Antarctica: A Whiter Shade of Pale

“We skipped the light fandango
turned cartwheels ‘cross the floor
I was feeling kinda seasick
but the crowd called out for more…”
© Procol Harum

In what feels like trillion metre high swells, we hang on dearly with “one hand for the ship.” Enduring the infamous Drake Passage is a reminder that perhaps we’re not supposed to be here. That we are very small and feeble in the shadow of Mother Nature’s wrath.

Yet I know in my heart that I’m meant to be here. I stare out at the waves crashing into the ship’s bow with a mix of reverence and foolish bravado as we continue south.

And when the turbulence subsides we find ourselves in the wonderland that we came here for, but with every adjective exponentially more than we could have imagined.

Where everything is a shade of white. Except when it’s blue…

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