What It’s Really Like To Travel to Antarctica
As the ship departed from Ushuaia, the southernmost city on Earth, the world as I knew it faded behind me, forgotten in the anticipation of the experience that lay ahead. After a wonderful prelude in the Falkland Islands, came the impressive two-day traverse across the infamous Drake Passage. Known for its tumultuous swelling waves and rough waters, it serves as an initiation rite for most Antarctic adventurers — an emblematic journey into the unknown. From that day on L’Austral, the Compagnie du Ponant ship I travelled on, became a luxurious cocoon amid the extreme environment around us.
Once through Drake Passage, I was able to open the balcony curtains to take in the reassuring view of the calm morning waters of the Weddell Sea. They are views that almost defy description. An ethereal landscape where monochromatic mountains sharply jut from the sea, their peaks punctuated by glaciers and rounded icecaps ballooning vertically for hundreds of meters and stretching horizontally for several kilometers. All is white, black, azure blue and impossibly vast. Suddenly, an iceberg, building-size above water and unfathomably large below, floats into view with a lone penguin standing atop. It is in this moment that I finally grasp the immensity and particularity of this place. I had heard about it all my life, but its magnetism can only be understood by experiencing it first-hand.
The White Continent belongs to both no one and everyone. Passportless and borderless, I find myself officially adrift in a realm of nowhere. The isolation is an exclusivity preserved by the International Association of Antarctic Tour Operators (IAATO), established in 1991 to safeguard the continent and promote tourism that respects wildlife and preserves the delicate ecosystems. I am travelling with Ponant which — as an IAATO member with a fleet entirely composed of Bureau Veritas-certified “Cleanships” — exemplifies this responsible travel ethos.
Sustainability is therefore an unavoidable consideration when voyaging to the region. As an environmentally conscious traveller, the ticking clock of climate change created a blatant paradox, which only intensified my desire to witness Antarctica before its inevitable transformation. It’s a contradiction resolved by the realisation that this can be more than simple tourism. Rather, it’s a rare chance to contact the seventh continent with the lightest touch possible, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to gain profound perspective on the beauty and fragility of the earth’s ecosystems.
Antarctica’s allure is its inaccessibility. Despite it being sometimes portrayed as an attainable tourist destination, the reality is starkly different. And for the better. In the 2022-2023 season, only 71,258 people, 0.0000089 per cent of the world population, set foot in Antarctica. The remoteness, limited accommodations, and costly itineraries ensure exclusivity, attracting those seeking a thoughtful and unique life experience. To be one of the lucky few is a privilege.
My voyage with Ponant, while embodying luxury a la Francais, seamlessly blended with the spirit of exploration. The expedition becomes an immersive learning experience, with experts giving programmed talks on the significance of the complex natural systems that define this part of the world. The onbourd naturalists enthusiastically share information with passengers on the ship and during excursions throughout their journey.
The rare staff-to-passenger ratio of nearly 1:1 allowed for a personalised and intimate journey, where returning from a landing meant being greeted with hot beverages and fresh pastries that rival those of France. After any excursion, I would return to my stateroom room to discover it refreshed with five-star comforts. While enjoying a hot shower with Diptyque products, I was able to take in private Antarctic views from our full-length bathroom window, embracing every moment, as FOMO became an unwelcome companion during the cruise. To combat it, guests take every opportunity to keep a watchful eye outside, constantly on the lookout for the breathtaking sights that are an ordinary occurrence here. Fortunately, the crew assists by making impromptu announcements if they spot something worth pulling you away from the interior amusements.
Like living in a nature documentary, I witness humpback whales gulping krill in a coordinated dance just meters away from our Zodiacs, observed orca pods swimming in synchronicity from the bridge with the Captain, and walked amongst sprawling penguin colonies numbering in the hundreds of thousands as they guard their newly born chicks and awkwardly waddle about their business on their “penguin highway.”
The temptation to capture every second through a smartphone lens dissipated with the realisation that life’s extraordinary moments are best experienced through our own eyes (or a pair of borrowed binoculars). If even a photo cannot convey the experiences of this place, then how can one ever hope to faithfully describe the feeling of gliding softly through a flat sheet of minus one-degree seawater in a bay surrounded by enormous glaciers and bobbing icebergs? Or fully explain the emotion of hearing only the sounds of the gentle splash of your paddle and the bump and scrape on your kayak of the million ice chunks bespeckling the surface? What is the word for a silence so deafened by the snow and ice that you fell all alone in the world? Ultimately, you can never truly do it justice, for the feeling is wordless and primal, like Antarctica herself.
Indeed, a journey to Antarctica is a timeless meditation on the raw, savage beauty of our planet. It reveals the boundless and transcendent essence of the wild that urges us to understand, love and protect the world we call home. To visit Antarctica is to return an ambassador for a remote and distant place, a privilege that demands both reverence and responsibility. Captain Charbel Daher encapsulated this sentiment perfectly over dinner on my last night, “Here in the Antarctic, it must be lived to be understood.”
Images supplied.