‘Humans don’t belong here’
Exasperation. Disappointment. Terror. Danger. I’ve heard it all - so I went to the place on this planet I never thought I would.
I just can’t wait to get off the ship. Cabin steward Abdul is horrified at this remark but laughs heartily as it dawns what I mean. It is an “ashore” day, which has nothing to do with shuttle buses and tours.
First it means making sure all thermal clothing is correctly in place, from snug leggings and undershirts to socks and headgear. Gloves with layers of insulation make my hands look like paws; my waterproof overpants are clownishly loose until tucked into thick woollen socks.
Fully kitted, I don’t so much walk as waddle from Stateroom 744 down to the Deck 3 gangplank when the designated colours for expedition groups are called. In my case, it’s “team” purple.
Or violet, more precisely, as this is Le Commandant Charcot, a French-flagged ice breaker billed as the most powerful non-nuclear vessel in its class. And although I’m assigned to an English-speaking group, the temptation to air my rusty language skills is irresistible. “Vio-lay!” I insist. “OK!” chime my fellow expeditioners. We high-five each other like kids on a school outing.
By journey’s end, my French vocabulary has expanded to include all mammals, sea creatures and birds ever associated with the Antarctic. I am adept at galumphing about snow and ice in big rubber boots supplied by the ship.
We are dubbed “parka penguins” by the crew as we shuffle in orange waterproof jackets, their massive hoods lined with synthetic fur.
There is a startling array of pockets and zippers. I never do master the art of walking with poles but only slip over once, an ungainly episode that results in just a mild bruise on my derriere. And by the finale, which brings tears and a firm resolve to return, I know this debut holiday on ice will stay in my heart forever.
The 270-passenger Le Commandant Charcot, launched in 2021 and named for French polar explorer, doctor and scientist Captain Jean-Baptiste Charcot (1867-1936), is the pride of the Ponant fleet, the world’s first PC2 hybrid-electric LNG powered luxury icebreaker. In simple terms, it’s clean and green.
The vessel’s comparatively petite size and ability to crunch almost effortlessly through ice, thanks to a 10m draught and reversible, pulverising propellers, make voyages in both polar regions feel like true journeys of exploration. We have set sail from Ushuaia at the bottom of South America and proceeded along Drake Passage, a stormy defile so notoriously affected by weather that its alternative names veer between shake or lake.
A friend had told me to prepare for “retch and roll”, but the weather gods are on our side and the sailing is comfortably calm, so walks on deck, even in occasional near-toppling gusts, are a joy. Our eyes adjust to a reduced palette of blue, white and grey. Cape petrels and albatrosses swoop low, wings angled against the currents, escorting us like outriders.
Our destination is the North Antarctic Peninsula, home to Adelie penguins and leopard seals, and thence to the Weddell Sea, where emperors, the largest penguin species, reign. “Hello, your majesty,” quips one of our naturalist guides when the much-anticipated encounters occur. Curtsying would not be out of place.
This “getting there” prelude is perfect for passengers to acclimatise, socialise and form alliances (or not). On this November/December sailing, the mix of nationalities covers the expected French plus American, Canadian, Indian, northern Europeans, a few Brits and Australians, plus a large group of mainland Chinese. Announcements in several languages are not intrusive and there’s a moderate level of camaraderie but no pressure to join in, although it’s educational and fun to attend lectures, documentaries and presentations (especially the session on the ship’s construction and launch) in Kita Theatre.
There are never queues, not even for the delightfully casual buffet at Restaurant Sila on deck nine. Most facilities across the ship reflect the Inuit language, harking to the ship’s Arctic itineraries in the northern summer. Siku Snow Room and Ikuma Sauna in Nuan Spa encourage proper wintry experiences.
In the hope that no photographic evidence exists, I scarcely digest dinner the first evening aboard before jiving with dance troupe members Ivan, John, Tamara and Daniela in the Main Lounge. Blue Suede Shoes, Dancing Queen, YMCA. Tick the lot. Such exercise is alarming, I admit, but this is how we will rock and roll on many an occasion after sampling cuisine by Alain Ducasse from executive chef Florent Delfortrie at silver service Restaurant Nuna on deck five. Another wafer-thin after-dinner macaron or marshmallow, anyone?
Deep sleep comes easy in snug and serene Stateroom 744. It’s of reasonable size, with veranda, smallish ensuite with shower and separate toilet room, and plenty of hanging space. The TV is loaded with entertainment aplenty, including docos about the region.
f you want to know more about elephant or fur seals, I am your instant expert. The marine and grey colour scheme is soothing and storage is well organised. It feels just right for an expedition; not too lavish and with no showy design distractions.
I buy a fluffy penguin (unknown species; possibly cartoon genus) in the ship’s boutique and pop it on the bed; ostensibly it’s a gift for my granddaughter, or at least that’s what I tell Abdul. He’s far from fooled.
Most on board are as eager as I am to head out on all excursions, sometimes twice a day. The gangway goes straight to a pontoon for sea or direct ice landings. I prefer the former as it means zooming off aboard big, black Zodiacs in sharp, iridescent light, hanging on to safety ropes, eyes peeled for movement. Look! It’s a tabular berg, broken from a mighty shelf and glowing an eerie shade of aquamarine.
We learn that blue ice forms when snow falls and become compressed, air bubbles are squeezed out and crystals enlarge. But wait … our heads swivel to see a leopard seal casually arrayed aboard a floe. Behold a shifty-looking male Adelie penguin stealing rocks from neighbouring nests to fortify his own and keep the missus happy. Boo, hiss to southern skua birds dive-bombing unguarded eggs.
We are immersed in whiteness, and not just one shade but limitless variations according to sun and cloud cover. Occasionally the silence is eerily deep. There are ghosts here, surely, victims of perilous endeavours and sheer bad fortune. Is anywhere on Earth littered with as many doom-laden geographic descriptions? Exasperation. Disappointment. Terror. Danger. Deception.
All appear on our expedition map. The perils of Ernest Shackleton are recounted vividly by guest lecturer Nicolas Vincent, a “deep water intervention” expert and key member of the expedition that found the wreck of Endurance in 2022, 107 years after it sank in the Weddell Sea.
On crescent-shaped Half Moon Island, chinstrap penguins, with a wiggly black line below their beaks, are in lavish abundance. On Spert Island, an extremity on the west of Trinity Island in the Palmer Archipelago, our Zodiacs putter beside brooding cliffs that loom straight and dark as if etched in charcoal.
That afternoon, kayakers set off around Mikkelsen Harbour on an outing and others, like me, get stuck into polar hiking. We are back on board in time for tea, and just as well as the pastry chef has been busy with choux. This is a French-flagged ship after all and bread and pastries rule, from croissants and flaky pains au chocolat to madeleines.
On day six, we are surrounded by sea ice in almost constant motion and the world is resoundingly white. Excitement mounts as the Prince Gustav Channel and Weddell Sea are but a day away.
Voila, morning dawns and it’s confirmed that we can take a Zodiac cruise or go directly ashore on the ice to view the world’s largest penguins. Females lay a single egg each season and then just leave it behind as they hunt. I choose the landing and can testify there are emperor penguins taller than me and I’m not quite convinced they are real, but surely just impersonators togged up in waterproof suits. On the bucket list of wildlife wonders, it’s a top five event.
By day eight, we’re headed back at a leisurely clip to the Drake via the unambiguously named Snow Hill Island. Penguins are here, too, sliding down slopes on their stout stomachs in what looks like a slalom event.
Humans don’t belong here, but Swedish explorer Otto Nordenskjold must have felt at home; his well-preserved hut still stands at Snow Hill Island’s northern reaches, where he wintered with fellow expedition members in 1902-03.
When we passengers are not waddling about like emperor penguins with newly acquired girth, there’s much entertainment aboard, but in a very European, low-key way. Interactions are easy and encouraged. Captain Stanislas Devorsine has an open policy on the navigation bridge so we are all welcome when his door light is green.
Effortlessly, most of us get to know names of crew and staff and when a farewell parade takes place in the theatre, there’s huge applause and genuine tears. Ahoy there, Abdul, Dewa and Andy, for starters. Here come spa therapist Lea, our favourite drinks waiter Adrian and wide-smiling bartender Maria, who concocts my daily mocktail with ever more extravagant garnishes. Applause is thunderous for expedition leader Steve.
We have bonded ashore and afloat. These exceptional souls have listened to endless tales from us all and praised our sense of achievement in hiking, kayaking, climbing and standing still as statues to allow parades of penguins to pass our way. They have doubtless marvelled at our ability to devour three meals a day and still front up for afternoon tea or snacks and cocktails in the Observatory Lounge on top deck 9, a perch as agreeably panoramic as it sounds.
Twelve days have passed, a mere blip that’s felt like a lifetime, in the most positive way. And now, my parka hangs at home, not shuttered in a cupboard but hooked beside the window in my study. It glows orange and is impossible to ignore, action-ready for another visit to a continent that had once nestled only vaguely in my imagination but is now all that I think of and dream about.
More to the story
An outbreak of avian flu on South Georgia Island is causing serious concern for the cruise industry as it plans for the next season in Antarctica.
The island, a popular port of call for ships sailing between Ushuaia and the Antarctic Peninsula, is known as the Galapagos of the Poles thanks to its diversity of birdlife, including penguins, albatross and petrels, and its importance as a breeding site for seals.
The highly contagious H5N1 virus has reportedly been found in dead fur and elephant seals plus several bird species on South Georgia.
There have been isolated reports of penguins also being infected with the strain.
In a statement, Ponant says environmental concerns have always been a priority for the operator, which has finished its Antarctica sailings for the 2023-2024 season and is set to return to the region in November this year.
A spokesperson said: “As it is impossible to anticipate how the influenza situation will develop at this stage, Ponant will remain flexible, working with on-board operations and safety departments to ensure safety for passengers and crew members, as well as wildlife of the territories visited.
“Depending on what the situation will be later this year, some expedition itineraries may not allow shore landings and only Zodiac cruising.”
PENNY HUNTER
In the know
A series of Antarctic voyages aboard Le Commandant Charcot is now on sale for the 2025-26 season. All include an overnight stay and airport transfers in Santiago, Chile and return flights from Santiago to the port of Ushuaia. Twelve-night itineraries focused on emperor penguins of the Weddell Sea depart on October 10, and November 11 and 23, 2025. Cruises are inclusive of excursions and all meals and open bar. From $33,910 a person. Antarctic journeys of 14, 16 or 17 nights are also available aboard Ponant’s Le Lyrial in November and December this year, from $22,320 a person.
Susan Kurosawa was a guest of Ponant.
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