about since being back? Please read the last entry of my journal.
Quote: The MSU study abroad program in Studies in Antarctic System Science was, without a doubt, one of the best experiences of my life. Sharing Antarctica with 19 other like-minded students was exciting, for the intellectual and social bonds such an experience promotes.

Please use the links below to view a specific date further down the page.
December - 2003

Day 1: 12-14
Day 2: 15
Day 3: 16
Day 4: 17
Day 5: 18
Day 6: 19
Day 7: 20
Day 8: 21
Day 9: 22
Day 10: 23
Day 11: 24
Day 12: 25
Day 13: 26
Day 14: 27
Day 15: 28
Day 16: 29
Day 17: 30
Day 18: 31
January - 2004
Day 19: 1
Day 20: 2
Day 21: 3
Day XX: 22
Photos credited to Alyssa. Click an image to enlarge, hover over an image for a description.

Day 1: 12-14

I arrived in Miami Friday evening, not really knowing what to expect from Miami or the trip I was about to embark on. Miami turned out to be a lot like San Diego, sunny and warm, lots of Spanish spoken, fancy shopping malls with chic restaurants (the gelato wasn't as good as San Diego's though). By the time I arrived at the airport on Saturday, after spending the day walking around Miami, I had become apprehensive. What if I just went on the trip by myself? I doubt the credits will transfer, and I've already paid for my plane and cruise tickets, so why not do it alone? I was terrified of meeting a bunch of Midwesterners who I doubted I would have much in common with and, furthermore, I prefer to travel alone. Realizing that avoiding MSU would probably not work, though, I proceeded to introduce myself to the girl in the MSU shirt who didn't seem to realize that I was supposed to know who they were. Fortunately Bob Hollister introduced himself and I was quickly immersed in the group and having fun.

I have had the Lonely Planet guide to Argentina checked out of the library for several months. The combination of this and my Antarctica history class last year (along with the millions of books I've read about Antarctica) meant that I was fairly well prepared for both the Ushuaia portion of the trip and the cruise to Antarctica itself. I didn't know what to expect, though, and I still get giddy at the thought of penguins and icebergs even though I'll be seeing both in a few days. Ushuaia turned out to be as stunning as the Lonely Planet guide described it, with mountain meeting sea in a spectacular fashion. The city is a little strange. It's very weird for a city to exist mainly for the sole purpose of entertaining tourists. Great coffee though, and I get to practice my Spanish after three years, so Ushuaia's oddities are more than compensated for. Up the street from our hotel is a spray-painted sign that says "Basta de masacre en Iraq y en el mundo ˇPaz Ahora!" Enough killing in Iraq and in the world. Peace Now! Me gusta mucho.

Day 2: December 15

After I woke up this morning and had the toast-centric breakfast promised to me by Lonely Planet, I set out to find an English-language newspaper. The International Herald Tribune and I have become good friends on long trips. I appreciate good news and good crossword puzzles; the Herald Tribune provides both, and I seek it out wherever I go. My friend was nowhere to be found, however, so I had to settle for Ushuaia's daily. Front-page news was about the soccer match, which the pilot on the flight from Buenos Aires had also spoken about, to my joy, and second and third page news were issues of limited regional importance. On page six was international news.

Argentina is a country very closely allied politically and economically with the United States: During their economic troubles in the 80's they even tied their currency to the US dollar for stability. With this knowledge, but without knowledge of local opinions, I was curious when I arrived in Argentina how they perceive Americans and American politics. Although we're in a tourist town, the locals still judge us for our actions and can behave toward us as we do toward them (usually with arrogance). I haven't perceived any anti-American sentiment, but I'm a girl in a machisto culture and I speak Spanish. Others have said that they've gotten bad looks for not speaking the local language here. I wonder whether hostility is based on typical tourist behavior, which is obnoxious, or if it's rooted in anti-Americanism. I still don't know if the tie between the two countries extends to public attitudes. I wish my Spanish were better and that I would have the opportunity to gauge local opinion.

I am finding it refreshing to be in a place where American politics doesn't dominate. I think the infringement of American sensibilities into remote areas is unnecessary and has gone too far. The locals should not be expected to know English, and our news should not be their news. Americans, not even most Californians and Texans, don't know Spanish, and Argentinean news rarely rates space in our newspapers. The US may be the most powerful country economically and militarily, but that doesn't mean it is the most relevant country.

Day 3: December 16

This afternoon we went to the Naval Museum, which also doubles as the Prison Museum. The name of the museum was "El Museo del Presidio." I can't tell if this refers to the navy part or the prison part though. In San Francisco the old navy base is called the Presidio, so it makes sense that it would refer to the naval aspect of the museum. It seems strange and redundant, though, that we would call our navy base "Navy base." Stranger things have happened, I suppose. The museum itself was quite interesting. The old prison strongly resembles Kilmainham Gaol in Ireland. Perhaps there was one prison architect at the turn of the century that went from country to country building prisons. It was rather indistinguishable from the other old jails I've seen. Tierra del Fuego was originally settled as a prisoner's colony, making the need for a jail a somewhat humorous comment on the nature of bureaucrats. It seemed like a potentially ineffective jail, however, as prisoners could simply walk down the hill and board a ship headed for the Antarctic or north to Buenos Aires. And maybe that was good. If there are going to be criminals, better that they not be here.

The first day we arrived in Ushuaia the tour guide said that Tierra del Fuego is exceptionally safe because criminals have nowhere to go. The same thing is possible now though. A modern day petty thief can easily board a ship or a plane, or even hop the border to Chile. If there's no crime, which I do doubt, I suspect that it's probably not because of the security of the island. After all, Manhattan is an island, and there's plenty of crime there. Cause and effect is, as always, an interesting question. Is there no crime because this is an island, or does the nature of this particular island not lend itself to crime?

Day 4: December 17

It's 2:52pm, and we leave for Antarctica in one hour and eight minutes. At least we board the ship to leave for Antarctica in one hour and eight minutes. I'm ridiculously excited-this has been a dream for me since I was nine, but I'm also rather nonchalant. It hasn't hit me yet that I'm actually going to Antarctica. By now, I would think that it would. I think there's something about Antarctica that is so unknowing and mysterious that I won't grasp the reality of it until I actually see it. I have never seen icebergs or penguins before, and I have never come face to face with this kind of barrenness, so I can't possibly know what to expect. At the same time, though, I've read dozens of books and seen multiple movies about the continent, so I should know what to expect. And it's not even expectation that is the problem. I just can't absorb the idea that I'm going to Antarctica. Maybe it's better that I not be too excited; my expectations won't be upset this way, and I will be able to fully live within the moment.

Day 5: December 18

Today was spent in a whirl of attempting to get out of bed, failing miserably, and sleeping. Around 2:30 am we hit the Drake Passage, and we all woke up immediately as drawers flew out of cabinets and the supposedly locked closet doors banged open and shut. I had taken Dramamine, so I tried to sleep, but it didn't really work. From 2:30 am to 5 pm, I would get up, try to get dressed, feel sick, lay down, and fall asleep. It was miserable. I can't imagine making this crossing in a wooden boat, as they used to not all that long ago, nor can I imagine making this crossing more than once a lifetime. I wonder if the crew and expedition staff has become adjusted to the sea, or if they suffer through seasickness the way we do.

By nighttime I was feeling much better, and so I went out to the bridge to watch the water. I talked to a man from New York while I was standing outside. We didn't say much, but you can tell that it takes a certain type of person to want to go to Antarctica. I haven't yet figured out what that type is. For my project I am going to have to address the question of what attracts people to a continent like Antarctica. It fulfills none of the characteristics we tend to associate with vacation spots; and for explorers 100 years ago, it lacked even the stability of most exploration because of its inhospitality and bizarre weather patterns. Hopefully in talking to other passengers, I will be able to create some sort of template to determine who decides to visit Antarctica and who visits Fiji.

Day 6: December 19

At the back of the boat (I'm not good with nautical terms), there are always dozens of birds flying about. When we were in the Beagle Channel I could understand the kelp gulls looking for kelp forest churned up by the ship. Out here, however, in the middle of the Drake Passage, it seems like the ship would disrupt food sources more than help turn them up. It's too far out for kelp, and it seems like krill and fish might flee the churning waters. So, then, what are all the birds doing collected around the ship's hull? They could be seeking handouts, although I doubt they've gotten any for decades. Maybe they just like hanging out around ships. Regardless, seeing them was exciting. I was amazed by how a one-pound bird could stay in the air when I could barely stand up straight.

Day 7: December 20

It's a good thing humans don't have to rely on hunting anymore to get nutrition. On Aitcho Island this morning we watched a skua steal a penguin egg and share it with another skua. The feeding process was kind of disgusting. The skua carried the egg in its mouth, a big egg for a not-so-big mouth, to a sheltered cove. Another skua came over and they broke into it together. It was a fairly clean process, with the skuas fighting only a little bit over the egg's contents. Surprisingly, none of the penguins seemed particularly perturbed by the skuas, even when they landed within the penguins' habitats. All the humans watching the skuas feeding remarked on how sad it was for the poor penguin. Yes, skuas have to eat too, and this is all part of the food chain, but it is sad that the cute little penguin babies have to get eaten. Most people would not be able to handle having to kill fawns and other animals for food.

Day 7: December 20 Evening

Tonight we went Half Moon Island (although the Argentine plaque said Livingston Island). The human impacts group minus Carrie, plus Charles the famous glaciologist, went to explore the Argentine station that now serves as an emergency refuge. This was by far the most fun I've had on this trip, and it made being in Antarctica very real. First we violated the Antarctic Treaty by tampering with the main lodge, apparently called "Camara." All violations were documented on film, as befitting a group studying the impacts of humans on Antarctica. Jaclyn and I climbed up the hill to a small cross and stone. Hiking was not so fun, as the snow was deep, and there were a lot of rocks with plant life we were trying to avoid killing. The cross and gravestone commemorated a helicopter crash from 1978. One of the plaques was from 2000, so people still care about this accident. There were tracks around the base, and up to the grave, so people were there today, which is interesting. The grave was really moving, and the view was breathtaking. I'm not sure why the grave was so high up on the mountain-I assume no one was actually buried there too. On the way down to the base we tried sledding. It didn't work too well, owing to the snow's ice cover. Perfect snow for dog sledding though. We also stopped to eat some snow. Best ice I've ever tasted. I wanted to put some in my water bottle to take back with me, but I had water in my bottle that I didn't want to pour out onto the pristine snow. Found the rest of our group, engaged in some further violations, and came up with a good slogan for M&M's: "Melts in your mouth, not in Antarctica." We are soooo clever.

Day 8: December 21

We began this morning with a change in itinerary to include a voyage to Baily Head on Deception Island. Baily Head is home to the largest chinstrap penguin rookery in Antarctica. 200,000 nesting pairs live there, so when the chicks are born, half a million penguins dwell in the valley. For the first time so far we were able to witness the actual life cycle of the penguin. There were multiple dead penguins and old skeletons, and we saw two chicks on the nest. We saw a chick yesterday at Yankee Harbor, but the chinstraps stood up to stretch longer than the gentoos, so we could watch the chicks for longer. We also saw the penguins walking to and from their nests to fresh water and the ocean for krill. In the valley, not too far from the rookery, there were streams of fresh water. It's amazing how perfectly everything comes together for animals to survive. Unlike yesterday, when a macaroni penguin and an Adelie penguin were hanging out with the gentoos, the chinstrap rookery was entirely homogenous. It seems like Baily Head was more sheltered from the general ocean, so perhaps it's harder for strays to land on the beach and mix with the locals.

Day 9: December 22

Today has been my day of Antarctic expectations. The weather was glorious (not so expected), with sun and mirror-sharp waters. I saw today many of the things that I had hoped, making me a very happy camper. On the way out from Gradier Island I saw an ice floe with penguins on it; I saw a seal on an iceberg in the LeMaire Channel; I saw whales; I saw an iceberg roll over; and the ship was blocked by icebergs. Now all I need to do is touch the continent. I thought we would go through the LeMaire Channel, attempting to weave through the icebergs, but it seems that it was too dangerous. Karalea pointed out that, as Titanic shows us, attempting to defy icebergs is probably not a good idea. Turning around in the channel was cool. I never knew a ship could do a three-point turn.

Everyday I think is better than the last, but at the same time it's incomparable to anything. The weather today, though, makes me think that today is really the best day. Although once we land on the continent I think everything else will be overshadowed. The weather here is good for home, so it must be amazing for Antarctica. It's a balmy 40 degrees, I'd guess, with completely clear skies and no wind to speak of. Beautiful. On a day like this I really think I could be very happy here. Port Lockroy is one such place I could be happy. It's a nice base, probably gets decent weather, and lots of visitors. I wonder why a real scientist would want to be there though. It seems like there's not much to do besides play with the tourists and the gentoos. One of the men who worked there said that he chose to be at Port Lockroy. Summering there is probably a bit of fun. If I worked for the British Antarctic Survey, however, I would try to get a post as a visiting scientist to Scott-Amundsen. It's all about the South Pole.

Day 10: December 23

After time on the peninsula we went on a zodiac tour and got to walk on an iceberg. The iceberg was huge, better to avoid calving and turning I assume, and there were little holes with fresh water in them. As we left the bay we had harbored in, we passed an active Chilean base. It's nice to know people are actually doing research here. It must get very lonely down here at a smaller base, and I think our brief presence made the scientists happy. And then we saw humpback whales. It was a good day. After three days of seeing penguins, I have gotten surprisingly tired of gentoo penguins. Adelies and chinstraps are fine, but there is now something remarkably anticlimactic about the seemingly ubiquitous gentoo penguins. Their red beaks don't hold the same attraction it used to. This afternoon, therefore, was a bit of a letdown. It was neat to see the ice in the bay of Cuverville Island and to see our last penguins, but for our last walk on Antarctica it would have been cool to see something other than gentoo penguins.

I'm not really looking forward to going back to Ushuaia. Even so, the Drake Passage will be nice, if just for the chance to get some sleep, and a daily shower is becoming necessary. I like it here, though, and in Ushuaia there are no vegetables or icebergs. Whenever I go camping or traveling I fear returning to the real world. Antarctica is so separated from reality that going back to school and civilization will be jarring. I also don't want to have to do work, although I am excited about my oral report (or will be once I do the research). The history of Antarctica in ten minutes-I expect it will be informative and fun, all at the same time. Or else it will be convoluted and distracted. At this point, either will do. A cruise to Antarctica is in fact much more exhausting than one would expect.

Day 11: December 24

The Drake Passage. We left the continent around 6pm last night and felt the effects immediately. I was fine until 8:30 when Charles lectured on the thickness of ice. I had to leave halfway through the lecture to vomit. Rice should not be served for dinner when seasickness is an impending problem. After being sick I passed out in my room until 11am today. Spent the rest of the day trying to get out of bed. I finally succeeded at 4:30 and have successfully survived life among the living for 3 and a half hours. Not too bad. I'm hoping that the rocking will subside, or at least maintain its current severity, and I can be okay until we get back to Ushuaia. We're planning to see Cape Horn tomorrow, although I'm not entirely sure what the excitement about the Cape is. It will be neat, whatever it is, though.

In Antarctica I was surprised by how obvious the effects of humans are on the continent. Not just the footprints that cause the penguins to stumble or the occasional fright we give them, but also the lack of pack ice around the peninsula and the increased quantity of snow on the subAntarctic islands. We had beautiful weather all four days we were in the area. This was great for us, but beautiful weather isn't normal. When we go to Antarctica we should not affect it at all (although some of our group, to my dismay, took rocks). Humans are not a part of the biosphere of Antarctica at all, so when we intrude, we should not interfere with the biosphere. It just goes to prove that the world is interconnected. Even if we didn't mess with the penguins as actual visitors, we would still be causing detrimental effects to Antarctica by causing four days of spectacular weather through carbon emissions and general global warming. The weather, which really only makes us happy, leads to excess heat for the wildlife and unusual changes in the snow and ice. Global warming is much more obvious in Antarctica than it is in California. As such, what we do at home can and does effect Antarctica, and as such, we must take measures to prevent meddling from afar as much as we prevent meddling while we are actually in Antarctica.

Day 12: December 25

Another day in the Drake Passage spent reading and attending lectures. It was a pretty unexciting day until 1pmish when we saw Cape Horn. The first greenery in over a week was met with joy and excitement. Finally I have pictures of something other than icebergs and penguins! Cape Horn is a beautiful little island from afar, and the closest I'll probably get to Chile, although I'm still unsure why it's so exciting. In between Cape Horn and dinner were packing and more lectures (and more eating). Teatime is a tradition I'll miss.

For dinner and most of the evening we anchored in the mouth of the Beagle Channel. Watching the sunset over South America I felt like an explorer. There was no sign of life, just green trees and soft brown hills. The excitement of discovery was imminent in the air. It is easy to see how explorers would have rounded Cape Horn and been entranced by South America. All the scenery needed were hundreds of small fires to make it seem as though we were five hundred years previous. After Antarctica, where everything felt new and untouched, being in South America felt new, but in a different way. Antarctica is so alien that it is impossible not to feel a sense of discovery, both of the environment and of the self. A land like South America, though, inspires the excitement of open territory and wide-open spaces ripe for discovery.

Day 13: December 26

Whenever I return from a trip I dread returning to the real world, as I noted several days ago. More than ever, though, this time I really didn't want to come back to reality. Calling home was an act of bravery today. April and I were talking on our last day in Antarctica about how this is the kind of thing that you don't grasp until it's over, and then when you try to talk about it there's so much to say that you can't find the words for it and it becomes an emotional teary mess. And that was basically what happened today when I spoke to my mom. There is no way to put four days of Antarctica into ten minutes of conversation. Usually it is possible to relate experiences over the phone. Not so with Antarctica. Maybe because I've felt so intimately connected with Antarctica for years, or maybe just because it's an intensely personal experience to visit a place like Antarctica, I couldn't tell my mom what happened or what it was like. It's easy to talk about the penguins and toothpaste-blue icebergs, but it's not so easy to explain what it feels like to drink freshwater from an iceberg or to stare into a landscape completely devoid of human tampering. I'm reading Terra Incognita by Sara Wheeler, a book I read several years ago, about travels in Antarctica. Having visited the continent and having studied Antarctic exploration, I find myself more deeply touched by her perceptions of Antarctica than I thought I would when I read the book before traveling to the continent. It seems that while Antarctica affects us all differently, what matters is that it does affect us. As Thomas Pynchon wrote in his novel V, and Sara Wheeler quoted in her writing, "It is not what I saw or believed I saw that in the end is important. It is what I thought. What truth I came to." It's not the penguins or the icebergs, or even the moonscape slopes; it's the discovery that no matter what we see or where we go, we are changed by the minutia of our surroundings.

Day 14: December 27

It's ironic that after being in Antarctica where we were strictly forbidden from interfering at all with the natural environment, we spent today causing erosion and killing plants. In order to collect data for April and Karalea's project we had to go off the trail in the park of El Glacier Martial. For one thing, most trails exist for a reason, and it's not just to protect the humans from injury. Having a defined trail prevents erosion and keeps the plants and trees from being trampled. It really bothered me today that we so blatantly disregarded guidelines intended to protect both people and plants. Antarctica is not the only place we need to protect. Our backyard parks and forests are just as important to the global system. Just as we were visitors in Antarctica so are we visitors in the forests and mountains. I am all for bushwhacking and going offtrail where it's appropriate. In a park with a designated trail and heavy traffic, though, I feel for 24 people to muck around in the forest sets a bad example and can do a lot of damage. I understand that this was necessary for a project, but maybe we could have done it in a less heavily trafficked place, or with less impact on the wildlife. That all said, it was nice to be out among trees again.

Day 15: December 28

It's a Sunday, and everything's closed, which kind of surprises me. I know Argentina is a Catholic country, but this is a tourist town, and in my experience, money trumps religion any day. It's just as well that everything is closed because we didn't really have any time today to do anything besides work. We had lecture all morning and most of the afternoon, and the rest of the day was needed to work on the power point presentations we're giving on Tuesday night. My power point is done, although I still need to work on the talk part of it. I've never used power point before, and I feel like I'm completely disregarding all the guidelines they gave us in Sophomore College back at school. I don't know how to make a better presentation, though, so it will just have to be a lousy presentation. The talk part should be okay, and I found some pretty pictures. My conclusion is nice and sappy. Overall, I think it will be just fine.

One of the lectures today was a guest lecturer from the Scientific Committee on Antarctic Research (or some variation on that). I've become increasingly interested in how people get involved in polar research, especially those who aren't scientists, but are historians or politicians. There wasn't really the opportunity to ask today, so I think I'll get an internship at the Office of Polar Programs at the NSF or the Scott Polar Research Institute in Cambridge and ask lots of questions there. Maybe I can get a grant from the Undergraduate Research Opportunities office and get paid to ask lots of questions! That would be fun indeed.

Day 16: December 29

On Thursday, New Year's Day, we have all day to do whatever we want. I'm conflicted because I really need to get some sleep before school starts next week and I need to work on my paper, but I also want to explore Patagonia. There's a town about 120km from here called Tolhuin that's supposed to be cute that I might go to for the day. I'd really like to see something other than Ushuaia, and even the bus ride to Tolhuin would be exciting. I'm hoping that we can sleep until 9 on Wednesday, and then I can pretend I'm well-rested for school. I can work on my paper on the airplane on Friday and Saturday and Sunday (a plane ride a day! How exciting!), especially if I don't get window seats, and Thursday I can visit somewhere else. I just hope that there's normal bus service on New Year's, or I might have to just write my paper. A lot of people are going on a hike, I think, but we hiked Saturday and we're hiking tomorrow, and I think I'd be happier sleeping and/or associating with non-Americans in the middle of Tierra del Fuego. And the longer I spend on a bus away from towns, the more likely I am to see a guanaco! I still haven't figured out if a guanaco is the same as a llama. I think it's not, but they look a lot alike, and I've never heard of a guanaco before. It seems like it's something we would have learned about in archaeology last year when we studied the prevalence of llamas in Peru. I got my friend Erin a guanaco apron. She's currently in Peru, so perhaps she can tell me whether they're the same animal. I really wish we had been taught more about Tierra del Fuego and Patagonia. There are some people on our trip who I don't think realize we're on an island, or at least didn't realize it until very recently. That kind of ignorance should be avoided at all costs, and rectified immediately, whenever possible. I don't like when people don't know anything about where they are, and I don't think we know much at all about where we are. We should have had a lecture on Patagonia instead of an exam the first day. And instead of a final exam we should have a field trip to Chilé...

Day 17: December 30

Regardless of where one is in the world, all deciduous forests look the same. Hiking through the National Park today I felt like I could easily have been hiking through a forest at home. Even some of the trees were the same. The winter bark trees I think are the same as the Madrone trees we have in Gold Country at home. They might not be Madrone trees, or the same at all, but they certainly looked and felt like what I've always called refrigerator trees. The bark is the same reddish glossy color, and the tree trunk is definitely cold. Not only did the forest seem like home, but so did some of the other ecosystems we walked through. The third walk, I think it was, through the sage brush and little lake with some beaver damage, reminded me a lot of the vegetation at my home, but with a lake and without oak trees. The sage, chaparral, and succulents all were reminiscent of the Spanish-influenced California landscape architecture, and the sunlight melded with the plants to feel very Californian. I quite like how it's possible to be in one part of the world and feel like I'm somewhere completely different. At the same time, though, I don't like how everything seems the same. In Ushuaia there's very little that feels authentically Argentinean, and so a National Park that feels like a National Park in the US just makes the area feel more globalized and less individualistic. Who knew that McGlobalization would extend even to forests?

Day 18: December 31

New Year's Eve, and from the window of my new room, it looks like Ushuaia knows how to party. It's only 7:30pm, the sun is shining, and all the stores are closed. Normally on a Wednesday nothing would close until 9 or so. I'm a little surprised, actually, that New Year's seems to be such a big deal here. I always thought that no one but Americans made a big deal out of things like New Year's. Americans make such a big deal out of most holidays that I just assumed that the same would hold true for tonight. We're going back to the Albatross, which should be fun. Food, hopefully vegetarian, open bar, dancing, good view. If only I had nice shoes to wear.

Things are definitely winding down. All we really have left now is the paper and the poster. I've written a page of paper, and I have no idea how to do the poster. Tomorrow I'm going to Tolhuin with a few other people. I'm excited. Then we leave for Buenos Aires, then to Miami, and then home. I start classes in five days or so. Scary thought. I'm really excited about Buenos Aires, even though we'll only be there for a night. I wish we had spent some of the time that we spent here there. We received the "be careful not to be too American" talk, which was good. After being in Ushuaia for a week, it's easy to forget that a thing like crime exists. Craig said that Americans are always noticeable; I used to agree, but I'm not so sure about that anymore. A lot of locals have asked us where we are from. They know we speak English, but they don't assume we're American. I doubt we're doing that good of a job of being subtle. In fact, if I were at home and a bunch of tourists appeared acting the way we do, I'd be pretty pissed off, and even in England last summer people had to ask where we were from. They should know their former colonies better!

Day 19: January 1

Today I did everything my parents told me not to do when I travel. I went to Tolhuin, a small town in the heart of Tierra del Fuego, with five other people. Parental problem number one: traveling with large groups of Americans. The bus there wasn't so much a bus as it was a quasi-van with lots of seats. We were six of the nine passengers, and we got to sleep partially on the way there. Parental problem number two: traveling in buses on windy mountain roads. I was surprised to discover that the roads in Tierra del Fuego aren't paved and don't have side rails to keep the buses and cars on the roads. The view was spectacular, and when it didn't feel like we were going to fall over the side of the mountain, it was rather fun. Once in Tolhuin we hitchhiked the three kilometers to Lake Fagnano. Parental problem number three: hitchhiking. Other highlights included horseback riding (to mock those who had wanted to go horseback riding today and didn't), the best pastries in Tierra del Fuego, skipping stones, peanut butter and crackers, and a sketchy old man who ripped us off. Today was probably my favorite day outside of Antarctica on this trip. Good company, good food, and adventure. Plus I got a beautiful skipping stone, not that I can skip stones, that's perfectly round and flat, and only needs a little more shininess.

Day 20: January 2

We arrived today in Buenos Aires, after a nondescript flight from Ushuaia. It was sad to leave, even though Ushuaia's really not that exciting, just because we had spent so much time there-waiters even knew who we were and what we wanted to eat. At Ezeiza, the Buenos Aires airport, one of my bags was missing. Of 45 pieces of luggage for our group alone, not to mention the hundreds of bags on the entire flight, I'm not sure how only one bag could have been sent to the wrong airport, especially since mine was checked in with the group. The airline brought it to the hotel while I was at dinner, though, so it was okay. I would have been okay without my suitcase, I had the bag with the clean clothes and toothbrush, but all my items of value were in the big one. It was a little worrisome. Anyhow, Buenos Aires reminds me of a combination of Barcelona, New York, and San Francisco's Market Street. The street our hotel is on is a lot like the streets we drove through in Barcelona, but the city's size is very much reminiscent of New York. The main thoroughfare, 9 de Julio, looks like a much larger Market Street. I wonder how much of architecture is derivative of other architecture and how much is simply practical.

I wish we had more time in Buenos Aires. We walked a lot, but it's impossible to see much, especially at night. We had a really good dinner with wine. Argentina is a country I would very much like to return to. The tour guide on our bus to the hotel was Irish, but she referred to the Argentines as "our people." It was unclear how long she had lived here, although my Spanish is probably almost as good as hers. It seems to me that you have to live in a place for a very long time to feel comfortable enough to identify with the dominant culture.

Day 21: January 3

We're at the Buenos Aires International Airport and our flight was scheduled to depart 1.5 hours ago. Woohoo. We were planning an exciting welcome-home dinner of Chinese food and Argentinean wine, but by the time we get to Miami it's probably going to be an exciting welcome-home dinner of Argentine wine and stale crackers. At this rate, I might have to just stay at the airport, since I have to be there around 5am anyway. Much as I hate waiting on uncomfortable chairs in an airport, I'd rather not go home. More than usual, I don't feel ready to return to reality, and I especially don't feel ready to start school on Tuesday. These three weeks have been so unique that it's unfathomable to have to go home and try to explain them to everyone. Even more unfathomable is having to deal with things at school. I am not ready to decide what I'm doing next year. This problem is compounded by the fact that once I'm traveling, inertia sets in and I want to keep traveling. Staying on campus next year, even next quarter, sounds dreadful right now.

This trip to Antarctica is already fading. As hard as it was to realize that I was actually going there, and then to comprehend that I was there, and now that I have been, I feel like it will be much harder not to go back. I read somewhere that many Antarctic tourists are repeat visitors, and I can see why. The penguins get tiring after a while, and snow is snow, but there's still something completely magnetic about the continent. This has been an unbelievable experience; even if I go back, which I hope I will, it will be hard to compare the two trips, or to avoid comparing them, which is probably the better of the options.

Day XX: January 22

John has asked me to reflect, now that we've been back for a little over three weeks, so reflect I shall. Even as I sit here reflecting, though, I'm realizing how hard it is still to describe this trip. There are still no words to describe seeing a penguin or an iceberg, and certainly none to describe walking on million-year old ice or swimming in the Southern Ocean. All of these things are so new to humans that we haven't yet learned how to make them a part of our vernacular as a species. When I got back I read a book by Peter Matthiessen about Antarctica. Matthiessen is a naturalist, and a respected one at that. When I read his book though, I thought to myself, "Wow, I could make my journal longer, do some research, and it would be the exact same as his. He even went to the same places." Very few people are talented enough to write coherently and well about Antarctica. The problem with Matthiessen is the problem I have had: you can tell people what you saw and did, but it's difficult to tell people what you felt, and without the human element, the feelings, the story's not that interesting. I've read recently that if Scott hadn't died in Antarctica, he would have been remembered as a hero; if he hadn't written well, even his death would have been less of a martyrdom and more of an assault on British explorative ability. Scott, and Shackleton too, were blessed with the ability to write elegantly and eloquently about intensely personal experiences. This is not an ability that I have, nor does Matthiessen.

Writing ability aside, reflection, however, cursory, is still something I should be capable of. For some reason, though, even reflecting about this is difficult. John asked how this trip changed my life, if at all. I want to say it did, but I'm not sure how, and I'm not sure that this is the kind of thing that can be qualified in any substantial way. After Vision Quest senior year in high school I realized that there are some things that we are not meant to analyze too deeply, lest we lose the meaning in criticism. I think Antarctica is that way for me. If I think too much about it, I will lose what was important about it. The subtleties of the penguins' walk and the toothpaste-blue of the icebergs are some of these important impressions. The fleeting moments of intense emotion were what made this trip important for me personally, and I can't, I will not, lose them by grasping too tightly. As TS Eliot wrote in The Wasteland (perhaps there is an allusion to Antarctica in his complex verse…), "I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter." So I do.