Antarctica, with its gleaming icebergs, crystalline waters and stupendous wildlife – from minke whales to Gentoo penguins – has become the adventure destination of choice for high-wealth individuals in recent years.
The average cost of a trip to this hard-to-reach corner of the globe – two days by boat from South America’s tip – sees little change from £10,000, but buys bragging rights that’ll last for decades.
Book on a journey to the ends of the earth and you’ll transcend from casual tourist to serious traveller, starring in your very own David Attenborough documentary.
However, a word of warning from someone who’s been; take heed that a holiday this isn’t – with horizontal sleet, tumbling wine glasses and deathly seasickness on the menu for many who board the 70 or so ‘luxury’ cruise liners that depart the Argentine port of Ushuaia each year.
In 2009, I landed a spot on a cruise ship bound for what remains one of the world’s most fascinating natural landscapes and, let’s be clear, I was very lucky to get to take this trip as a passenger – one of 1,000.
My first indication that this wasn’t going to be quite the trip I’d had in mind? When I was side-swiped by a rogue selfie stick in a scrum of excitable visitors at the first sight of a penguin.
Back in the late 1920s, a sturdy ship, The Fleurus, began to make an annual journey across choppy Antarctic seas to deliver mail and supplies to remote whaling stations in South Georgia and the South Shetlands.
A few ‘tourist tickets’ were offered, so that people with the means could set eyes on the otherwise inaccessible shores of the Antarctic Peninsula.
These were the Blue Origin flights of the day, the super rich paying for voyages with a hint of derring-do, which had previously been the exclusive domain of skilled explorers.
Writer Paul Oswell pictured during his visit to Antarctica in 2009; he says while the opportunity to see wildlife up close and personal is a lasting memory, he warns that trips can often be hampered by bad weather – with cancellations common – and numerous other pitfalls
Strike a p-p-pose: Tourists snap away amongst the penguins; Paul says that the high price of the trip – on average between £5,000 and £10,000, means that some of the guests have ‘a sense of entitlement to the optimum experience’
Then, 1969 saw the first bespoke commercial tours to the region, and now, even bungling arrivistes like me can gaze upon Antarctic wonders – and then share it all later on TikTok (if you can get the wi-fi, more of that later).
Tourism to the region exploded in the early 1990s and the International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators (IAATO) reported that around 100,000 people visited in the 2022-23 season – with around 70,000 of those people setting foot on land.
How was my own experience? At times, it was sublime.
Wildlife sightings included Gentoo and Adelie penguin colonies, leopard seals lolling on stony coves, curious minke whales nosing up out of the waters.
Waking up to see virgin-white berg floes jutting out of sapphire waters is a lasting memory.
Knowing what I know now, though, would I do it again? That’s an icy issue.
Let’s talk about the realities. Cruises usually sail from Ushuaia (at the southern tip of Argentina) and spend a couple of days crossing the 600 nautical miles of the Drake Passage.
Even in the height of summer, it’s a dreary, grey expanse, with temperatures around zero and horizontal sleet often greeting you on deck – not ideal conditions for shuffleboard.
And it can be a bumpy ride. Errant wine glasses rattle across the dinner table and sea legs quickly need to be developed to navigate the corridors of the swaying vessel, lest you lumber into passing members of staff (sorry about that, Captain Frank).
‘The bigger the camera lens, the more obnoxious the punter in my experience’, says Paul (pictured)
Zodiac boats ferry passengers from the liners to the shore – and Paul says arguments often broke out over who should board them first amongst passengers
Rocky: Green passengers are par for the course, with decent sea legs essential to get across the precarious Drake Passage (Pictured: Saga’s Spirit of Adventure vessel)
Internet was spotty at best, and outside of a couple of presentations, there’s not a huge amount to see or do.
You get very acquainted with antibacterial handwash, outbreaks of norovirus or even Legionnaires disease being every cruise ship’s worst nightmare.
It’s undeniably exciting to arrive at your first port, typically research bases run by isolated resident scientists.
People want the best bang for their buck, and for some, that means elbows and passive aggression…
They are built around the more hospitable regions, where the local wildlife nest and breed. Environmental treaties mean that limited numbers of people can be ashore at any one time, dozen-strong groups ferried there on inflatable Zodiac craft in strict rotation.
Understandably, every landing guest must undergo decontamination procedures to preserve the ecosystem. Clothes and boots are thoroughly disinfected, and less patient passengers soon found this an annoyance.
More than once, arguments broke out about who should board the first Zodiacs – cue some awkward silences around the shared dinner tables of an evening.
Everyone has invested a substantial amount of money to be here, which engenders – and again, I’m not unsympathetic – a sense of entitlement to the optimum experience.
People want the best bang for their buck, and for some, that means elbows and passive aggression. Almost 50 per cent of Antarctic cruisers are American (a statistic presented without comment).
Grey: Blue skies can be rare – with temperatures around zero even in the height of summer
Paul’s 20-day trip, which would cost around £12,000 now, was cut short after extreme weather forced the liner back to safer waters
Once at the Peninsula, half-day expeditions take place almost daily. People soon twig the process and start to stake out the lines, jockeying for prime spots on the Zodiacs, the equivalent of waking up at 5am to put your towel on a sunlounger.
The excursions themselves swing between exhilarating and genuinely shocking. This is nature, red in tooth and claw.
Paulet Island had 250,000 breeding pairs of penguins. Newborn chicks were being reared as I walked among the nests. The parents don’t move much, and their bathroom facilities are very localized with attendant odours.
Food is at a premium, so astonishingly bloody fights ensue, and seabirds swoop in to pick off and devour smaller newborns. P-p-p-pick up a penguin, indeed.
Photo opportunities are stunning, but with limited time on land, everyone wants the same shots, and so the aforementioned throngs of polar paparazzi can get tetchy.
Tripods are wielded like medieval weaponry. The bigger the camera lens, the more obnoxious the punter in my experience.
The wildlife here were undisturbed for around 30 million years, so they’re vulnerable to even small environmental changes. Even with strict conservation protocols, carbon from the ships causes ice to darken and melt, and invasive species arrive, hitching a ride in clothing and food.
A cruise highlight of bathing in the thermal springs at Deception Island had to be cut as extreme weather conditions might have grounded the ship.
The deflated, grey journey back to Ushuaia began early, the sleet feeling even more unforgiving.
Chunks of an itinerary can be spontaneously abandoned. For a 20-day, £12,000 holiday (including flights, meals, and excursions), that’s a risk you’ll want to factor in.
Again, I fully accept that I’m very privileged to have seen the polar coastlines once surveyed by Hodson and Lindblad.
Now that cosseted parvenus like Doris and Elmer from Iowa and people like, well, me, can damage this exceptional biosphere, though, perhaps it’s time to rethink the numbers at least.
