The Antarctic: Day 1

THE  ANTARCTIC

Day One – Sunday, January 16

   I am the first passenger to board the Polar Star.  The crew is not ready for me, so they show me to my cabin, and let me have the run of the ship.  License is taken to poke my head into every cabin and cubby, therefore.  By the time the others arrive I know all the shortcuts to the bar, the dining room, and the observation deck.  Have already seen and photographed the wheelhouse.  And I know which rooms have the best beds.  When the others arrive, I am halfway toward being a certified guide.  We depart Ushuaia about 5:45 PM.

   First pair I meet is the ship’s doctor, Will, and his sister, Judith-Anne, who fill me in on where to go and when, where to find the daily roster of activities, the telexed sheet of world events (the ship daily paper, essentially), and shortcuts yet undiscovered for navigating the craft.  As the others arrive on the observation deck for the official welcome, I am already the unofficial ship greeter.  Quick way actually, to find out who has a sense of humor and a little yarn spinning capacity and who doesn’t.  I quickly gravitate toward two Dutchmen, Simon and Marco.  They both have a yen for off-color jokes and waste no time finding ways to make fun of me.  And each other.  Simon snapped off a quick warning about the seemly things Marco had done with a chicken and some diapers in Sri Lanka and I knew I had found the right crew.  For reasons that go back to Seattle even before the trip and the early appearance of me having commandeered the vessel, the two of them nickname me “The Emperor Penguin.”

   We learn the ship’s passenger capacity is usually 98, but only 67 will be making this voyage.  Better for us.  More time to get to know the others and less crowded in the public areas.  The passengers are introduced to the crew members, and the Expedition members – about 30 in all, the latter group being comprised of specialists like Alistair the Cruise Director, the naturalist, the geologist, the personnel director/receptionist, etc.  Many different nationalities are represented, but all speak very good English.  Afterward, we practice our mandatory lifeboat drill, which is even more critical in the Antarctic than in your garden variety Caribbean tour.  Forget to take your gloves or cold weather gear, and you will pay.  The wind penetrates like a Banshee here and the windchill factor combined with the temperature can turn your flesh into frozen leather in nanoseconds.

   Dinner is at 7:30, sit-down style.  No buffet.  This is beyond what is expected, which was essentially a fairly Spartan cruise.  We have a wonderful squash soup, and then a choice of Argentinian beef or risotto.  I choose risotto, having had enough beef lately to ballast the ship.  Most of the rest of the evening is spent on the observation deck, getting to know the others aboard, swapping tables and stories.   The Love Boat this is not.  But I do my best to help out.  One couple (Ryan and Namita) from San Francisco have chosen this as their most unique honeymoon voyage.  Seems they have been assigned to a twin cabin, with two small beds about five feet across from each other.  We use to call these “Moralpedic” beds, back in college.   I tell them there is surplus capacity aboard, that in my earlier scouting I have seen available queen beds, and they should ask for a cabin exchange.  Natasha, the Russian Reception Director, is only too happy to comply.   Namita comes out Natasha’s office with a grin bigger than one of the ship’s lifeboats.  “We owe you!” she tells me.  Most of the passengers are otherwise coupled up.  Foreplay for the rest of us is teasing each other with previous travel tales.  I am struck by the modesty of the descriptions, colorful yet factual, with no attempts at one upsmanship.  Many aboard have been to over 50 countries.  My roommate, Adam, a lawyer from Charlotte, North Carolina, has been to over 104 countries.  Mike, from San Diego, has been to over 140 countries.  A psychiatrist from Minnesota, Steve, is rumored to have been to 175 but only confesses to “over 100.”

   The Antarctic is a huge continent.  Its surrounding waters, make up the planet’s largest whirlpool, circulating in concert with the rotation of the earth.  It is said, that the waters that squeeze through the end of the South America landmass at Tierra Del Fuego and the beginning of the Antarctic Peninsula archipelago at the South Shetland Islands (a distance of about 550 miles) – what is called The Drake Passage -- make up 600 times the volume of the world’s largest river, the Amazon.  The current velocity – at least at the deeper depths – is said to be as fast as the Nile, the Amazon, and the Mississippi combined.   Thus, The Cape Of Good Hope to the Antarctic becomes the world’s most dangerous waters.  As soon as we hit The Drake Passage around midnight, walking becomes difficult.  Faces start changing colors.  Fellow passengers start retiring early.  I am the last one to bed at about 1 AM, and sleep like the King’s Fool.  The ship is warm and toasty, and very quiet.  No engine noise, no Brazilians partying until dawn, and no music from the disco or casino to keep one awake.