Whiskey gingers at the end of the world: Part 1


It wasn’t my intention to begin my column about drinking in Antarctica while sitting at the bar at 8am on a Tuesday, but now that it’s happened, it seems like a very fitting start to these cold- and bourbon-fueled insights into alcohol enthusiasm at the end of the world. My name is Tessa and I’m a vagabond artist and voluntary canary down the coal mine currently working as a cook down at McMurdo Station, Antarctica. For the next fourish months, I’ll be working and drinking from my little home on the Ross Island Ice Shelf, and will be regaling you with tales of inebriation from the very, very deep South.
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