I forgot to bring my camera to this Internet cafe where Shelly Callender and I have stumbled into just a short 200 Meter walk from our bungalow on the beach in Rarotonga.

We just spent seven nights on the little island paradise just north of Rarotonga (the capital of the Cook Islands) and have been at our new place for only a few short hours. We hated leaving Aitutaki and wished we would have booked our entire trip there. That is, until we came to our booking in Rarotonga.

The owner of the place, Paul, welcomed us to his property by saying, "You've struck gold in Rarotonga." And what an understatement this has turned out to be. The above photo doesn't do justice for how beautiful our cottage is, sitting right on the beach, waves crashing, coconuts falling and even a white horse galloping along the shore (That Shelly got to ride).

If I Winter Over in Antarctica again (all dependent on government cutbacks) then I can guarantee I'll return to this exact same spot on Rarotonga.

Oh, and for those keeping track at home, I only have second degree sunburns all over 90% of my body. Apparently--even after lathering up in over one bottle of SPF 60--the sun is more than kissing my body. I think it got at least to third base and possibly even a homerun.

And for Dick in Darlington, I could not find a single store (out of the three in Aitutaki) who sold Duct tape, so I'll keep an eye out for it on Rarotonga. But I did find some sand for Turtle Haste on the Island where the current Survivor was filmed.

Well, there are about 3,668,329,232,143 things I'd rather be doing than typing on the Internet.

May the waves rock you gently and the wind set you free. And if that doesn't happen to you, then know that that will be my lullaby when I go to sleep tonight.

This is it. It really is. Even I'm getting sick of myself saying this is the last posting before I meet Shelly Callender in the Cook Islands. Like Gilligans Island, the Cook Island have no boat, no plane, no Internet. Not a single luxury.

But, this is it. And it only makes sense. Today is Ground Hog Day. The day I live twice. Right now it's Friday afternoon. Tomorrow it will again be Friday afternoon, but I will be sitting on the beach in Rarotonga.

This is the result of a Winter Over in Antarctica making vacation plans. When Shelly Callender and I were trying to meet on these small islands in the South Pacific, I kind of felt like it was two speeding bullets trying to hit each other in midair. The simple act of making vacation plans at the point when I still hadn't seen the sun, seemed unreal. To think my friend would fly from New York City to meet me, seemed equally unfathomable. It didn't go without a hitch.

Because I didn't want to get stuck in a freak Antarctic Storm, stuck on ice while Shelly was enjoying our vacation on the beach, we agreed to meet two weeks after I got off the Ice. I bought my ticket to leave New Zealand on October 21 and Shelly bought her ticket to meet me in Rarotonga on the 21st of October. What my sunshine deprived body didn't know was that I was crossing the International Date Line. Even though, according to the calendar, we're leaving on the same day, I get to the Cook Islands a day before Shelly. I suppose there are worse places on the Earth to have to spend an extra day.

Today I bought swim fins and a snorkel. Two weeks ago, I could walk on water, not because I was Jesus Christ, but because the ocean was frozen. Tomorrow, which is really today, I'll be sufficiently submerged in the ocean and alcohol. This was definitely worth being in the Dark.

The last couple of days I travelled from Dunedin to Christchurch. And I got lucky.

I was sitting in an out of the way cybercafe in Dunedin killing time before I saw the movie Brick (strongly recommend it--unless you're my parents) and Zoe, the person who worked at the store in Antarctica and sold me lollipops breaking my teeth, came and sat down next to me. She had been in Dunedin for a friend's wedding and was heading back to Christchurch the next day.

What was kind of weird was when she sat next to me, I was reading my friend Richard's blog about life in McMurdo (you can take the boy out of Antarctica, but you'd have to take the boy kicking and screaming if you wanted him to return Antarctica--right now). She took a photo and in pure blogosphere self onanisticness, sent it to Richard who posted it on his blog which I now refer you to.

The reason I got was lucky was because instead of making the trip by myself, I had Zoe riding shotgun. We stopped at an out of the way restaurant where the fish was caught and served from the same pier on the same day.

The photo card on my camera is full, so here are some random shots and comments that don't go along with some of the photos, but allow me to clear my photo card for pictures from the Cook Islands.

**on board the Doubtful Sound cruise a bloke from New Zealand and his mate were making fun of Americans for being fat. Specifically, "good on ya mate, aye, it's dem Texans who are as large as a pregnant kiwi riding on the back of a fur seal." I pulled out my Texas driver's license and said, "Be careful. In Texas we carry guns."

**Even the music at the "Mexican" food restaurant sucked worse than the guacamole. One of the songs that popped up (after 8 songs of reggae) was Silent Night Holy Night. Holy Shit. It's October. And the only thing that was silent was my lack of compliments when I walked out of the restaurant.

**In the fishing town with the round rocks, there was a car parked near the restaurant with a dog and a pet Magpie hopping all over the dog. I don't know what this means, but the inside of the car was covered in bird crap.

**Walking down the streets of Dunedin I started counting the number of old people who walked using a cane. In two blocks I saw 14 three legged senior citizens. I had to wonder if in 1927 the Burgermeister went through the hospital maiming every third child saying, "You will walk with a cane forever. This way you can never leave New Zealand and we'll always have someone (as gimpy as you may be) to tend the sheep."

**One of the Guests on the Doubtful Sound cruise brought his guitar along to entertain us. He and his over permed/bleach blonde wife passed out business cards that stated they were versatile in classics from the last 50 years. Claiming to know "Kiwi Australian and Country" music. The wife proudly pointed out, as though they were the ones who invented the Guttenberg Press, that their business cards were printed on both sides. I requested they play any song by Marty Robbins--specifically El Paso or Big Iron. They'd never heard of Marty Robbins.

Their dual sided card said they knew "Country" music. Isn't this like advertising a broad depth of knowledge about Australian music, but not knowing the words to Waltzing Matilda, Tie me Kangaroo Down Sport or Elton John's Crocodile Rock.

I've based my entire New Zealand trip around a one night cruise on Doubtful Sound.

After winning the Wheels Down Pool in Antarctica, I decided to treat myself to a vacation splurge in New Zealand. Asking around my well traveled residents of McMurdo, the idea of sailing on a ship in one of the fjords on the South Island became a reality.

I was told, however, to expect rain. Lots of rain. So much rain that even the water around the fjords have 2-3 meters of fresh water on top of the sea water that spills in from the ocean or the sea. In New Zealand they spell "Fjords" as "Fiords"--they also can't cook Mexican Food, most likely because they can't wrap their tongues around a "J" that sounds like an "H." Holy Jalapeno--can you tell I spent $43 on the worst mexican food this side of the Equator. Hint: Ketchup should not be used as a base for HOT Salsa.

Anyways, I stayed on proper SHedule by sailing around FIords.

The cruise I chose had a few options. Even though I felt flush with cash when I was booking my tour, I still selected the least expensive option on the ship. Essentially I was going to stay with the rats and possums bunking beneath the anchor chain with three other fourth class citizens.

Then, a funny thing happened on board the Mariner. When I was handed my key to bunk house #19, instead of being lead to the janitor's closet off the wheelhouse, my concierge lead me up the stairs to a suite off of the captain's deck to a room all to my own. I later learned that this upcoming weekend is a New Zealand National Holiday, so everyone is saving their time off for this next weekend--sailing on the Monday before a three day weekend meant the ship that normally holds 70 people, set sail with only 28 on board.

Even though it rains over 50% of the days in the Doubtful Sound area, it was mostly clear skies and smooth sailing on this trip. It was cold. The people who can't say "FJords" also said the temperature was three degrees Celsius. In terms of Fahrenheit this meant it was near or around 40 degrees. It terms of Antarcticans, this meant it was balmy. The others on the ship thought it was a bit too cold to stay outside, so I was usually the only one outside enjoying the view.

I had a lot of expectations for my Doubtful Sound cruise. When the captain who has been sailing this ship for seven years and all the crew came outside to take photographs, I knew this was an unusual day. They said a couple of times a season do people get to see it as smooth and as beautiful as I did.

Then I went back to my stateroom. Next Stop. Cook Islands.

Two nights in Queenstown and now I'm sailing off towards Doubtful Sound.

Like any good member of the Jacobsen family, one of my stops in Queenstown was the local cemetery. If curiosity killed the cat, then I always like to know how the cat died, how they were remembered and how they were buried.

This was my favorite tombstone. And envisioning the conversation at the mortuary.

"Mum loved her grandkids."

"Yes she did."

"Mum loved her husband."

"Yes she did. And Grant loved her, too. They were soulmates."

"Mum hated heart attacks."

"Damn things killed her."

"Of all the great things Mum did for us, let's always remember those times when she played the slots."

"Cherries for you, Mum. Cherries and Triple Sevens. R.I.P."

One of my first days out of Antarctica I met up with three other Winter Overs and we attempted to kill New Zealanders. In fact we were trying to golf, but when you get four people together who haven't stepped on grass in nine months or swung a club in as long, were more like Charles Whitman on the top of the University of Texas Tower trying to pick off students and less like Tiger Woods trying to get a ball into a hole.

The golf course we found in downtown Christchurch could be the worst laid out course in the history of golf. Instead of it being a "golf course" it was a public park--with golf. Kids on bicycles rode in front of the tee boxes, families had picnics in the grass and seven of the 18 holes were the exact same hole--you just played them twice. The second time around you aimed at the red flag instead of the yellow one, and there were different bicyclist and dogs on the course, but otherwise it was an 11 holed course.

Once I shook the icicles from my veins, I was able to get a 20 yard (I mean) 20 metre chip shot to land in the cup, a 10 meter putt to sink in for a birdie and I missed hitting several people by mere centimetres.

The next day I hit the road for a small town called "Blackball." There is a haunted house looking hotel there called "Formerly the Blackball Hilton." This place was quaint to the point of being uncomfortable.

I was the only person staying there and the main heat in my room came from the two hot water bottles I stuck in my bed. It was like staying the night with Laura Ingles and a homecooked meal by ma. The New Zealand dialect in sheep hearding country of Blackball would kind of be like a deep south or New England accent. Sure these are the extremes, but I couldn't understand what was being said. The best I could figure out the weather is so cold somehow or another the lambs have little testicles so boil water and stick it in your bed for a good night's sleep.

After trying to sleep the night, wishing I'd boiled enough water for three water bottles, I got out of bed at 6:30 a.m. (note: I did not wake up at 6:30, because I'd been awake most of the sheep freezing testicular night) and headed down to Greymouth to go on a glowworm cave tour. The tour was excellent, but the photos were an extra $40 so until a family from Australia emails me some pictures, you'll have to go to the link (that's free).

Dressing up in spelunking wetsuits and hard hats, we descended into a cave with waterfalls, stalactites (the one's you hit your head on) and stalagmites (the ones that when you sit down on them, they "Mite" go right up your ass--for some reason I could never keep the tites and the mites straight--until I sat down without looking).

Inside this cave are one of the most fascinating little creatures I've ever seen. When we turned off our lights, the cave looked like the Milky Way with little glowing worms. Excuse me for getting all biological (my version), but these worms have a pretty interesting eleven month lifecycle.

At first 40 eggs are laid. The first three or four larvae to hatch, eat the other 36 or 37 eggs. And, because of infanticide, this makes them glow in the dark and then they drop dangly webs to catch bugs flying around in the cave. Get this: There are really no other bugs in the cave--except the blind glow worms.

Once they've eaten their share of food, the glow worms make a cocoon, and emerge as an ugly gnat. They are blind with a great sense of smell and what they are sniffing for is sex. For two days or four weeks (I can't remember which) they have mass amounts of sex until they create their required 40 eggs.

Once they are sexually spent like a three dollar whore on a 2-4-1 night, they get their eyesight. And guess what the first thing they see is? A glowing light. They fly to the light, get stuck in a glow worm web and so goes the circle of life. X-Rated Disney Movie soon to be released.

Now I'm in Wanaka. I'll stay here for a few days, until I go sailing on the Doubtful Sound.

Each time I've left Antarctica I've always come to the same Internet Cafe and typed in the same title "That's a Wrap." The first time it was just a Wrap and I was looking forward to finding a cat. The second time I just kind of left it hanging. Maybe I'd come back, maybe I wouldn't. Whatever.

This time I've wrapped up Antarctica and left it in style. On July 13 (that's my birthday), my boss MJ surprised me with the gift of a Rolls Royce ride to my hotel after landing in Christchurch. It was also a trial of patience. For three months I have stared at a picture of this Rolls Royce tacked above my computer. There were days I would come inside after freezing outside and my mind would take a warm, leather ride in the back seat of the photo on my wall.

Last night, I took that ride for real and brought along my friend Ben Bonnet.

The reality was much better than the dreams. Our driver, Dave, didn't take us straight to our hotels, he first took us on a cruise around Christchurch and showed us the history of downtown and the Rememberance Arch, but more importantly to Ben Bonnet and I, he told us the history of the last handmade 1976 Rolls Royce we were rolling in.

For some reason Paul McCartney brought this very Rolls to New Zealand so he could travel in the same type of style that Ben Bonnet and I so deserved after spending a Winter in the Antarctic night. Paul McCartney had millions of girls screaming when he took the stage, and Ben Bonnet and I had zero girls screaming as we drove around Christchurch. Paul McCartney had the White Album and we had the dark Winter. Until this Rolls Royce ride, I had nothing in common with Paul McCartney. Now I do.

(insert your own Hard Day's Night Joke Here)

This was the most thoughtful gift a boss could have given her employee. Thank you MJ.

Antarctica was a great ride. Now it just seems like a dream. Like what happened seems as surreal as getting a ride in a Rolls Royce and then getting dropped off at the YMCA.

Today I am doing something I have never done in Antarctica. This is a momentous day. This is the first day when I've done Nothing.

I woke up at noon and didn't do anything. I didn't even get coffee. It's now 2:00 p.m. and I'm sipping my first cup of coffee. If I wasn't so busy not doing anything, I would walk to my room and add some Bailey's to my coffee. That would be something, but it would ruin my nothing.

Truth be told, I did wake up at 7 a.m. today and I was very prepared to do something. I was leaving Antarctica and I had to have my bags dragged up to the Cargo building at 8:30 a.m. But, a funny thing happened on the way past the 60 degree line of Latitude where the Antarctic Circle begins, the C-17 that was supposed to fly down to get me off this ice berg never left Christchurch, New Zealand. Flights are often cancelled because of weather. Today is the most beautiful day I've seen since January. Maybe the fly guys were afraid to get the sun in their eyes on a breezeless day. Maybe they want to land when it's a challenge, not when it's beautiful.

From the moment you arrive in Antarctica, until the day you leave, there is always something to do. Even the days we have off are carefully plotted out in order to get the most out of every minute of the single day we have off from work. It's for this reason I knew when I wrote my last post that I would not have any time for some last words.

The delay has given me time. As I've said before, things change. I adapt.

My supposed last moments in Antarctica were spent saying goodbye to friends, goodbye to the Galley, goodbye to the bars and goodbye to the weight room. Today I have said hello to all again and tonight my friend Southern Exposure will set up another round of drinks for a second goodbye party.

Yesterday was spent cleaning my room which had nine months worth of hibernating stacked floor to ceiling. One layer even had the remains of Tad's birthday cake. His birthday was August 22. It had been awhile since we had cleaned our room.

It wasn't too long ago that I planned to box up my room, put it in storage, and open the boxes back up when I return in January. I've signed a contract to come back to the same job. Then, this rumor started to murmur throughout McMurdo. Antarctica is over budget and Raytheon has to find away to cut 14 million dollars from their budget.

Plan A: Cut Winter Over staff in half.
Plan B: Refer to Plan A

At first I ignored these murmurings just like I ignore the rumor about UFOs at the South Pole. Then, just like sometimes I wonder if there really are UFOs at the South Pole (or at least Vostock), I started to believe the rumors. Antarctica isn't just losing its iceshelf, it's possibly losing its Winter Over employees.

Instead of storing my boxes on the precariously shrinking continent, I stood in line for an hour and a half (behind other Winter Overs unsure of their future) and sent 10 boxes home. I'm not entirely certain how the company can save 14 million dollars, but I could have saved $150 in mailing costs if only I knew if I was returning.

After the post office I called my friend Shelly Callender (who I'm meeting in the Cook Islands) and she gave me an earful for saying I was done with posting stories about Antarctica. It was the first time I had told her about the budget cuts and the reason why I felt adamant about being done. She said, "Fuck Antarctica. Just keep writing."

And I said, "When will I have the time to do this?"

I'll keep you posted.

(photo from Post Secret)

I feel like I am about to journey from one perfect moment to the next.

For the last nine months I have been working six days a week on a United States Antarctic Science Outpost. This reality never escapes me. It's a feeling I can't describe, but hopefully has been captured by the different ways I have tried explain my life to those of you who read this.

Four years ago when I first came here to wash dishes, I could have just as easily gone to Las Vegas to wash dishes. I could have applied for work at Denny's or Bennigans and been hired as a dishwasher. Jobs for dishwashers are plentiful and I could not ever comprehend applying for one of these jobs. Yet, this was my gateway job to Antarctica. This is when I first entered the perfect moment of Antarctica. Since then, I have tried to not let these moments pass me by.

Still, though, after being here for nine months, working sixty hours a week and getting only Sundays off means that this perfect Antarctica Moment is ready to be over.

This will be my last Antarctica Post. I'm done.

On Thursday I fly to New Zealand. Between now and then I have two more days of work and nine months worth of a room to clean up, a season's worth of friends to say goodbye to and a hike left in me.

The next couple of weeks I'll be flying off the grid and living under the radar. I'll be spending my first two weeks traveling around the southern part of the South Island of New Zealand. I know very little about this area. I've heard it's where a lot of Lord of the Rings was filmed. I never saw Lord of the Rings.

Right now my only plans are to have no plans. Except one plan. I will take an overnight cruise on a big sailing ship cruising around Doubtful Sound. Travel guides say this a little early in the season and it's possible there will be lots of rain. I'm so excited to see and feel rain that I feel like it will be a disappointment if the weather is beautiful. Either way, I'm certain it will be a perfect moment.

After New Zealand, I'm flying to the Cook Islands and meeting my friend Shelly. We have booked a weeks stay on a little Island called Aitutaki. This island used to be a little hidden gem in the South Pacific. Now it's featured as the island where the current episode of Survivor takes place. My nephew, Parker, told me that he has seen sharks and snakes on the island and to be careful. I'm just looking forward to seeing Shelly and sand.

We're staying at a place called Samade on the Beach. By all accounts, it's right on the Lagoon in the best place to swim. From Aitutaki we'll be flying back to the main island of the Cooks Islands, Rarotonga. Here we've found a little bungalow right on the beach. This is my next perfect moment.

It may seem like a lot of traveling time, and I suppose it is, but I'll be leaving Rarotonga on Halloween and then flying to Germany to visit my friend Bettina who is working in Ulm at the University. She breaks the legs of rats and then studies the effects of pissed off rats with broken legs. There's probably something more scientific about what she does--I just know she breaks rat's legs and loves Nomar Garciaparra. I've never been to Europe and I love that the first time I'm going there I get to have a perfect moment with someone who lives there. Someone who is my friend.

I'll try and post photos and things from wherever the wind blows me, but for the most part I've always kept this blog to let people know what life is like in Antarctica--a place where few people get to go. This is my version of Antarctica.

If you want to fly to Aitutaki, New Zealand or Germany you can experience your own adventures there. Don't let the perfect moments pass you by. Thanks for reading.