Wednesday 9th December. 08.05. Stanley, Falkland Islands.

Letters from the Falkland Islands

It’s raining. The rain seems to have quietened the nearby chickens, at least. It seemed strange to discover it was raining, I actually had to do a double check out of the window. I wondered why this was, and I suspect it’s simply because it has been bright and sunny here since I arrived and that was, up until now, all I’d ever experienced of this place. I also wonder if we find rain in any new country strange and is the rain in fact different wherever we go? How similar is this to Eskdale rain, for example? I’ll find out soon enough, it’s not long until the first of my allocated two half hour outside slots of the day. We are allowed out into this roped off grassy area in front of the hotel – this area has become affectionally known as the sheep pen. The sheep pen is about 15 metres long, and 5 metres wide. We have a printed schedule for the times we are allowed out; the area is too small for all of us quarantining here to be out at once. There are 14 of us here at the moment, mostly Twin Otter pilots, air mechanics, and air support, a few field guides, a MET forecaster, Mr Halley, and me (Station Support Assistant). Many are friends from previous Antarctic seasons. Only one I’ve never met before, and another I’ve only met once briefly – we had a few hours cross over on station last season and we had a conversation about post-it notes and drawings on a white board. It’s kind of funny how I’m in a country I’ve never been to before, but the majority of the people I’ve seen are familiar faces. The sheep pen is on the other side of the hotel to my room, which means that twice a day I get a different view. I also get to say hello to those who have rooms which look the other way; they come to the windows and we chat for a bit, or they just watch as I do some keepie-ups or run round in really small circles. It’s amazing how our definition of entertainment substantially changes during quarantine. Although, some things are just outright exciting. When I was outside yesterday, kicking a ball about from one end of the sheep pen to the other with Dutch, I was dive bombed by a Turkey Vulture. In reality, this enormous bird was at least 20 metres away from me, but it felt pretty dramatic especially when Dutch informed me that they will just swoop down and carry anything off. He even sent me a link later to a website full of information about these birds and assured me that it was a genuine website and not something that he had created in spare moments of quarantine madness. I am a little dubious about their ability to carry off humans, though.