At the Edge of the World: Life on an Antarctic Cruise
Antarctica had lived in my imagination for nearly two years: distant, dramatic, almost unreal. I thought I was prepared for the ice, the wildlife, the sheer scale of it all. But some trips aren’t just about where you go. They are about how they make you feel, what they awaken in you. The kind that quietly rearranges something inside of you.
Antarctica was that trip.
First Impressions
I’d had twenty-two months to daydream about this adventure, to imagine how it might feel, what it might look like, who I might become once I finally got there. By the time embarkation day arrived, my excitement and nerves were completely through the roof.
But from the moment I stepped onto the ship, I knew no amount of research could have prepared me for what was ahead.
The ship itself was small compared to the cruise ships most people imagine: just 136 guests and a little over 80 crew members. I didn’t realize it then, but every single one of those people was about to become my temporary family.
We set off with a peaceful cruise through the Beagle Channel while attending our first of many safety briefings and getting our gear checked. When I pulled on my red Polar Latitudes jacket for the first time, it suddenly felt real. I was actually going to Antarctica. Even now, typing those words gives me chills.
That evening, I sat down to my first dinner and joined a table with the most fun group of guys on an annual boys’ trip — some of the first of many friendships I’d make along the way (but more on that later). As we sipped wine and speculated about what the next ten days might hold, my nerves finally began to settle.
And then, just as I relaxed, we exited the Beagle Channel and turned toward the infamous Drake Passage.
Drake Lake or Drake Shake?
I won’t keep you in suspense. We were incredibly lucky. There was some gentle rocking, but we were blessed with a Drake Lake. The next couple of days were spent settling into ship life, finding our rhythm, and preparing ourselves for the moment we’d finally set foot on the Antarctic continent.
Daily Life
It didn’t take long to adjust to life aboard the ship. Every morning began the same way: promptly at 7 a.m., a cheerful “Good morning, good morning, good morning, Seaventure…” echoed over the loudspeaker, followed by a briefing on Plan A for the day, and a reminder that Plans B through Z were always standing by, should Antarctica decide to be a little sassy.
Breakfast was a blur. Everyone ate quickly, eager to gear up for the first excursion of the day. Our group number determined our activity: a landing, a zodiac cruise, kayaking (if you were lucky), snowshoeing, or citizen science — which, to my surprise, turned out to be genuinely fascinating.
After about twenty minutes of layering up: three layers, every time, we’d gather on deck, buzzing with anticipation, waiting to hear our group number called. That was our cue to head down to Deck Three and climb into a zodiac.
And every single time I stepped off the ship and into that small boat, Antarctica took my breath away.
No matter what the plan was, the views never failed. The next 90 to 120 minutes were spent exploring a part of the world I hadn’t even known existed: sometimes on land, sometimes on water, always in complete awe.
Eventually, it was time to return to the ship, quickly sanitize our gear, peel off our layers, and refuel over lunch as we cruised toward our second destination. And just as soon as we’d caught our breath, the loudspeaker would crackle again — time to prepare for round two.
By the second day, you get used to how long it takes to get dressed and undressed in Antarctica. And despite already riding the high of the morning, I’d find myself wondering, How could this possibly get any better?
Almost every time, Antarctica answered, and she answered well.
I’ll get into the wildlife soon, but between the dramatic landscapes and the up-close encounters with animals I’d only ever seen in documentaries, each afternoon felt even more surreal than the last. Another two hours passed in a state of complete wonder.
By the time we returned to the ship for good, the adventuring for the day might have been over, but the fun was just getting started.
Somehow, a tradition formed. Every evening, we’d all head back to our rooms to freshen up before gathering in the fifth-floor lounge for drinks, stories, and photo-sharing. Each day, the group grew bigger. By our final night, nearly the entire ship had joined us. It was one of those moments I made sure to pause, look around, and feel deeply grateful.
Before dinner, the expedition team would walk us through the day’s highlights and preview the next day’s Plan A (with Plans B through Z safely tucked away), and then we’d all head to dinner together.
Afterward, many of us returned to the lounge for a nightcap — or five — accompanied by our endlessly entertaining pianist and singer, Randy. He may not have been perfectly on key, but he knew every song, gave it his all, and kept the energy high. On a few special nights, we even had karaoke, where I shocked everyone with my singing abilities. Give me Stevie Nicks and I will absolutely deliver.
Every night, I told myself I’d go to bed early. Two things always got in the way: the sun never set, and it’s hard to sleep when you’re having the time of your life. Eventually, though, the music would stop, and it was time to force ourselves to rest knowing we’d wake up and do it all over again.
It became a routine I quickly grew attached to, even though it was anything but ordinary. Every day brought something new: penguins, humpback whales, or even plunging headfirst into freezing water. The wildlife and the experiences were what truly set this journey apart… and they deserve a chapter of their own.
Wildlife & Experiences
There are many ways to do an Antarctic cruise, some where guests never even leave the ship. And honestly, you don’t have to step foot on land to be completely undone by her beauty and the wildlife that calls her home.
But I didn’t come all this way to admire her from a distance. I came to get close. To say yes to the things I’ll look back on at 80 and think, holy shit, I really did that. And that’s exactly what this journey gave me.
On the first day of excursions, my group was selected for kayaking—the lucky Group 1. After multiple weather pivots, we finally got on the water. I had barely settled into my kayak when I looked up to see a humpback whale arch her back and fluke, disappearing beneath the surface just a few hundred feet away. I’m sure every group thinks they had the best kayaking experience… but that moment? Unreal.
And somehow, the rest of the excursions kept pace. Every zodiac cruise was punctuated by penguins porpoising through the water, tiny exclamation points of joy, while icebergs glowed an impossible, electric blue. On land, Weddell seals snored their way through naps on the shore, and penguin colonies revealed their less-graceful side. Watching them waddle up and down their designated “penguin highways” quickly became my favorite sport. Yes, penguin. highways. I know.
After days of watching wildlife slip effortlessly in and out of the water, it was our turn. Enter: the Antarctic cold plunge. I dove—literally—into 30-degree water. It was shocking, euphoric, and wildly invigorating, with cheers echoing from the decks above as we all took turns facing the cold.
But the peak experience? Camping on the continent itself. Sleeping bags, snow, the whole thing. It was the most weather-dependent and most coveted activity, and when the announcement finally came over the loudspeaker, excitement rippled through the ship. We landed in the evening, set up camp, and watched as our ship pulled away, leaving us alone with Antarctica in her purest form.
I barely slept. None of us really did. Avalanches cracked in the distance. Glaciers groaned. The sun dipped toward the horizon, teasing a faux sunset before rising again.
A once-in-a-lifetime, core-memory kind of night. One I’ll carry with me forever.
The People (aka My Antarctic Family)
Icebergs. Whales. Penguins—oh my. You’d think it couldn’t possibly get better. But for me, it absolutely did.
I know I’m biased, having only this one Antarctic experience, but I’m convinced the universe placed me on this ship, with these people, for a reason. For ten days, I couldn’t have asked for a better blend of personalities.
As usual, I embarked on this journey solo. That part doesn’t normally faze me, but this time was different. I’d be sharing a cabin with two other women and living aboard a small ship with 136 passengers and only a handful of common spaces. Whether I liked it or not, we were all going to be very together.
Luckily, my two cabinmates were also women in their 30s, solo-traveling the world. It felt like a sign, and it set the tone for the rest of the trip. There were couples on romantic adventures, families who explore the world together, a handful of fellow solo travelers, and, of course, the legendary Buffalo Boys: my primary source of laughter for ten straight days.
The ship itself was beautifully diverse: half English-speaking, half Chinese-speaking. Naturally, it took a little time for the two groups to connect. But it turns out there’s one universal language we all share: karaoke. That was the icebreaker we didn’t know we needed. After that, the divide disappeared, and we became one big, joyful, slightly chaotic family.
Antarctica may have been the showstopper, but it was the people—the conversations, the laughter, the shared awe—that truly surprised me and carved their way into my heart.
On the last night, I cried like a child (shocking absolutely no one who knows me). Not because the journey was ending, but because of the goodbyes. Because I knew this was the last time we’d all be together in that exact way, and because I felt overwhelming gratitude for an experience that would forever bind us, no matter where in the world we each landed next.
I came to Antarctica for the adventure. I left with memories, friendships, and a deep sense of gratitude for a place that reminded me how big the world is, and how connected we all are within it.
Et Voilà! We checked off our seventh continent with a deeper appreciation for the world — and an even deeper gratitude for the moments and people that make it so extraordinary.
