Author Roxane Gay Embarks on a Journey of a Lifetime

This piece is featured in Dinogo, A Retrospective. In celebration of Dinogo’s 15th anniversary, our editors and cofounders selected this story as one of their top 15 favorites. We hope you enjoy it as much as we do.

On our very first date, my future wife, Debbie, mentioned her plan to travel to Antarctica for a total solar eclipse when she turned 60. Initially, I thought this seemed like a very white person’s goal. Then I found it odd that she was planning such a trip two decades ahead. I wished her well on this future endeavor, firmly believing I would never go to Antarctica for any reason. That evening, she casually shared that she was actually 57.

I asked for proof, and she handed me her driver’s license, which confirmed her age. Her extraordinary birthday celebration was sooner than I expected, but it still felt irrelevant to me, despite how wonderful our date was. Fast forward three years to June 2021, when Debbie and I decided to elope. Due to the pandemic, our planned big wedding was off the table for the foreseeable future, so we had a spontaneous yet romantic ceremony in an office building in Encino, California. Five months later, just before midnight on November 27, we boarded a flight to Santiago, Chile, ready to embark on an epic journey to the southernmost tip of the world.

International travel was a new frontier for me. As a child, I visited Haiti, where my parents were born, and we occasionally took trips to Canada. However, I struggled with my weight for various reasons and convinced myself that I couldn’t travel internationally. I feared ancient stairs, narrow streets, and the judgments I might encounter. For years, I lacked the confidence to believe I deserved to explore the world. I also thought I could never afford it. But then, my career took off, and suddenly, I had the means to travel. I lost some weight and started to embrace the idea that I had every right to experience the world, no matter my size.

This was around the time I first met Debbie. We quickly started traveling together, and thankfully, we discovered that we made a great travel pair. I take care of the logistics, handling visa applications, making arrangements, securing travel insurance, and managing all the nitty-gritty details. She inspires me to fully embrace each trip, face my fears, and open myself up to the vast opportunities the world has to offer.

I wouldn’t describe myself as adventurous, but my wife certainly is. She has scaled Machu Picchu in Peru and climbed the steps of the Potala Palace in Tibet. She’s snorkeled in the Great Barrier Reef and witnessed the sunrise over the temples of Angkor Wat. She has wandered through the fiery sands of Wadi Rum under a scorching sun. Travel is her passion, and she fully immerses herself in each experience. A year after our first date, we ventured to Egypt. While I was content to admire the Pyramids of Giza from outside, she ventured inside one of the tombs, navigating its chambers with barely enough room to stand. When she emerged, her face was aglow with excitement. For me, the real adventure was mustering the courage to step outside the comforts of my small life. You could say the greatest adventure of my life began the day I met Debbie. That’s why, the day after she turned 59, I began looking into how we could reach Antarctica.

I had envisioned Antarctica as a barren, icy expanse, and my research only reinforced that image. Most of my knowledge about the White Continent came from films about people fleeing their lives to conduct research in one of the remote facilities scattered across the harsh landscape. While the isolation held a certain appeal, it was also a daunting idea.

I pressed on. I told myself this was merely a thought experiment, but deep down, I knew I had only a year to make it happen if it was going to. Perhaps Debbie had forgotten about her Antarctic dream, but just in case she hadn’t, I thought it wise to check if it was actually feasible. It turned out to be possible. When you throw enough money at a goal, a lot can happen.

I found a 10-day Silversea cruise that would place us right in the eclipse’s path. In late spring 2021—just a few months before our elopement—I told Debbie I had figured out a way to get us to Antarctica. She was overjoyed and pleasantly surprised that I remembered her wishes and was taking action. Without second-guessing myself, I purchased plane tickets to Santiago, Chile.

Yet we still hesitated. We were living in a reality far different from the one where we first met. On that initial date, we had no idea that we, along with billions of others, would spend over a year in relative isolation, striving to stay healthy and safe while an ever-evolving virus swept across the globe. Travel had become more complicated than ever; neither of us had ever been on a cruise before. With COVID-19 coloring every choice, embarking on a cruise felt particularly daunting. Nevertheless, we decided to go ahead with the trip. A 60th birthday is a significant milestone, and it seemed essential to celebrate it in style. Plus, we were vaccinated and boosted, and several family losses had made us painfully aware of how fleeting life can be.

A few months prior to our departure, Silversea provided us with a list of essential supplies, primarily items to ensure warmth and safety while exploring an isolated, uninhabited region. I found myself at REI, probably for the first and last time, acquiring gloves, socks, boots, walking poles, and hand warmers—essentially transforming into a walking billboard for Columbia Sportswear. My wife, being the practical one, opted to borrow attire from a friend. However, there was a stipulation: the ship enforced strict regulations regarding suitcase weight and dimensions. We carefully packed, weighed, and measured our luggage. (Later, we learned that very few passengers adhered to these guidelines.)

During the flight down, I felt a mix of emotions, mostly thankful to be on a plane with Debbie, free from outside distractions. Once we arrived in Santiago, we toured the city, taking in the arts district, an artisan village, and the central square. The following morning, we boarded a charter flight to Punta Arenas, located at Chile's southernmost point. After a quick immigration check, we applied scopolamine patches to stave off seasickness and climbed aboard the Silver Cloud, a luxurious 120-suite cruise ship designed with an ice-breaking hull to navigate icy waters. Once we settled into our charming two-room suite, our butler, Ashok, warmly introduced himself, promising to take care of us with utmost attentiveness over the next 10 days.

You might think, as I did before embarking on the journey, that Antarctica is just a few hours away from South America. However, it actually took us three days of navigating through the roughest seas I've ever encountered to reach the continent's edge. Although I had prepared for the cruise, I somehow overlooked the significance of the Drake Passage. On our first evening, a British gentleman dining alone at the next table asked, "Are you ladies prepared for the Drake Passage?" I initially thought, "Wow! Drake is releasing a new album, and this older fellow is in the know?" It was a blissfully naive moment.

I later discovered that the Drake Passage separates South America from the frozen continent—a stretch of ocean where three seas converge. Depending on the weather, travelers may experience either the tumultuous "Drake Shake" or the calm "Drake Lake." When people referred to the passage, they did so with a kind of hushed awe, as if sharing a secret.

That night, back in our cabin, the ship rocked violently as it sliced through towering waves. I could hear coffee mugs and wine glasses rattling in the next room. As I navigated the cabin, I braced myself against the walls. Later, as we struggled to sleep while the ship tossed on the ocean, I turned to Debbie and seriously suggested that we should strap ourselves to the bed for safety. She reassured me that we were okay, and in the end, we were. The next morning, I stepped onto our balcony and squinted as the sun illuminated the brilliant blue of the vast ocean. There was no land visible that morning or the next. It was both awe-inspiring and daunting. The world may feel small, but the planet is immense and full of mystery.

On the second day of our journey, we began to spot the delicate blue of icebergs emerging in the distance. Nothing could have prepared me for their breathtaking beauty. As news spread through the ship that there was something captivating to see, passengers rushed to their balconies and the decks, straining to catch a glimpse. The icebergs were numerous, each one uniquely shaped and appearing almost otherworldly as they floated peacefully. After a while, when Debbie and I grew weary of watching the icebergs, we headed to the panorama lounge, settled by a window with a view, and played Scrabble on our adorable travel set. Occasionally, people would pass by our table, glance down at the game, and exclaim, “You’re playing Scrabble!” Many of these same travelers eagerly asked if we were on the ship to witness the eclipse, then shared lengthy tales of their passion for eclipses. It was all quite delightful.

Aboard an expedition ship, the experience goes beyond the indulgence of an all-inclusive cruise. There are excursions where you can disembark to observe penguins and more icebergs, and even set foot on dry land—though that’s pretty much the extent of the entertainment options. Antarctica offers limited diversions, especially for those uninterested in outdoor activities. Each excursion is complemented by daily lectures on Antarctica, covering its history and wildlife—ranging from various birds to penguins, sea lions, and whales. On our first night, we attended a presentation about the stringent protocols to follow before stepping onto the continent—an important undertaking. Your gear must be thoroughly cleaned and inspected, and as you prepare to board one of the Zodiacs—swift little boats that transport you to land—you must stand in a disinfectant bath. Every measure is taken to safeguard this largely untouched environment from human interference. The crew took this responsibility seriously, and we passengers mirrored that commitment.

Five days into the cruise, when Debbie and I were finally ready for our first excursion—a private photography lesson on a Zodiac—we bundled up in layers, pulled on our waterproof boots, and grabbed the fancy cameras we barely knew how to operate. We strapped ourselves into our life vests, donned hats and gloves, and made our way to the hold. I felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. The Zodiacs are small, and you essentially have to leap from a tiny platform on a swaying ship into a bobbing boat. Everything was cold and damp. With a line of people behind us watching, I took a deep breath, grasped the hand of the man in the boat, and hoped for a semblance of dignity in this clumsy situation. Once we were securely seated, we set off to explore a small bay bordered by gentle, snow-covered mountains. Despite the sunshine overhead, the air was biting cold, and soon enough, my cheeks were numbed by the wind. I was grateful for the hand warmers tucked in my pockets and the warmth of fleece.

Alan, the ship’s delightful photography instructor, was our guide. He spends much of his life cruising around the South Pole, teaching travelers how to beautifully capture its essence. The experience was exhilarating. We got close enough to a small iceberg to touch it. It was teeming with penguins, which are, as you might imagine, utterly adorable. They waddle about, chattering to one another. They truly do throw themselves into the water headfirst, just like you see on PBS. They have a rather unpleasant odor, but since we were in their territory, it was up to them to smell as they pleased.

We were also treated to a breathtaking glacier and watched as birds soared above us. Alan pointed out a small iceberg drifting in the water, and he stopped the boat to lean over and grab a piece. I snapped a photo of Debbie, all bundled up in her vibrant red parka, goggles on, grinning widely as she held the chunk of ice. More penguins surrounded us. We approached a rocky landing and set foot on land—just to say we had stepped onto Antarctica. The scenery was mesmerizing, and I was deeply moved by the realization that this is one of the few places left in the world that remains largely untouched. I found an unexpected sense of solace in that. After a brisk exploration, we returned to the warmth of the ship, chilled to the bone.

That excursion was more than enough for me. I spent the rest of the cruise enjoying Antarctica from the comfort of the ship. I read extensively, caught snippets of hit-or-miss television, and relished Debbie’s stories of her land adventures—exploring otherworldly calderas, zipping around in Zodiacs to see penguins, birds, and whales—while we played Scrabble and snacked on bar treats in the lounge each afternoon.

Of course, we had our sights set on witnessing a total solar eclipse. As you can imagine, I couldn’t resist singing my own version of "Total Eclipse of the Sun," a quirky take on the classic Bonnie Tyler hit, an embarrassing number of times in the lead-up to the trip. I subjected Debbie to my repeated renditions of "turn around" so often that she eventually put a ban on me ever singing it again. On the morning of the eclipse, December 4, we awoke at 3 a.m., filled with excitement as we got dressed. I grabbed the fancy camera that we still hadn’t quite figured out, and we joined the other passengers on the deck. There were several groups of eclipse enthusiasts on board—people who travel the globe solely to witness eclipses. Some came from astronomy clubs, while others seemed blissfully unaware that an eclipse was about to occur. And then there was us.

Sometimes, no matter how meticulously you plan, nature has its own agenda. When we stepped out onto the deck, the sky was overcast—a thick blanket of gray shrouding everything. With about 20 minutes left until the eclipse, we held onto hope that the clouds would part. Excited chatter filled the air as everyone speculated about our chances of seeing the event. The crew, however, missed a golden opportunity by not playing "Total Eclipse of the Heart."

Then, the moment arrived. The sky darkened, and a heavy stillness fell. The birds that had been flying overhead vanished. A hush enveloped the crowd. We gazed up, brimming with hope. I reached for Debbie’s hand. We waited and waited, but nothing happened. The dense cloud cover blocked our view of the eclipse. A few skilled photographers managed to catch glimpses, but that was all. The darkness faded away. All around us, people stared up at the clouds, bewildered. Seconds turned into minutes, and yet we remained frozen in place.

Debbie’s shoulders drooped, her disappointment evident. I felt it too, but I remained composed. I reflected on how, on our wedding day, we had leaped into the great unknown. This—this eclipse-less journey, this moment, this new life together—was the true adventure. As we gazed out over the misty ocean, I wrapped my arm around Debbie and pulled her close. Leaning down, I whispered that the trip had been worth it, and she responded with a faint smile. Because it truly was worth it. The universe didn’t concern itself with our plans, yet here we were, together in a breathtaking, unimaginable place. I couldn’t ask for more.