A Paradise, indeed

We all have different definitions of 'paradise.' You may think of sandy beaches; warm sunsets; and slushy, fruity cocktails topped with tiny umbrellas. Others may think of a secluded lakeside cabin in the woods and a cozy campfire, with no WiFi or to-do lists. I think of those things too, but was forced to expand my idea of 'paradise' when I visited Paradise Bay and nearby Elephant Island, both found along the icy Antarctic Peninsula, which stretches out toward South America from the bottom of the globe.​​

​

It might sound strange to find 'paradise' in a cold, foggy, frozen, otherworldly-looking landscape that only a small percentage of living humans have seen with their own eyes. Antarctica is, after all, the coldest, windiest, highest, and driest continent on Earth. Being there made me wonder if Antarctica looked and felt like what our planet might have looked and felt like during an ice age. For me, the moments spent seemingly traveling backward and forward in time — at the same time — provided for a pretty gnarly set of sensations.

​

Paradise Bay and Elephant Island are a 'paradise' for other reasons, too. I'll get to that.

​

Full disclosure: I arrived at the Antarctic Peninsula as a solo traveler by cruise ship, not by expedition tour. I had actually been looking at a cruise that visited countries around the Cape of Good Hope (the southern tip of Africa) and Madagascar. During that research, I learned a couple of things: First, current passengers reported several missed ports and a high probability of illness. That told me that this particular itinerary may have been a little too new, even for me. I didn't want to travel that far to miss ports and become ill. Second, I learned that a handful of major, well-known cruise lines offered newer itineraries that included Antarctica ... so I dove headfirst into that rabbit hole and found an incredible deal for the cruise I ended up booking. I also thought getting to Antarctica would be too difficult and too expensive, keeping my goal of visiting all seven continents out of reach. But finding this cruise has made that goal much more attainable. Anyhooo ... 

​

The cruise departed from Ushuaia, Argentina, and headed directly into the Drake Passage, famous for its rough waters and seasick intruders. It takes about 48 hours to cross the Drake, so that's a lot of discomfort for those who get queasy. Luckily I do not, and our passage was relatively calm, so I was instead on the top deck at the front of the ship as we entered Antarctic waters and sub-freezing temps — in a hot tub. Come on, did you really think I wouldn't be?! Was I wearing my stocking cap? Yes. Was the rest of my hair frozen and icy? Yes. Was it the absolute best and most apropos way to arrive in Antarctica? YES.

​​

Even from the top-deck hot tub, the fog was thick, and it was difficult to see much beyond the ship. I wanted to see the masses of land and ice, but in that moment found a lot of beauty — and mystery — in the fog. It seemed to just sit on top of the frozen land, like it was either too comfortable or too content to move along. At some point, I made it back to my cabin (without hypothermia!), put on ALL of my clothes, and settled onto my balcony as we floated into Paradise Bay. [Pro tip: Periodically blasting the room's hairdryer down one's shirt(s) and pants is a quick way to warm up on a cruise in the Antarctic, just sayin' ... ] We sailed deeper into the bay. As if on queue, the fog began to fade, and singular rays of sunlight began to find the water. All at once, the Frozen Continent was before me, and my senses were on overload.

​

Seals barking. Birds cawing. Whales breathing. Little black and gray dots (penguins and seals) hitching rides atop icebergs that were shades of blue I'd never seen before. I was inhaling the purest air our planet can provide. Once we were as far into the bay as we could go, the ship's engines were shut off, and a literal boatload of passengers observed in silence — except for the occasional gasp or a whispered "Wow!" — as the scenery came alive. Spouts from whales dotted the horizon in every direction, playful penguins darted up into the air and dove back down into the water as they swam, and the 10-foot wingspans of albatross birds became apparent as they coasted closely by the ship.

​

A note about scale: My cabin on the cruise ship was on the ninth deck, and there were fifteen decks in total. So, in my photos below, the icebergs and peaks that look like they're at eye level (and above) are actually nine (or more) stories tall. As usual, pictures cannot fully communicate the breadth and size of what I saw. Just breathtaking.

​

And no, I did not actually step foot on land. Those are the expensive expedition tours I mentioned at the start. It would have been amazing to walk on the ice and view glaciers and whales up close from a zodiac boat. But I really didn't mind. There were hundreds of whales, seals, and penguins; dozens of glaciers; countless birds in flight; and the incredible views were still incredible views. I was going to be awestruck either way.

​

Another slice of this 'paradise'? The Antarctic Treaty. This is an agreement among 58 countries that establishes Antarctica as a place of peaceful collaboration, scientific research, and environmental conservation. Military activities are prohibited, and transparency of studied topics is required. The treaty also freezes any existing territorial claims and forbids attempts at new ones. The more robust a country's research endeavors, the more voting power it receives. The Antarctic Treaty is seen internationally as a huge success — showing that countries that quibble elsewhere can, in fact, live and work in harmony. It's a model for all of humanity, in my opinion.

​

In trying to sum up my experience in Antarctica, the adjectives overflow and contradict: It is brutal and beautiful. Barren and abundant. Merciless and vulnerable. Seeing Paradise Bay and Elephant Island with my own eyes is something I will never forget.

​

There is so much to learn about this part of the world, and so much we can learn from it. A place reserved for peace and collaboration? A place that prioritizes conservation and learning? A place free of armies and politicians? Sure sounds like paradise to me.

​​

​P.S. And now "Antarctic Blue" is my new favorite color.

​​​

_______________

​​

A FEW OF MY PHOTOS: