If there’s one trait most famous explorers share, aside from an unmitigated thirst for adventure, it’s a well-documented love of liquid courage. Ferdinand Magellan packed more wine than water on his voyages. Ernest Shackleton took 25 cases of Scotch whisky on his ill-fated Antarctic expedition (several of which were only discovered under the ice a century later). Even James Cook was known to issue daily rations of rum. When you’re facing the unknown, it seems a stiff drink is as vital as a compass.
So is it any wonder that on the world’s coldest, loneliest continent, where bravery meets brutality and GPS can’t save you from a blizzard, most of Antarctica’s 70-odd research stations come equipped with their very own bar?
Shaken, Not Stirred—At Minus 40 Degrees
In a place where it’s easier to find a penguin than a pineapple, you might expect the bar scene to be non-existent. Think again. Antarctica’s bars are not just real, they’re thriving, even sophisticated.
At the Vernadsky Research Base, you can order a Manhattan from a bar made of repurposed wood, decked out with a pool table, and lovingly attended by Ukrainian scientists who distil their own horilka (vodka) using fermented sugar, water, and good old Antarctic patience. Women drink for free here, a cheeky nod to the scarcity of female presence in what was once a near all-male outpost.
Further inland, the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station boasts “Club 90 South,” a dark, cosy refuge where researchers sip canned beer and swap tales beneath shimmering auroras. Over at McMurdo Station, Gallager’s Pub feels like a university bar, complete with dart boards, themed party nights, and improvised cocktails made from whatever’s survived the last supply run.
Where the Meteorologist Pours Your Martini
No one flies in professional bartenders, this is DIY hospitality at its finest. Your drink might be mixed by a biologist, your whiskey poured by a plumber. Staff at these stations often rotate roles, meaning your bunkmate could be serenading you with karaoke one night and reconfiguring the station’s heating system the next.
And it’s not just the makeshift menus or the gloriously wonky furniture that make these bars special. It’s their mission: to stave off isolation, promote mental wellbeing, and keep morale bubbling during long, dark Antarctic winters. With months of darkness and little contact from the outside world, these bars are more than watering holes, they’re lifelines.
Boozy Celebrations in the Ice Age
Celebrations here are legendary. From “Midwinter Masquerades” to impromptu musical performances, these bars are hubs of cultural survival. At Australia’s Casey Station, the bar is sometimes a decommissioned bus or a sled-mounted tent, set up to mark events like the longest night of the year.
The ingenuity knows no bounds. Glassware is often recycled lab equipment. Decor might include snow goggles strung with fairy lights, or signs pointing to “Home: 15,972 km.” And while fresh citrus is a rare luxury, drinks are chilled to perfection courtesy of the sub-zero atmosphere outside.
The Toast Heard Round the Globe
The Antarctic bar scene is, quite literally, the coolest in the world. It’s a testament to human adaptability and the need for community, even, or especially, in the harshest conditions imaginable. Where explorers once swigged rum to stave off scurvy, today’s scientists share homemade spirits and laughter, keeping spirits high in a place that can feel like the end of the Earth.
So, next time you sip a martini in your local bar, raise a glass to the unsung bartenders of Antarctica, the physicists and cooks, the engineers and station leaders, who prove that even in the coldest corners of the planet, there’s always warmth to be found in a drink shared with friends.
