This Is Who We Are And This Is What We Do

Voyage #1 – November 11 through November 21

Antarctica is heart-breakingly beautiful. The glaciers here are magnificently colossal. They unfurl from between mountain peaks and spill out into the ocean - mountains are utterly buried in them in fact…and they are always shifting, always calving icebergs - when on land it is not uncommon to hear the low thunderous roar of an avalanche somewhere in the distance.

Passing icebergs commonly rival the ship in stature, each one wildly different than the next in its architectural design. Sometimes I’ll glance out my little bar window and be momentarily stunned by a house-sized powder blue sparkling monolithic castle slowly floating directly next to the boat. In the words of our expedition leader, “There are icebergs, and then there are icebergs.”

On a sunny day with no wind, the sea reflects the sky and mountains with a perfect fidelity, and small ice chunks dot the water like constellations. These days are the most beautiful. The only colours are blues and greys and brilliant whites, that is, until the sun sets and the world becomes a fiery mélange of oranges, purples, reds, and yellows - All of this is the view from my office.

And then there are penguins: They’re everywhere – either crowding together on hilltops or waddling around randomly, their entire body weight shifting from one side to another with every step they take, their stubby little wings outstretched for balance. Sometimes when attempting to make a particularly large jump from one rock to another they will fall and land on their fat little football bodies with a thud, roll themselves back upright and continue to waddle to their intended destination. When in the sea, they move with a surprising agility, like corpulent little torpedoes, every once and awhile cresting the surface of the water to perform a dive a la dolphin. I could watch these creatures toddle to and fro for hours.

Indeed, Antarctica is yet another region of the world that has stolen my heart. Those who pay to get here must travel for days to step foot on a tiny portion of the seventh continent. Out of the five days we spend cruising along the Antarctic Peninsula, we make merely one landing on Antarctica proper as opposed to tiny islands that dot the harbours, bays, and coves that make up the coast, a testament to the forbidding nature of this most southerly chunk of land.

But let me back up a bit. We are actually quite fortunate to be sailing right now, on schedule. Our departure on the intended date of November 11th depended on three things: the ship passing port inspection, where the main concern was customs and immigration, (the Lyubov Orlova was docked in Ushuaia for 60 days last year because she didn’t pass this gauntlet) the ship passing an independent safety inspection, and, of course, our ability to unpack, load and set up the ship before the arrival of our first group of passengers. But we did it. We passed both inspections and managed to do a week’s worth of work in 30 hours, with barely enough time to shower and make ourselves presentable for our first group, wearing smiles that did not betray our complete and utter exhaustion. Well, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure how convincing mine was at times. This cruise has been a test of my every patience – I’ve had to simultaneously get settled in my new working environment, which has meant making due with surprise inconveniences such as a broken ice machine, bar floods, brown drinking water, and an inoperable dish washer, scavenging for clean scraps of towel that I can use to keep my bar respectably clean, using a screwdriver like a Neanderthal to break down iceberg bits into usable pieces, (I did not come out of this task unscathed) and searching for stray bottles of essential liquors that had been buried in the hold, all the while pretending a) that I knew what I was doing and b) that it would be my pleasure to cater to the sometimes-crazy requests of my guests. But I’m acclimatizing, I’m finding lost items, I’m developing more efficient ways of chopping ice, and I’m channeling MacGuyver as I think of ways to make my bar work for me and the 112 passengers on the ship. But there are the perks as well… spontaneous passenger-conga lines that lead out of the dining room after dinner, where, “We’ve been to Antarctica! We’ve been to Antarctica! We’ve been to Antarctica!” is sung, the fact that all I have to do is step out on deck and voila: Solitude that consists of just the sea and I, the fact that my ship rocks me to sleep every night (sleeping in a ship gives a girl crazy dreams, I can tell you that.) These things, my dear reader, are pretty damn great. And hell, at least I don’t get seasick.

Today we’re heading north on the Drake Passage and once again the ship is pitching and rolling and creaking and crashing around in the sea like a toy boat. We’re sailing through fog. Every five minutes or so our ship is belching out the plaintive honk of the foghorn.

We are returning to Ushuaia to drop off this first batch of passengers and pick up batch number two. We will say our good-byes, re-provision the ship, scatter to make the most of two or three hours in town to buy essentials and do whatever else we need to do, then come back by 3PM in order to greet the second round of guests and do it all over again. Giddy-up!

How Beavers Came to Tierra del Fuego and other Tales from the Proverbial End of the Road

I hope this is my last post before leaving dry land. I have been in Ushuaia almost a week. I am not a bartender yet, I remain simply a tourist. There is as of yet no Good Ship Orlova. Just me, a smattering of Europeans who will soon be dining room supervisors, hotel managers, chefs, and our new home, Tierra Del Fuego. Playing the part of the tourist, I have partaken of the essential activities one might expect of the camera-wielding subset. I've strolled museums, hiked up a glacier, driven to the end of Routa 3, the farthest south it is possible to drive in the Americas, visited a National Park, photographed local wildlife, and, last but not least, done some good old-fashioned wanderin'. In the course of these events I have done a wee bit of learning, the more interesting bits I intend to share with you, good reader:

1. Ushuaia was born a prison-town. Today this bustling little burb of 70,000 inhabitants is exceedingly charming, but there was a time when finding yourself here meant that you were probably a serious extortionist, fraud, or had committed multiple murders. Over a century ago, Argentina took to sending their most deviant criminals to this isolated, wind-swept, barren, rocky island and gave them the task of building themselves a prison, a railroad, and housing for those who would come down and maintain these sites. The prison functioned until after World War II, when it was closed amidst criticism of un-humanitarian practices.

Today the old prison building is the Museo de Maritimo, but don't be fooled by the narrow name. It is a fascinating, many-winged bird. It boasts an art museum, an untouched cell block where one can read 70-year old graffiti left by criminals of yore, a penguin exhibit, and even a space where children from the local elementary school display their puerile diaramas. All of this alongside the usual maritime-themed subjects such as pirates, shipwrecks, maps of yore, and model ship after model ship after model ship, yes, sometimes even in bottles.

2. The great Canadian beaver is a plague on Tierra del Fuego. They are everywhere, they are gigantic (to the tune of 50 kilos), and they live twice as long as their North American cousin. What is worst is that they wreck havoc on the natural flora of the island by doing what they do best: Felling trees and building dams.

How did this munching, Frank Lloyd Wright rivermammal find itself tens of thousands of kilometres away from its native land? The answer is, of course, foolish, short-sighted economics. Long story short, Tierra del Fuego is Argentina's Yukon Territory; or, for the American among you, its Alaska. It is unparalleled in its beauty, but its remoteness and fickle weather patterns make it necessary for the Argentine government to provide incentives in order to maintain settlement. At some point in the recent past, straight up economic incentives were no longer cutting it, and those in power were forced to come up with different, perhaps more creative ideas. I like to suppose it happened like this: An official in Buenos Aires, inspired by the heady days of Canadian colonization, trapping, and the Hudson Bay Company had a "Eureka!" moment: Tierra del Fuego is the perfect climate for beavers! Beaver pellets are a rarity in these parts! Perhaps the introduction of beavers could inspire a new wave of colonists...modern-day trappers, if you will!

So it was decreed: The beaver shall be introduced to Tierra del Fuego.

...Of course an unintended consequence of this plan was a sudden, explosive proliferation of beavers on the island due to the fact that that they have no natural enemies here. Therefore, today beavers run free, creating dams, swamp land, and exterminating indigenous trees in their wake, in a course of events that has been repeated over and over again in history. A perennial lesson, learned the hard way, once again.

3. Taking a look at a political map of the island of Tierra del Fuego, one will notice that it is split down the middle: Chile reigns over the western half, while Argentina controls the eastern half. Curious. How did this come to be? The answer to this question is a rare instance of papal intervention resulting in peace. Yeah, I know. Go figure!

Back in the late 19th century, Chile and Argentina both expressed their intention to exert sovereignty over the island. The spat escalated, but rather than going to war, both countries, being Catholic, decided to go to the pope. The pope urged them not to use violence, demarcated a line from the northern coast down to the southern coast of the island and decreed that Chili shall take one half and Argentina the other. Chile and Argentina agreed to the compromise, therefore today the island is politically split in two.

4. Lastly, I would like to offer an explanation for the island's fanciful moniker. The name Tierra del Fuego translates to Land of Fire, thus conjuring images (for me, at least) of craggy, petulant, primordial volcanic domes constantly spewing lava and ash down to the surrounding land. Unfortunately (well, fortunately, really) this is not the case. There are no fires here. There is snow, and sea, and moss, and trees. This land is grey, not red. But, what seems like a severe misnomer is actually a romantically simple illustration from a moment of history that has caught my imagination.

And with that, we cue Magellan. Five hundred years ago, when he discovered what was to become the Strait of Magellan, he eventually wound his way through this vast southern archipelago to the island which I now inhabit. Sailing by, he and his crew saw fire upon fire along the coastline lighting the night sky. They were bonfires on the homesteads of the indigenous people of the area.

...And history writes itself.

There you have it. A few fantastic facts from una chica en le fin del mundo who has a lot of time on her hands. I hope you enjoyed.

A Bit of the Mundane: A Two-Parter

En Route to Ushuaia

Early mornings. Little sleep. Last flight. I want to spread out. I find it uncomfortable to have my entire life smooshed into three bags and a guitar case. Despite my current discomfort, I am still able to close my eyes and imagine what my daily routine will look like in two weeks or so, when everything has settled down and I am (finally!) at sea.

…Reading a collection of correspondences between the great writer Vladimir Nabokov and close friend and famous literary critic Edmund Wilson. I forget what a joy V.N. is to read. As John Updike proclaims on the back cover of any new edition of Nabokov’s novels, “Nabokov writes prose the only way it should be written, that is, ecstatically.” The world needs its polymaths back.

A bit of the mundane. We were just served (crustless!) ham and cheese sandwiches here on my flight. Yeahh! I feel like I am eight-years-old, tops. Further, the passengers sitting beside me just offered me theirs’! (Did I relish mine that obviously?) I declined the sandwiches, but did take their chocolate cookie puffs. For later.

The forecast in Ushuaia calls for partly cloudy skies, the temp just above freezing. Colder than I expected, but spring is just about to have sprung, so I suppose.

Time to close my eyes.

From the Villa Brescia Hotel, Downtown Ushuaia

In one piece, and a series of nice surprises have made this day great. First, I have a room to myself. With a king sized bed that I am currently stretched out upon. Took a nice long shower, went down to a staff meeting where most of us were told to “just relax” (such blissful words!) until the Lyubov Orlova arrives on the ninth or the tenth (which in turn makes this the calm before the storm, seeing as we will have 24 to 48 hours to set up the ship before passengers arrive) but shhhhh…I can sleep in tomorrow and the next day and the next day, and the next… and I don’t have to fly anywhere.

Ushuaia is enchanting. It is ensconced on three sides by steep, white, forboding mountains that are in turn ensconced by low-drifting grey clouds. To the south is the Beagle Channel. Here the water is placid – no hint at the wild caused by the Pacific’s head-on collision with the Atlantic mere kilometres away where the channel opens out to sea. The town itself is quaint – European in architecture, with narrow streets and a steep steep hill that leads up from the pier. And the tulips are in bloom.

Walked around Ushuaia a bit today, grabbed some lunch, then had a coffee with two dining room servers, Phillip and his girlfriend, Steffie, and Stefano, a sous chef. I already love these people. Hello my name is…and I speak how many languages? Probably three. Fluently, which is the number one reason I am inherently envious of Europeans. And they’re funny as all hell and interesting and smart and lovely. We’re going to be a good group.

And maybe it’s a bit of the old Stockholm Syndrome talking, but I kinda can’t wait for the Lyubov Orlova to get here, to get settled in and get sailing. Yeah, that’s the Stockholm Syndrome talking for sure. Or delirium. It could be that I just need a nap.

Cornfed and Mustachioed

Minneapolis, Minnesota

My two favourite words are cornfed and mustachioed, and I suppose that this is in no small part due to the fact that I come from Minnesota, the land of corn and mustaches. Seriously. A common touchstone in conversations I've had this week with my extended family, who farm, has been this year's harvest. Apparently the corn is ready to be harvested, but it has been far too wet out as of late to get it. So farmers must wait for the corn to dry and pray that it doesn't mould before this happens, lest they lose their entire crop. The minute the corn is dry enough, they go and get 'er done. Thanksgiving has most likely been canceled this year in my family because of this and really, what is the point of celebrating harvest when harvest is exactly what you're trying to do? Midwesterner for life.

So I've now been in Minnesota for over a week and I'm set to leave in two days. I'm ready to start making money again and to start, you know, doing stuff.. As an example, if I could condense what it means to be in Minnesota down to one word, that word would be 'food.' So, so, so much food. My mom will be sitting in the living room with me, I'll be reading, watching tv, whatever, and she'll randomly quip, "We've still got a bunch of pea salad in the fridge if you're interested..." or "There's a piece of grandma's chocolate cake left.." or "Ohhh, I should have bought another tub of that chip dip you really like!" These statements will be made mere minutes after I've oh, say, eaten a Subway sandwich. Speaking of Subway sandwiches, Mom and I went out to get a couple on my first night in town. While we were there ordering, my mom asked me if I wanted to get some chocolate chip cookies with my sandwich. I declined. Mom insisted, stating that we have no sweets in the house. I told her that it wasn't a big deal, so we went home, subs in tow. What is the first thing I saw upon entering the house? A gigantic bowl of Halloween candy in the middle of the dining room. I asked my mom, "I thought you said you had no sweets?" Her reply was that this was candy for Halloween, she and dad had already gone through a bag, and needed to go out and replace it. So apparently Halloween lasts a good week here at the Beers residence and Halloween candy does not count as sweets. The moral of the story of course is that I've been a happy snacker. But, in consequence I feel more blob than human right now. I'm itching to rectify that. I do love that chip dip though - Old Home Bermuda Onion. If you live in Minnesota or are ever just passing through, give it a go. You will have met my meanest vice.

Being in Minnesota also means Lindsey, my oldest friend. We get together and the happy dorkiness starts. The many adventures we went on this week included but were not limited to rollercoaster rides, Summit English Pale Ales, visits to polka bars, movies, visits to record stores (that ended up with me purchasing records...why? to carry across the globe with me, I guess...I suppose a JFK memorial album is always good to have), shopping at the the Mall of America, the eating of pizza delivered by men dressed as super heroes, yummy breakfasts, and soul-singer cab rides. And M. Ward. Live. Well, actually Monsters of Folk, but, well..a word of advice: If you ever, ever get the chance to see M. Ward play live, take it. You will not be disappointed.

Lastly, my gluttony for travel may have reached its zenith. I've just realized that my new employer offers a 66-day cruise that circumnavigates the entire arctic. That's right. The entire arctic. It starts in Anchorage, Alaska, sails the northern coast of Russia, down and around Greenland, past Baffin Island, through the Northwest Passage, and back down to Anchorage. A passenger who wants to partake will pay a minimum of $65,990. Whoooaaaaa. You know I want this job. It's just ridiculous.

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.

The Ooh Aah Oohs.

Oh, Toronto, Toronto, Toronto...

Today is my last day here and I ought to let you know that I'm going to miss you, Toronto. I'm going to miss Palmerston Street and Bloor Cinema and Trinity Bellwoods Park. Leslie Street Spit and Ideal Coffee...that bench at Euclid and College with the bronze man and little boy who permanently inhabit it. Riding my bike along the lakeshore. That stretch of Mackenzie Crescent between Lisgar and Dovercourt where the road is lined with the prettiest old houses and trees who's leaves explode with colour this time of year. Not to mention the dilapidated mansion where Mackenzie Crescent meets Dovercourt...with its crumbling gargoyles and roaming vines. The people - some of my favourite boys and girls in the whole wide world. Casa Loma. Mill St. Tankhouse Ale. The greatest movie rental places EVER. The Kit Kat factory that makes my neighborhood smell of chocolate every morning and evening...

It's a fact of life. Wherever I find myself the grass will always always seem greener over yonder, but here in Toronto the grass was pretty goshdarn green.

Will I have an address here again? I have no idea. The chances could be anywhere between nine percent and ninety nine percent, which I suppose makes them about fifty/fifty at this point. So, my lovely city, thanks for the fun. See you again.

P.S. - Jaq and Emma. Please do me a favour this winter and take full advantage of the cozy, wonderfully cluttered hibernation cave that is our apartment. I'm going to miss you lovely ladies. Hard.

Receive with Simplicity Everything that Happens to You.

The hows and the whys are the meat and potatoes of any story and I have a lot of German in my blood, so I understand how important meat and potatoes are. How did I end up with a job that sails me to Antarctica?

So a guy walks into a bar…

Well, not precisely, but sort of. Actually, it all started with a phone call on a hot afternoon in August 2007, during a time when I was crashing on my friend Miles’ couch in Scarborough. The caller was a regular at my pub. He was happy to have gotten in touch with me because it just so happened that a friend of his was looking for a replacement bartender on an expedition vessel cruising in Canada’s Eastern Arctic waters. The conversation went like this:

John: “So the deal is, they’re desperate for a bartender. They’d pick you up at your door, drive you to the airport, and fly you up to Kuujjuaq at no cost to you. You’d board a Russian expedition cruise ship called the Lyubov Orlova, and you’d bartend seven days per week, while cruising all over northern Labrador, the coast of Baffin Island and the Northwest Passage. You’d leave next Tuesday and you come back sometime in late September. This is so you, Randi.”

Me: “YES PLEASE.”

But in actuality, a friend had just bought a plane ticket to visit me in Toronto so I Just. Couldn’t. Do. It.

Man, it hurt. But unequivocally I told John that although I couldn’t say yes to this particular opportunity, I intended to get the job next year. And that’s what I did. I spent the summer of 2008 getting paid to cruise around the most remote places in Canada. Places where it’s not uncommon to stumble upon human bones that have been lying undisturbed for anywhere from two hundred to a thousand years. I drove a zodiac. I ate raw whale. I saw some of the most beautiful mountains I’ve ever seen in my life. I lived under a sun that never set. I roamed around abandoned Inuit towns. I visited Greenland. I let a Russian woman wash my hair with raw onion. I said goodbye to any semblance of privacy. I got used to bitter, bitter coffee. I worked every day. Every single day. Twice. I ate a lot of cous cous. So much cous cous…I saw so many fjords that I became jaded to them. In fact, by the end of the season I had become so jaded to the entire experience that I was convinced that I would never work on a ship again.

Little did I know that I would find myself in the Yukon one year later, starting to think more and more about the possibility of applying to do it all over again, this time in the Antarctic, for Quark Expeditions, the company that takes the Lyubov Orlova in winter. I figured it was worth a try. I had no plans for winter. Also, I figured my chances of receiving a response to an unsolicited cover letter and resume emailed to God Knows Where were so low that I didn’t even have to think about the pros and cons of going back to ship life again. Imagine my surprise when I received a response in less than 48 hours. Further, imagine my surprise when eventually I got an offer of employment!

Oh, shit.

I couldn’t say no. It was Antarctica. It may as well have been the moon.

So here I am. And for those of you wondering, yes, I have just seen A Serious Man.

Tenerife, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love my Job.

I don't like the word 'blog', but I reckon I will do it anyway. I'm going back to the MV Lyubov Orlova for a second season, this time sailing between the southern tip of Argentina and Antarctica. I will be gone from November first until sometime mid March. Life on a ship tends to make me introspective, so why not channel these currents into a usable format so that friends and family can see what I am up to? It really is interesting...

I've just gotten back from a whirlwind trip to Tenerife, in the Canary Islands. What did I do in such a paradise? I provisioned a ship. Provisioning a ship means boxes. So many boxes. Hundreds of them. Packing, unpacking, lifting, throwing, passing, dragging, and storing them. Big, small, heavy, light. Broken? Sometimes. Spilling all over the place? Why not?

I also caught a glimpse of what the upcoming season will look like. I met a few of my coworkers and we became fast friends, bonding over the bruises, sweat, scrapes, and cuts caused by the aforementioned paragraph. We shared stories of previous seasons at sea. We scarfed pizza together. We laughed. We complained. We smoked cigarettes and made pacts to quit once the season starts. We passed downtime by tying different sailor's knots for fun. We listened to Russian pop music and techno. Speaking of music, I'm allowed to control it in my bar. It's really all I ask in order to be happy at work. I hope Europeans like countryfolk.

I was given a letter that details what the average cruise will look like from the vantage point of the bartender. It said things such as many people will be crossing the last continent off their life list and a subtle (or maybe not) nudge might boost sales a bit. It has finally sunk in: My job is going to be to help tourists celebrate a voyage to the end of the world!

But that isn't the end of it. If you are organized, you should be able to make about eighty percent of the landings. The end of the world is also about to become my stomping ground.

...I feel like the luckiest girl on Earth.