On the Trip to Antarctica. Part Two

The New Year adventure began in Ushuaia — the southernmost point of civilization, where the land runs out and the ocean begins. From there we set off on an icebreaker-class expedition cruise ship. For me it was the first time in this format — and I came away delighted by the level of comfort and the density of the program.

On board, more than a hundred crew; the guests were fewer. Everything runs like clockwork. We had a tour of the technical decks, and a ship like this is a real masterpiece of engineering: it’s almost a living organism, where every part has its own meaning and role.

We crossed the Drake Passage unexpectedly calm — a swell of only about three meters, near-flat by local standards. There’s even a faint regret in that: in my head lived a romantic picture of a force-ten storm to be conquered, leaving you hollowed out (literally), but a hero.

We were lucky with the weather. Almost the whole time — sun and a temperature around zero. I even swam in the open-air pool. Our expedition fell in the Antarctic summer — winter back in Russia, polar day down here. Light 24 hours a day, and after a couple of days you lose your sense of time: morning or evening, today or yesterday — it all blurs together. In winter, they say, this is the best view of the stars on the planet.

At some point you start to feel a strange dissonance. The scene around you looks painted: almost no color, yet a fantastic, inhuman beauty. The brain catches the signal of a deadly hostile environment, but you — you’re warm, on board. And from that comes the feeling that you’re inside a simulation. Like a game with graphics too realistic, but missing the familiar sense of reality.

Antarctica demands humility. Setting foot on the continent is strictly regulated. Every item of clothing is checked for organic traces — ideally, everything new. Boots are disinfected before and after each landing. Contact with the surface only on specially permitted patches. Sitting on the ice or snow, even just leaning against the rocks — forbidden.

The icebergs… They look invented by an artist in an “altered” state of mind. Colors from milky white to glowing blue. Textures spongy, marbled, leathery, porous, fractal, geometric. It’s not just ice but a whole architecture of forms: peaks, arches, plateaus.

The local animals — penguins, seals, elephant seals — don’t read a human as a threat. To them we’re something unknown. They come close, curious. And we’re forbidden to come nearer than five, sometimes twenty meters. Visual contact is possible, but on their terms.

A long-held dream came true — to see whales, and even orcas. Up close. After a couple of days you catch yourself already taking them as part of the scenery. And yet it’s a miracle.

Seals in their molting period sleep for several days at a stretch, shedding up to ten kilograms a day. The flesh literally melts away in sleep. From the lectures on board I learned that the whole Antarctic ecosystem rests on tiny krill. If it disappears, everything disappears: whales, seals, birds. And, down the chain, half the ocean world.

A moment of its own — kayaking. Just you, the icy water, absolute silence and peace. A kind of presence in nature where there’s no room for words or outside signals. Only you, the water, the ice, and… penguins.

We landed at historic stations — Port Lockroy, for instance, a British outpost and home to the southernmost post office in the world. You can send a postcard, though it will travel for six, maybe eight months.

The weather here is changeable and unpredictable. Forecasts run a few hours out at most. Sun can give way to a hurricane in minutes. We heard stories of people dropped off by Zodiac, and half an hour later they couldn’t be picked up — the sea had turned impassable. You wait, and hope for nature’s favor.

Clothing in layers, like an onion. Warm, but without overheating. And always — protection from the wind.

A ritual of its own — the “leap of faith” into the icy water. The plunge lasts seconds, but in that moment you feel truly alive. And then — a hot toddy that “goes down like kids heading to school.”

And yes, even here I managed to get a little work done, launching AI agents from my cabin over Starlink.