Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I tried to disconnect the long rubber tube from the tap, so that I could clean my teeth
in situ
, but the
project failed amid geysers of very cold water. At the end of the room there was a window, which
was fortunate, as the lab grew unaccountably hot at night.
∗
The accommodation, the kitchen, the
sala comando
and most of the labs and offices were located
in the main building, which meant that you didn't have to face whiteouts to get to breakfast. In
the evening
cena
was eaten at the civilised time of 8.30 and in this department the Italian nation
excelled itself. Not only were wine boxes provided at both lunch and dinner, but the chef, an end-
lessly cheerful Neapolitan called Ciro who was like a small rubber ball, created unbelievably deli-
cious meals. His kitchen was not resupplied regularly with fresh foods and I never understood how
he managed to perform his culinary feats. When I asked him, he said the important thing was to
cook
con amore
.
On top of this, an industrial-sized espresso machine in one of the two lounges was permanently
connected to the water supply. To me, this was akin to attaining Nirvana. The lounges were fur-
nished with brown Dralon sofas, a fridge containing soft drinks and mineral water (the Italians
drink bottled water on the ice, a habit held up by veterans of the British Antarctic Survey as an ex-
ample of wanton profligacy and the moral turpitude of Foreigners) and a video screen. In a small
room next door there was a table football game, hunched over which people regularly worked
themselves into a frenzy. After dinner, the Italians enjoyed lounging around in the corridor outside
the dining room and jabbering over tiny cups of espresso. Mario often used this period to inform
the team of his latest project.
'I have decided', he said one night, throwing his head back and gulping down a mouthful of
espresso, 'to bring the Pope out to the ice.' He paused to allow for digestion of this information.
'What do we all think of that?'
'Well,' said Gaetano, spluttering quietly, 'I cannot really see His Holiness on a snowmobile.'
There were three women on station, and they used to gather for a cigarette outside the metal
shower cubicles in the bathroom.
'How are you finding our base?' the eldest one asked me during one of these fag breaks. She
was a woman of feisty spirits and Chaucerian ribaldry whose role at Terra Nova Bay I was never
able to ascertain.
'Fine!' I said.
'Look, don't panic if the men seem desperate - you know, for women. They are just talk -' she
finished the sentence by imitating the working of a jaw with her fingers and thumb. 'In this very
cold,' she continued, whereupon the other two began laughing, as if they knew what she was going
to say, 'their little
cazzi
become this tiny,' and she held her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart.
With that, she slapped me on the back with one hand, stubbed a cigarette out in the sink with the
other, burst through the swing door and sailed into the corridor.
During the day the base exuded a permanent sense of urgency. It was a summer-only station,
1
which put everyone under pressure, and besides this, the Italians were a long way from their
nearest neighbours. It all contributed to a kind of frontier spirit, as did the fact that the history of
