Forgive me for starting with superlatives, but I have no choice. I’m not the first. In 1911, Roald Amundsen, the first explorer to reach the South Pole, wrote that the Queen Maud Range in Antarctica “is a land that looks like a fairy tale … the coldest, windiest, and driest place on earth … wild as any on the globe … it lies unseen and untrodden.”
Some 114 years later, I, a tourist, shared that sense of awe while on the Peninsula of Antarctica—hauntingly beautiful, magical, a pristine place of otherworldliness on the Seventh Continent, the White Continent.
Our 17-day cruise, curated by the luxury tour company Abercrombie & Kent, began in January at Argentina’s most southerly town, Ushuaia, nicknamed “the end of the world.”
There were 100 guests embarking on the ship, named Le Lyrial and headed for the Falkland Islands, then South Georgia and ultimately to be anchored in the glacial blue sea of the Antarctica Peninsula.
Penguins were on our collective minds.
We actually heard and smelled those beloved black and white waddlers first when we arrived by a inflatable boat, also called a Zodiac, at West Point Island. On a nesting site, or rookery, nestled in tall grasses and perched high above the sea, were brightly plumed, agile rockhopper penguins. Alongside them, black-browed albatrosses nurtured their chicks. There were hundreds of both species. Thrilling doesn’t quite capture our excitement.
Keeping a respectful distance, we spent hours observing the penguins’ behavior, especially their interaction with the adorable fuzzy gray offspring. I caught a rather comical, heated conversation between an albatross and a rockhopper who had “trespassed” on its nest.
All the animals we encountered appeared fearless since we were no threat to them. Falklands Biosecurity Measures decreed that we take stringent precautions not to contaminate ecologically sensitive areas. The exceptional A&K Expedition Team upheld it.
As part of our dress ritual, each guest put on high rubber boots and waterproof pants on loan and thermal jackets that were gifted—all of which were inspected and cleaned before and after each landing.
The population of the Falklands is around 3,700 humans and 500,000 sheep, whose wool, I was told, is the whitest, shiniest, and softest in the world. I didn’t actually see any of those remarkable sheep, but the ship’s guests were invited to a remarkable afternoon tea at the charming home of one the inhabitants of West Point Island. The tea, PG Tips from England, was on the boil nonstop, and the dozens of homemade cookies and squares, brownies and puddings, hit the spot.
The sweet feast carried us through that afternoon to the scenic Grave Cove of the island, where the delightful antics of the largest gentoo penguin colony in the Falklands were on display. About a foot taller than the rockhoppers, they sport a “white bonnet” that runs from eye to eye. No shyness here—they confidently waddle right up to you. No touching, of course, but up close and personal was good enough.
The following day, the ship tenders sped us to Stanley, capital city of the Falklands. Of several adventures that the A&K team offered, I chose Gypsy Cove, a 30-minute shuttle ride from the city’s center. It was a warm day, and the curved expanse of the sandy beach cove sparkled in the sunshine. Walking alone among the grasses, I peeked, from afar, into burrows that Magellanic penguins had built on land. One popped out, took in the measure of the morning, looked over at me and disappeared into its home. He, or she, was not a bit interested in this human. They’ve been nicknamed the “jackass penguins” for their braying calls and, after hearing a few, I completely understand.
For the next two days we were at sea—a time I cherished for, without any land in sight, the world of human turmoil recedes and that of the vast southern ocean engenders calm and serenity. The great petrels and albatrosses glided in circles, birds of a different feather fluttered here and there skimming the waves, and playful dolphins keep pace with the ship.
It was also an opportunity to explore the understated elegance of Le Lyrial’s six stories: two spacious restaurants, a heated outdoor pool, a full-service spa, and a light-filled lounge with a well-stocked bar that offered both liquid and edible nourishment. But it was in the theater where the food for thought was liberally served. The Expedition Team engaged us with their brilliant talks and videos on topics ranging from the iconic Antarctica explorers (Amundsen, Shackleton, and Scott) to the habits of penguins and seabirds.
The bird expert, Dr. Patty Silva, said, “I’ve been coming here for 37 years. … I dreamed to be here. I want to give people the opportunity to connect with nature. Nature frees you.”
Free as a bird.
One morning we became voyeurs, not voyagers. Squeals of joy and, perhaps, shock floated up as we cheered on the intrepid polar plungers of the human kind. Several brave guests embraced the frigid waters wearing only their swimsuits. Other guests who chose kayaking were clothed in head-to-toe thermal wet suits. Which would you choose?
After a 850-nautical-mile sail from the Falklands we arrived at South Georgia. The scene at St. Andrews Bay might have been from one of those films that uses CGI for special effects. We stood on the sandy beach with 150,000 pairs of king penguins, many of them in their molting cycle. To add to our collective amazement, elephant seals, some weighing 400 tons, were lying en masse, camouflaged as monumental boulders! It was a singular sight that will be forever imprinted. No photos needed to recall this extravaganza.
But it was on our visit to Grytviken, a nearby hamlet in South Georgia, that brought us swiftly back to the reality of past cruelty inflicted on sea mammals. By 1825, an estimated 1.2 million fur seals were slaughtered for their pelts; between 1904 and 1965 the six South Georgia whaling stations processed 175,250 whales for their profitable oil and blubber. This created a disastrous impact on the ecosystem which has been slowly recovering to this day. The rusting remains of the whaling station stands as witness to this slaughter. A museum near the landing site houses a myriad of fascinating memorabilia from that period. And on a small hill a few yards away, a statue of the great explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton rises above his grave. Around its rim are the names of his ships, including the Endurance which was recovered in 2022, 10,000 feet below the Antarctic waters. This past November, a Canadian team found his last ship, the Quest, off the coast of Labrador, Canada.
In a series of dramatic lectures, the charismatic historian Rob Caskie animated the lives of Amundsen, Scott and Shackleton, giving the latter pride of place, calling his expedition to Antarctica “ the greatest leadership and survival story of all time.”
On Jan. 19, we reached Neko Bay, an inlet of Antarctica teeming with gentoo penguins.
The next day, I awakened at 03:41 to a pink and yellow sunrise. As I opened the sliding door to my balcony, the air was colder, the sea wavier, and its color a pale aquamarine. Clouds hovered low over the massive snow-capped mountain peaks. As Le Lyrial slowly approached Charlotte Bay, it was immediately obvious why it is called the most beautiful bay in the Peninsula. Mountains of pristine glaciers loomed. Icebergs, some the size of small buildings and others more delicately sculptured, were infused with colorful ribbons of cobalt blue and emerald. Our Expedition Team guided us on many hikes along our journey, but mounting the glacier in the morning was the most spectacular.
Penguins were running up and down effortlessly, while we waddled higher and higher, looking like red penguins dressed in our A&K jackets. Bathed in intense sunshine, the view on top was nothing short of spectacular. What lay beyond was a microversion of the 5.5 million square miles of ice and snow that make Antarctica the fourth-largest continent on Earth.
That afternoon all Le Lyrial’s Zodiacs were in full throttle. We skirted around the icebergs, passed a scientific research facility, and spotted an ice floe with two Weddell seals, lazily basking in the sun. On a smaller floe, we saw our last penguin, the tuxedoed Adelie.
Marco Favero, the Expedition Team leader who happened to be manning our Zodiac, plucked a large piece of black ice floating by. Its facets shone like the most delicate of Lalique crystal. This was old glacial ice, finding its way to the sea’s surface.
Then in a flash, Marco cut the motor. Total quiet ensued. It was like watching a silent movie without a soundtrack, when four humpback whales entered the Bay, stage left. The snorts, groans, and grunts of feeding humpbacks created the soundtrack. We waited silently near the pod. Their repeated dives for krill, along with their tail-waving, lasted for more than an hour. We were transfixed.
Marco carefully opened a wooden box. From it he took out eight sparkling glasses and a bottle of champagne. The combined effect of the whales, the crystal ice, and the bubbly libation created a sense of euphoria. We toasted one another and especially Marco, in homage to a journey of a lifetime.
