A Wild Frontier: Unveiling the Untamed Dreamscape of Antarctica

As a writer, I seldom struggle to find words. Yet, I lack the adjectives or adverbs to fully convey the stunning vastness I encountered while gazing at the Antarctic Peninsula's endless white.

Instead, my thoughts wandered like large sheets of drifting sea ice, entranced by the shape of a whale off the ship's starboard side—or perhaps just the crest of a wave.

There are simply no words capable of encapsulating the frozen expanse, a wildness too immense to condense into coherent sentences.

Perhaps this is due to Antarctica's extreme contrasts and contradictions. It's vast, inhospitable, and remarkably changeable. The katabatic winds can alter the landscape before your very eyes, while ancient glaciers groan as they break away and plunge into the sea. Yet, it can also be perfectly calm and eerily quiet, a dreamscape bathed in the perpetual light of the austral summer. This is the Antarctica I encountered — one of the last untouched and wild places on Earth — during a recent sailing with World Navigator from the luxury expedition cruise line Atlas Ocean Voyages.

In the initial days on board, I found myself in a state of disbelief. We had traveled for days, including a major delay in Ushuaia, Argentina, that almost derailed the entire journey. (Traveling amidst the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, especially with the surge of the omicron variant, carries its risks. Indeed, Atlas Ocean Voyages had to cancel its Jan. 6 Antarctica expedition.)

Once we finally boarded World Navigator late Saturday night, I slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep that lingered for a day and a half as we swayed through the Drake Passage.

We were fortunate, as the crew informed me. So far, it had been one of the smoothest sailings of the season across the Drake, where three seas converge to create one of the most turbulent bodies of water on the planet. Consequently, we were making excellent progress toward our first destination: Half Moon Island, a crescent-shaped piece of land in the South Shetland Islands, known for its dramatic rock formations and a rookery of chinstrap penguins that undeniably resemble little jockeys in helmets.

I was thrilled, of course, but I didn’t have any specific expectations. Like many others, I had always imagined visiting Antarctica after retirement—when I would have a clear schedule, a healthy savings account, and it would be the last continent on my bucket list (in fact, I still have Australia and Africa to explore).

Between October 2019 and April 2020, around 74,400 tourists traveled to Antarctica. It was certainly a record year, yet Antarctica doesn't occupy the same space in the minds of travelers as other destinations do. It’s not a place you can simply decide to visit on a spontaneous weekend getaway.

To me, it felt almost like a legend.

It truly didn’t feel like a real place until I stood on solid Antarctic ground, my face stinging from the wind, surrounded by the unmistakable scent of nesting penguins and marine life.

Even then, I hadn't technically set foot on continental Antarctica; I was merely on an island north of the Antarctic Peninsula. It wasn't until the next day, when the ship glided into the tranquil, snow globe-like cove of Paradise Harbour, that I could genuinely say I had arrived on the continent of Antarctica.

That moment, I believe, was when the reality of Antarctica truly sank in: watching a crabeater seal basking contentedly on an ice floe, seeing penguins leap through the slushy sea ice, and indulging in playful nostalgia during a snowball fight with handfuls of untouched snow.

The Journey There

Traveling to Antarctica is neither forgiving nor straightforward.

Most journeys to Antarctica commence at the so-called End of the World in the quaint port city of Ushuaia, Argentina. Atlas Ocean Voyages offers mostly all-inclusive packages, and this specific trip kicked off with a nonstop flight on a private chartered Airbus 330 from Orlando International Airport (MCO) in Florida to Ushuaia (USH). This significantly reduced travel time on both ends, but it still involves a lengthy trek from New York City, complicated by Argentine travel regulations (at the time of my trip, requiring a negative COVID-19 PCR test, proof of vaccination, extensive paperwork, and travel insurance that explicitly covers COVID-19) and the cruise line's own safety measures (a negative antigen test prior to boarding the charter flight and proof of vaccination).

While there are trips to Antarctica that feature a direct flight from the southern tip of Chile to the continent, I opted for the classic expedition: one that entails up to two days at sea each way across the notorious Drake Passage.

I pictured myself as a daring explorer. In preparation for the journey, I started reading "Endurance: Shackleton's Incredible Voyage," and to me, Antarctica felt like a reward earned rather than just a vacation destination.

Everyone cautioned me about the turbulent waters, and although I don’t usually suffer from seasickness, I packed a small pharmacy in my luggage (meclizine, ginger chews, and plenty of lorazepam) just to be safe. I felt great throughout the journey, but to clarify, we had an unusually smooth crossing. For those who do struggle with seasickness, be aware that a rough crossing on the Drake can involve waves soaring between 20 to 40 feet high for two consecutive days.

Relaxing

Even though I felt fairly prepared for the journey (I’m no stranger to camping and hiking in sub-zero temperatures or backpacking and climbing in challenging conditions), Antarctica proved to be more demanding than I anticipated.

Despite having all the right equipment well before the trip was confirmed, I still found myself freezing during some excursions on the line’s fleet of custom-designed Zodiac boats.

I’m accustomed to shedding layers while climbing mountains, not sitting still for an hour or more on a small boat racing around the harbor and pausing to watch penguins clumsily waddle into the water.

One day, when the weather was particularly harsh, icy salt water seeped through even my best waterproof gear.

Certainly, I enjoyed many moments of relaxation on board the World Navigator. There’s the luxurious L'Occitane spa, the first of its kind at sea, where I experienced an incredible 90-minute massage that felt like being expertly stretched and reassembled. There were cocktails, endless wine, and live piano music after dinner in the upstairs Dome observation lounge, while cozy corners throughout the ship practically invite you to settle in with a book and a cappuccino.

The cabins were also very comfortable; mine featured a furnished balcony that would be lovely when the World Navigator moves to warmer waters. The bathroom, especially for a cruise ship, was impressive — I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, anyone who has ever tried shaving the back of their legs understands the luxury of an in-shower bench.

There were plenty of other indulgences as well. While both breakfast and lunch were served buffet-style, you could also order virtually anything your heart desired.

One morning, I asked for poached eggs with a side of avocado, and even though I can assure you that no avocado trees grow along the Antarctic Peninsula, slices of perfectly ripe avocado appeared before me anyway.

Dinner featured extensive menus inspired by various global cuisines — including Russian, Portuguese, Japanese, and French, to name a few. If I could offer you one tip, it would be this: Don’t miss out on the truffle fries.

As you would expect from a luxury cruise line, the service was incredibly friendly and intuitive. After ordering the same drink a couple of times, I was simply asked on subsequent evenings if I’d like my usual.

Yes, indeed, thank you very much.

However, experiencing Antarctica firsthand is an entirely different matter. It’s an expedition, and by the end of each day, I found myself completely drained.

Personally, this is the type of travel I long for. If I’m not muddy, soaked, and utterly spent at the end, I feel like I have nothing to show for my adventure.

That’s why, when given the chance to leap off the ship into the ice-laden waters off the coast of Pleneau Island, I couldn’t resist.

People often talk about the health benefits of cold-water plunges, but I doubt there’s much merit to a single dip — you do it simply to say you did, to experience that unique thrill of knowing you are bold, fearless, and very much alive. (The actual experience feels like a mix of disbelief for volunteering for such madness and a cold that stings like an elbow to the ribs.)

As often happens, the itinerary had to be changed at the last moment, and suddenly I found myself without a full day to prepare mentally for the plunge — it was simply time to go.

I slipped into my swimsuit, wrapped myself in a cozy Atlas Ocean Voyages bathrobe, and put on my slippers before heading down to the mudroom. Shots of vodka were being served, and music was playing. When it was your turn, you were secured into a harness — presumably so you could be pulled back to the ship if you suddenly forgot how to swim or went into shock.

I was nearly in that latter state. My mind was so consumed with thoughts of the cold that I ended up gulping a big mouthful of saltwater when I jumped in. Back on board, when fellow cruisers eagerly asked how it was, all I could manage to say was "salty."

How was it? The water temperature was a brisk 29 degrees Fahrenheit. What do you think?

Would I do it all over again? Just point me to the spot where I leap.

Awaiting the penguins

If I'm being truthful, there was one thing I anticipated from my trip to Antarctica: penguins. As with everything else on this continent, they left me utterly speechless.

The guideline is to maintain a distance of at least 5 meters (roughly 15 feet), yet you often find a penguin waddling right toward you.

More often than not, I'd find myself kneeling to observe penguins in their natural antics, resulting in countless photos of me wide-eyed and grinning at a penguin proudly clutching a pebble in its beak as a love token; playfully pursuing another penguin; or walking, stumbling, tripping, and ultimately tobogganing down a snowy slope.

Most of these encounters occurred under favorable conditions, allowing us to disembark from World Navigator and take a Zodiac to shore for an authentic landing.

At times when that wasn’t feasible, we could typically embark on a Zodiac cruise to view wildlife and the breathtaking Antarctic scenery from the water, accompanied by a member of the expedition team. Their expertise spanned kayaking, photography, mountaineering, history, geology, ornithology, and marine biology. Besides leading excursions, the team also hosted onboard lectures, regaling us with stories of both triumphant and tragic Antarctic expeditions, intriguing seabird facts, and memories of past adventures.

Throughout our journey, we encountered colonies of gentoo and chinstrap penguins, along with Adelie penguins and various seabirds, including black-browed albatrosses, skuas, and snowy sheathbills, humorously nicknamed "poop chickens," which is an absolutely fitting title.

On one memorable Zodiac cruise, our expedition guide spotted a leopard seal gliding through the water. It curiously watched our boat before deciding to chase a chaotic group of penguins.

Humpback whales frequently graced us with their presence, both alongside the cruise ship and during our Zodiac excursions. It was common to see entire rooms full of people rush to the windows or brave the chilly winds on deck for a closer look.

We didn't encounter orcas or killer whales during our voyage, nor did we spot emperor or king penguins, which are typically seen on trips to other Antarctic and sub-Antarctic areas. And just to clarify, there are absolutely no polar bears in Antarctica.

Embrace spontaneity

You can’t truly anticipate what a trip to Antarctica will hold. There might be a rough outline—an idea for the itinerary—but weather conditions can alter that plan multiple times throughout the day. This journey demands patience and adaptability, even when things are proceeding as intended (or not intending at all).

The original plan for this voyage featured three days of "Captain's Choice" stops along the Antarctic Peninsula, including Danco Island, Neko Harbor, and Cuverville Island.

You couldn’t schedule any part of the day ahead of time, which could feel liberating or incredibly frustrating.

It was quite common to wake up anticipating a kayaking adventure around a bay filled with icebergs, only to discover that even a landing wasn’t feasible. On any given day of our voyage, the landing locations could shift two or three times.

Years ago, I attended one of punk rock frontman Henry Rollins' spoken word tours, where he shared stories from his trip to Antarctica. I vividly remember him recounting the overwhelming smell of the penguins ("They’re covered in their own droppings and those of their friends. It’s quite pungent," he told The Guardian in 2016) and the intense experience he had while camping.

So, when I learned that camping was an option in Antarctica, I was absolutely thrilled. (I. Love. Sleeping. Outside.)

However, due to weather conditions and other factors, only one group had the chance to paddle and kayak during our Antarctic voyage, and the idea of camping overnight was entirely removed from the agenda.

Becoming an ambassador

As a writer, I often find myself lost in the beauty of words. Yet, as a journalist, my duty is to uncover the truth — to experience the world directly and share my findings.

Perhaps this is the true reason Antarctica leaves me so bewildered. Its very existence challenges logic.

It is a desert blanketed in ancient ice, where my initial steps on the continent were obscured by thick snowfall.

It exists outside the confines of time. Antarctica has no official time zone, and all lines of longitude converge at the South Pole, creating a point where you could argue every hour on Earth occurs simultaneously.

During the summer, the sun never dips below the horizon — a surreal and profoundly disorienting experience that contributed to my growing sense of disconnection as the days passed. I would become lost in after-dinner chats only to suddenly realize it was almost time for breakfast.

Moreover, it is a realm that belongs to no individual or nation.

However, it's said that visiting earns you the title of an Antarctic Ambassador: someone who "enlightens others by sharing their Antarctic adventures."

My journey was immensely impactful. While I can confidently say I've set foot in a place beyond the edge of the world, in a landscape untouched by time, I don't think Antarctica is truly comprehensible.

After all, around 98% of the continent is cloaked in ice.

Antarctica is a place that demands complete flexibility, not only from the few species that have adapted to its harsh climate but also from the visitors—be they scientists or tourists—who are ready to relinquish any sense of control. Beyond the awe of observing wildlife, the breathtaking beauty of the landscapes, and the profound feeling of timelessness that accompanies a trip to the world’s southernmost point, it is this very act of surrender that makes the Antarctic journey truly unique.

For me? I've never felt more liberated.