Adventure into the Ice
With MS Roald Amundsen, Hurtigruten offers a whole new way to explore the White Continent
With MS Roald Amundsen, Hurtigruten offers a whole new way to explore the White Continent.
My journey ends at two red flags,
about knee height, emerging from the ground in an “X” shape. I’m supposed to turn around, to meander back to the boats and get on the ship, but the solitude tempts me to stay. This marks the first time I’ve found myself alone on this continent. Yes, a few clusters of red expedition jackets dot the path far behind me, and even further in the distance, chinstrap penguins congregate on rocks — but right here, it is only Antarctica and I.
A massive waterway in front of me sounds with the most delicate trickle. The air barely moves (a gift we’ve been blessed with during our four days on the White Continent). Veins in every shade of white and turquoise pulse in the thick layers of snow. I relish this time for myself and by myself because, as it turns out, time is a funny thing in Antarctica. The days to sail here lasted years, my time on this continent spanned simply a few seconds, and in this exact moment on Half Moon Island, time has stopped completely.
The Way of a Pioneer
Nearly two weeks earlier, I boarded Norwegian expedition-cruise operator Hurtigruten’s newest ship, the MS Roald Amundsen in Valparaiso, Chile. As the world’s first hybrid electric-powered cruise ship using battery power, our trip would make history. This, plus the promise of smaller ports of call, a state-of-the-art Science Center, and lectures to give a broader understanding of the areas through which we’d sail would make the journey one of the most sustainable ways to see the White Continent.
I wanted the best of both worlds: the thrill of an expedition into polar waters as well as the luxury of a high-end cruise. One minute, I peered through a microscope at clumps of volcanic rocks, and the next, I dined on an exquisite meal of New Nordic cuisine. After sitting in on a lecture about the history of earthquakes in Chile, I sat back in the Explorer Lounge to watch the fjords go by (with a glass of wine in hand, of course).
The contemporary Scandinavian design throughout the ship felt sophisticated yet welcoming, but my favorite areas were the ones which didn’t try so hard. An outward-facing sauna with floor-to-ceiling windows made for a unique whale watching environment, while the casual dining option, Fredheim, had a living-room vibe perfect for intimate conversation. Quite often, I found myself on the two-level Observation Deck, a place which turned the focus to what was happening outside the ship rather than inside. Here, Mother Nature took center stage. Even on the days when there was nothing to see but water in every direction, I found myself hypnotized by the endless white crests and deep blue troughs that flowed out to the horizon.
I wanted the best of both worlds: the thrill of an expedition into polar waters as well as the luxury of a high-end cruise.
The Charms of Chile
When we arrived at Puerto Edén, a cozy, isolated town in Bernardo O’Higgins National Park accessible only by water, we had no dedicated excursion. Zodiac boats ferried us ashore and we then got free reign to wander the boardwalks and hills of colorful homes for one hour.
Puerto Edén will disappoint people seeking an array of entertainment or tourist attractions, so it’s best that larger cruise ships don’t stop here. The town will, however, excite intrepid travelers — ones who relish the task of aimless wandering to see where it may lead. In my case, it led me to Hector. The middle-aged Chilean man with curly gray hair stood on his porch with an eager smile, happy to usher a few other Hurtigruten passengers and me into his home. He sat us down, fed us freshly baked bread, and shared a bottle of wine with us. Although he knew as much English as we did Spanish (that is to say, none at all), we managed to share tales which transcended words, learning a bit about his passion for photography and work as a park ranger.
While Puerto Edén provided the type of experience I couldn’t have expected, I had high hopes for our next stop, Puerto Natales. From this port, a bus would take me about two hours away into the heart of Torres del Paine National Park. To only have one day there almost felt cruel, but I had long wanted to see those famed mountains with my own eyes and would gladly take any chance to do so.
As it turns out, even staring out the window of the bus was satisfying, and each stop provided more epic scenery than the last — the rushing, powerful waters of the Salto Grande waterfall, Grey Lake’s icebergs glowing such a vibrant blue they almost looked radioactive, and yes, those iconic granite peaks reaching for the skies.
Days at sea were just as much a delight on this journey, though, and scenic cruising through the fjords felt like an excursion in and of itself. Some mornings, I cried out in awe when I pushed open my curtain windows to find hillsides covered in lush, mossy green trees or the white spray of massive waterfalls. Early on in the trip, these scenes prompted me to throw on my coat and head outside with my camera, but eventually I learned to enjoy it without the need to capture it. Instead of rushing to snap the perfect photo, I would sit, take a breath, and marvel at the wonders of the coast.
A Moment in Time
I had not prepared myself for the destination this whole trip had been leading up to. Life on the MS
Roald Amundsen became so comfortable, so normal, and the prospect of Antarctica dangled in the distance — but once we arrived for our four days at the bottom of the world, everything began happening too fast.
At our first landing at Yankee Harbour, I walked the dedicated pathway to a gentoo penguin colony while holding back tears the entire time. I watched the memories pour in front of me while I scrambled to collect them in a sieve of photographs and notes scribbled from shrewd observation. The adorable way penguins hold their flippers out for balance to waddle. The satisfying sound of small black rocks rubbing against each other beneath my boots. The blinding reflection of the sun in calm, azure waters.
Days flew by, but the glorious glow of dusk seemed to last forever. Blessed with tranquil wind and waters in Wilhelmina Bay, the glow of sunset became an ever- changing, hours-long spectacle that got better and better (and was best viewed from the hot tub, of course). Dreamy pinks, purples, and blues reflected in the calm waters, making it impossible to know which way was up or down anymore.
In the days I spent there, I might have said my experience in Antarctica felt stretched thin by too little time and too many people, but when I eventually stood at those crossed flags on Half Moon Island, everything felt complete. I’d stopped to make way for penguin traffic, I’d witnessed gorgeous glaciers creeping down mountainsides, and I’d even found my own little moment of solitude. I learned to move with time as it moved like an accordion, and at the bottom of the world, my world turned upside down.
The glow of sunset became an everchanging, hourslong spectacle that got better and better.