Adventuresam

Before we set foot in Antarctica, people on MV Ushuia asked us the same thing:
“Is this your first time visiting Antarctica??“

I always said yes, of course — because who goes twice?! That registered as crazy. Antarctica seemed like the definition of a once-in-a-lifetime destination. A bitterly cold location without comfortable thrills, a bold choice. Rugged, freezing, and downright difficult. What we, in my friend group, call type 2 (or even type 3) fun.

Turns out, I had it wrong; Antarctica is type one fun. It’s the kind of place that inspires such a cosmic awakening in you that you want to name your children after it. No? Just me and Ed Sheeran? (His daughter’s middle name is literally Antarctica.). Once you’ve been you want to save, save, save all your money so that you might be lucky enough to go again one day. It is a pilgrimage.   

Antarctica leaned in like, “Sweetie… …you braced for tears of Endurance. But surprise — you wept at how holy it feels.”

Unreal.  Except…this is real.

If Helen and I were billionaires, we talk about this all the time — we’d bring every person we adore down here. We imagine sharing this place with our lovers, Jamie and Ryan, and more of our best friends.  We dream of once again stepping onto the snow and always of taking our parents and families to see the ice glow from within. Experiencing Antarctica is a gift of the universe.

A vacation destination.

The most more-ish scenery.

When I first left with only ‘a carry on’ for Antarctica and my pregnant body, Ryan, the ever-supportive partner, shrugged and said off-handidly to those around us, “She likes to travel on expert mode. She just puts it on expert mode and then goes.” Maybe. (Okay, yes.) But what I learned while visiting here is that Antarctica isn’t expert mode, it’s heaven mode.  After seeing this place, everything in your life reorients itself around THE most beautiful thing you have ever (and will ever) see. 

Glory days.

Showing off.

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In my opinion, the International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators (IAATO) did something brilliant. They didn’t just enforce distance rules and bio-security protocols; they turned stewardship into our personal identity. Helen, Patrick and I boarded the Mv Ushuia as tourists but we left as Antarctic Ambassadors.  The IAATO made caring feel like a privilege; we witnessed the world untouched and we will forever want to be worthy of having stood there.

Reverence.

Local residents: Spotted on their floating front porch.

The ocean thinking it’s snow and the sky forgetting it’s not water.

The trip where we found out that our friendship is, in fact, windproof.

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Leaving was harder than arriving.

Edible confetti.

We began this journey as tourists and departed as (Antarctic) evangelists. 

Farewell committee.

Saying our goodbye’s.

Despite the fact that crossing the Drake again was physically easier (it wasn’t a gift, but it wasn’t as hard)  – for example, I was still nauseous for 2 days though I didn’t throw up – it was sorrowful in others; with heavy hearts we said adios to this monumental continent with no idea of when (or if) we will ever return.

Where do you go after Antarctica?
How do you unpack after you’ve peaked?

Writing this seven-part series has been my way of reliving this 7th continent — the planning, seasickness, best friendship, absurdity of being six months pregnant among penguins, and the awe of the ice itself. I don’t pretend these posts capture it; nothing can. But they remind me of how Antarctica spoiled us. If you’ve made it this far, thank you for coming along! May you, too, find your own unforgettable adventure, one that follows you home.

And if anyone needs an Antarctic ambassador…
I’ll be living in Pittsburgh.  Grateful that it’s some kind of ‘burgh, even if it’s not made of ice.

With a mind stretched farther than the horizon and a heart still oriented south,
’mi & Pingüina

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Tags: antarctica, cruise, penguins, south-america, Travel

Most people, myself included, come to Antarctica for the wildlife: penguins in tuxedos, seals loungin’ like royalty, whales surfacing from the ocean depths, and dolphins keeping you company.

We were cleared by both immigration and dolphin customs.

Everyone turns into a whale-watcher here.

One late evening, while our ship was anchored off the Antarctic Peninsula, Patrick, Helen and I were tucked into bed, but those still awake witnessed a pod of killer whales! I’m including the video a crew member took because, even though we were asleep, our hearts got to take part in the magic.

See the baby! (A theme of my season in Antarctica.)

Elsewhere, every breach we saw was a thrill and every fin cutting through the water was a flash of wild grace; everyone on the ship was always delighted! But it must be said that those moments weren’t the transcendent peak I’d imagined before I got here. There was something else in Antarctica that stole my heart…

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The definition of chill.

Sealiously adorable.

The seals were unbothered by our gawking. Even when we got super close, it didn’t seem like they noticed we were there. On an entirely different tier of unbothered: more seals, the elephant seals (see below). They were enormous and unhurried, like giant, living sandbags. Occasionally two would lurch upright and burp-bellow at each other in a contest that looked like combat-yawning.

Equal parts blubber, bravado, and heavy breathing.

The art of doing the absolute least.

Seeing all those seals in the wild was incredible!! It was part of what lured me to Antarctica in the first place! But, like the dolphins and whales, the seals weren’t what made me fall in love with this continent…

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Penguins, I found out, are (smelly) slapstick comedians. Tripping, face-planting in the snow, popping up unfazed, and tumbling down their “penguin highways” (yes, that’s the real term).  I found I had a lot in common with them. They waddled, and I waddled too.  Note: I did not just waddle because of my condition – there’s a degree of being a penguin in all of these layers of clothing that you must wear to stay warm. It didn’t take long watching the penguins to realize I’d found my flock.

Maximum charm, zero traction.

If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, the penguins should be very flattered.

All of the penguins were pure delight! They were funny, curious, and impossible not to love. Watching them felt like a nature documentary, only better, because we were in it. They were a highlight of our trip, and part of the dream that brought me here, but if I ever make it back to Antarctica (and I hope I do!), it won’t be just for them. 

Chinstrap penguins wearing, what else, a chin-strap while exuding business casual.  

Penguins for joy. Ice for goosebumps.

Once you see it, you must protect it. 
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Back when we were still crossing the Drake Passage, a crew member said something that became more true for us every single day in Antarctica. It didn’t hit all at once, but like a slow burn, her words became actualized.

“Come for the animals…come back for the ice.” 

And that is exactly what happened to us. We came for the animals, but we will return because of the ice.

Profound & ephemeral.

The ice moved, breathed, cracked, shimmered, and glowed from within. Even the crew kept taking pictures; they had all been here only days earlier, yet nothing was the same. Icebergs traveled kilometers, shifted shape, melted in places, flipped, arrived, and vanished. Antarctica never repeats itself. It changed every minute, and I, with my growing belly, changed every minute too. 

Sparkling silence.  

You can’t truly capture this place, but it can absolutely capture you.

I love it here,
’mi & Pingüina

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Tags: antarctica, cruise, penguins, south-america, Travel

Welcome back to installment three of my Antarctic adventure!

I can’t express to you how remote we were.

Before I left, Lauren handed me the book Endurance, about Ernest Shackleton (Thank you, Lauren!). I devoured every frostbitten page — gripping, impossible (yet nonfiction!!!), a must-read if you’re into adventure or about to set foot in Antarctica. I brought the story to pass along to mis amigos. Helen tore through it quickly; by the time we were flying from Buenos Aires toward Ushuaia, she was on the final chapters. I sat beside her, shamelessly rereading over her shoulder. Does anything say “this is my best friend” more than silently sharing the same book at the same time? We both simultaneously gasped as we read. I knew what was coming and still, I teared up; THAT’S how good this book is! Patrick had his turn while we were on our actual ship. Reading Endurance while bound for the same continent as Shackleton might be the most novel way to enjoy that novel.

Here’s a summary with spoilers: In 1914 Ernest Shackleton set out to cross Antarctica with 27 crew and one unexpected passenger, a stowaway (foreshadowing, anyone?). Frustratingly, his ship, the Endurance, didn’t just get stuck in the ice — it was slowly crushed to splinters in the Weddell Sea. The crew on board managed to escape and (literally) watched their ship sink.  They lived on drifting ice for more than a year, building makeshift camps, hunting seals and penguins to eat, and melting snow every day for water to drink.  When the ice began to break apart, they launched the 3 lifeboats they had saved and rowed them through freezing, violent seas in search of land. Waves broke over their lifeboats soaking the men completely through, their hands froze to the oars, they wept from exhaustion and blisters, but still they rowed. For seven days they battled toward unforgiving Elephant Island – it was the first solid ground they had seen in 497 days!! However, relief was brief because the weather on the island was relentless: gales, sleet, snow, and storms raged on for weeks.  The men built a semi-permanent shelter using boulders and the inverted hulls of two of their lifeboats as roofs. Inside that fragile shelter the condition of the men was dire; weak, ice-crusted, and half-starving.  As the Antarctic winter approached, a decision was made: Shackleton would send a small party in the one lifeboat they had left to go and seek help, leaving 22 people behind. 

Not every voyage ends at shore.

Shackleton plus five more men launched into the most perilous open-boat journey in history: 800 miles across the roughest seas on Earth in basically a glorified rowboat.  They bailed water by hand, chipped ice off the sails, and took turns steering through hurricane-force winds on rations of cold seal meat (ew) and prayers. After sixteen sleepless nights at sea, Shackleton and his five crewmates finally sighted South Georgia Island. Unfortunately, they landed on the wrong side — the uninhabited, mountainous side — and were too weak to sail around. They had no choice but for half of them to go off and seek the whaling station on foot: Those 3 men marched for 36 hours straight (that means no sleep), climbing through fog with nothing but a compass and will power. 32 miles over uncharted glaciers and peaks that no human had ever mapped. When their vision failed them, they followed the sound of running water.  Near the end, a faint church bell drifted through the mist – a noise so human it stopped them cold. The men at the whaling station didn’t recognize Shackleton or his two men who were gaunt and wearing rags held together with rope. The station manager wept when Shackleton introduced himself.  After seventeen months stranded in the Antarctic, the crew from the Endurance finally reached help.

Meanwhile, the 22 men on Elephant Island waited. They huddled. They rationed every scrap of food. They watched the sea for a miracle ship.

Shackleton wasted no time, as best as he could. Within days, he organized a rescue mission for everyone else and, after four attempts through impassable pack ice, he reached them 127 days later. Against every odd, all 28 of his crew, even the unplanned passenger, survived. Not one single life was lost.

___________________

I zipped up my layers and ruminated on how absurdly lucky we were.  Shackleton’s story was everywhere in the ice. We would feel the spray from the zodiacs and shiver as we imagined their voyage. I couldn’t help noticing one element of symmetry which brings me, selfishly, to my own story, the fact that THEY had a stowaway on their ship and I also had a stowaway on my ship.

“Life on board” took on new meaning.

My stowaway was smaller, quieter, and, thankfully, less frostbitten than Shackleton’s. The ship’s doctor nicknamed the baby in me “Pingüina”, which is Spanish for girl penguin – and the name stuck. Soon, everyone was calling her that, even back home.

I see where the phrase “alive and kicking” comes from.

Pingüina’s Aunt Arctica.

___________________

The days stretched long and bright because even the sun didn’t want to leave this magical place.  Our time on the MV Ushuaia continued in surreal rhythms while also being strangely domestic: landings, blue ice, shared meals, lectures, penguins, feeling the baby move, a wedding, a comedy show, and an unexpected Guinness World Record. 

Dearly Beloved.

A couple from The Netherlands got married and the entire ship was invited! There was a glacier as the witness, their kiss, and then an unforgettable fog horn followed by what must be holy matrimony.

The Honeymoon phase.

That night, at dinner, Helen announced her Guinness book of World Record attempt – the largest comedy show ever performed in Antarctica. Without giving anything away, here’s how it went:

She’s talented on every continent!

And takes “Antarctic Ambassador” very seriously.

By looking, you can not tell what time this picture was taken.

Oppressively gorgeous!

Antarctica said “Earth tones? Never heard of her.”

Outside, your eyes couldn’t take in so much beauty at once.
Inside, it was first-class. 

The view from our floating living room, icebergs on repeat.

No one goes to Antarctica for the food…but MV Ushuaia gets 4 Michelin-sea stars.

The snow was as wild, thick, and tasty as popcorn 😉

19 (of the 21 countries onboard) represented.

Our ship carried us—seventy-two passengers, forty crew, three best friends, and one very active stowaway—across frigid seas and straight into awe.  Together we were dazzled by the color of cold itself, the low, ancient creak of glaciers, and the comfort of hot soup. The MV Ushuia didn’t just take us to Antarctica; it became part of the adventure.

Nourished by wonder, joy, delicious food, and gratitude,
‘mi & Pingüina 

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Tags: antarctica, cruise, penguins, south-america, Travel

I was overwhelmed by beauty in Antarctica, it was like my eyes could not take in so much magnificence at once.  I’ll start you off with a few photos so you can kind of see what I mean:

“Oh, damn, never seen that color blue.” -Taylor Swift

Not driftwood, driftice

Floating confetti, Antarctica celebrates the cold!

“I mean, this is unbelievable” - everyone

Once the sea-sickness passed (YAY!) we learned more about our ship, MV Ushuaia. She was once a research vessel for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and is an ice-strengthened polar ship, an actual class of ships specially prepared for independent glacier navigation.  Knowing she was sturdy enough to cut through ice was comforting.  MV Ushuaia has the capacity to carry 90 guests and 40 crew. For our trip, there were only 72 passengers. Onboard it was intimate.  And my favorite part of MV Ushuaia was that it was outfitted with compact boats, also known as a fleet of zodiacs which brought us closer to the heart of irresistible Antarctica. 

Through my lens: Our boat Ushuaia, looking impossibly small (yet perfectly at home) among the ice.

Watching our ship shrink and the scenery grow.

Every night, staff posted the next day’s itinerary and paired it with a doodle that made life on our boat feel slightly like summer camp.  In fairness, it was summer.  (Because I’m obsessed, here is a link to more information about our specific ship.)

Antarctica, but make it adorable.

“Summer”.

Forget the guidebook, this is the ACTUAL Lonely Planet.

Our morning commute.

The daily programme (towards the top) gives you an idea of our rhythm for life onboard Ushuaia. Perhaps it looks ordinary enough? Breakfast at 07:00, lunch at 12:00, dinner at 19:30. But this was Antarctica, so the schedule came with a twist: “Penguins at 15:00. Seals at 16:00.”

Enter Group Penguins and Group Seals. By regulation of the Antarctic Treaty (see bottom), landings are limited to 100 people at a time to protect the wildlife — a rule I love. Cruise ships aren’t allowed to put people on Antarctic land, only “drive-bys”.  With just 72 passengers, our ship didn’t need to split us up but Ushuaia did it anyway – Penguins and Seals – everyone boarded zodiacs, spent time ashore, and never crowded the landscape or endangered any animals. Our ambassador responsibilities were always taken very seriously.

Zodiac boats, ready to launch deeper into Antarctic wilderness.

Zodiacs, those black inflatable boats, held up to eight passengers and served as our shuttles. Bundled in all our clothes, we’d climb aboard and be lowered into the frigid sea, setting off for an adventure! Each zodiac also took two crew members: one at the helm, steering us safely, and another guiding us through what we were seeing; the polar air added its own wordless commentary.  We were inches from frozen crystals that had been drifting, fracturing, and reshaping themselves for centuries.

Helen, smiling like that iceberg just told her a joke, Wildy.

Patrick, cooler than the ice behind him, Marti.

Sammi, yes, Antarctica is cold, Travis.

VIP seating.

Summer time, living’s easy.

Antarctica’s version of mood lighting.

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Side note:
About Antarctica, the World Agrees….

Ownership: There is none! Antarctica is the only continent on Earth with no countries, no government, and no permanent population. They don’t even have their own currency! Antarctica is governed by the Antarctic Treaty System, signed in 1959. Today, over 50 countries are part of it 🙂
Peace: The entire continent is legally demilitarized. Military bases, nuclear weapons, war, and mining are all banned.
Science: All research findings have to be shared openly with the world. No patents, no secrets.
Time: Antarctica doesn’t have an official time zone. Stations usually follow the time zone of their home country so you can “time travel” by walking between bases.

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Solitude becomes the entire point.

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❄️More facts that’ll Chill You❄️
Size: It’s HUGE! Antarctica is bigger than the U.S. and Mexico combined (14 million sq km).
Population: Even during its busiest season, only about 5,000 humans are spread across the entire continent.
Land: Antarctica is the largest desert in the world!
People: Unlike every other continent, there are no humans from Antarctica.
Visiting: Even counting all the tourists, scientists, explorers, and support staff over the decades, far less than 1% of the global population has ever been.
Now: Less than 0.01% of people alive have ever set foot there and Helen, Patrick and I can count ourselves among the lucky!

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“Let’s pretend we don’t exist” - Of Montreal

Pregnancy hack: add layers until no one can tell what’s going on underneath.

The continent felt infinite. Every zodiac ride brought us closer — not just to shore, but to the impossible scale of Antarctica itself. The boats carried us into moments I still can’t fully believe — drifting past neon-blue-bergs, staring at cliffs carved by time, laughing with friends while spray hit our faces. (and I haven’t even mentioned the animals!)

Zodiacs weren’t just shuttles; they were our magic carpets — the smallest boats brought us to the biggest wonders.  I was constantly afloat, in awe, smitten with this frozen world. The daily programme had it right; We travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us.

In contrast to how I *maybe* felt during some of the nausea, once we entered Antarctica I knew that every patch, pill, and wave in the Drake Passage had been worth it. Let’s gooooooooo!

With memories that will never melt,
‘mi (+ 1)

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Tags: antarctica, cruise, penguins, south-america, Travel

I was about to go through a breakup in New York City. But this was hours before the breaking up — this was the pre-breakup hype party.  (It’s time we call it what it was…kidding!) Some of my besties were with me and asked about travel; Where would I want to go? ‘Antarctica has always been at the top of my list…’ “Us too!” they said. “Why don’t you send us a proposal with cost breakdown and dates?!!!!”

*One year later*
During a different breakup (lol), I remembered the proposition. Helen was going through her own breakup, so this felt like uncanny timing — we had no idea that we’d both be single ever again — a trip to Antarctica as heartbreak medicine. I sat down and finally wrote the long-awaited 4 page proposal, and sent it to those close friends. Four said yes! It didn’t take long before we all put down deposits 🙂

But the thing about planning a trip to Antarctica is that you tend to do it a lot in advance (these things can sell out, we’d heard). And no one could’ve predicted where any of us would be by the time the boat finally left: two of my best friends had to pull out because of beloved cat stuff. The serious kind. So that left Patrick, Helen, Sammi (the latter who’d gotten back together with her boyfriend)… and the fetus I was referring to as “alleged.”

Yes, I had fallen pregnant with my first child (!!!!!!!) between drafting the proposal, putting down a deposit, and actually leaving for Antarctica.

Thus followed consideration and consultation with both Ryan – my boyfriend who has ALWAYS been incredibly supportive of my travel plans – and the midwives we were working with, though none of these people had either ever been to Antarctica or worked with any woman who had.

Together, Ryan and I decided that even though I was pregnant, I was still going to take the same trip I’d planned, proposed, and saved for many months ago — I changed nothing except possibly making it more extreme; I extended the trip. 6 full weeks of travel, this time, pregnant. I would continue traveling in South America after our Antarctic foray. For the boat portion, I was required to get an official note from a doctor saying I was “fit to travel.” Side note: Fit, sure, but not immune to that infamous Drake Passage. 

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You have to be in your second trimester to board a boat to Antarctica, and the day our boat was set to leave I turned six months pregnant. (“Couldn’t have planned it better.”) Later, a crew member told me I was only the third pregnant person he had ever remembered meeting on board a boat in the ten years of trips he has taken (15 trips per season, that’s 150 trips). The first pregnant woman he had seen had been his sister, what a trailblazer! The second woman had likely been the woman who wrote the ONE and only blog I found about someone else who had visited Antarctica at 21 weeks pregnant. Shout-out to her! Sure, I’d be waddling in at 23/24 weeks, but still — she wrote about how this was possible. Thank you to the pioneer who wrote this for me to find.

And then there was me, the third person that this well-seasoned crew member had ever heard of who was taking a boat to Antarctica while with child.  11 months after I’d made the official Antarctica pitch — it was time to go. 

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December 2023
Summer in South America

With just our small backpacks, as always (though I admit it was harder to pack with my growing belly.  My usual clothes didn’t fit, I needed specialized items, and it was hard to anticipate how big I’d be by the end, I’d never been pregnant before).  Patrick, Helen and I met up in Buenos Aires where we bought matching Messi jerseys, tried Argentinian steak in Argentina (the namesake!), and I indulged in my pregnancy Juicy Fruit cravings (actual fruit, not the gum). Buenos Aires made it easy to access juiced oranges (naranjas) both on the street and in our hostel — so I drank glass after glass of this delicious, cheap, fresh-squeezed juice… until my pregnancy acid reflux kicked in. #WhenLifeGivesYouNaranjas

From the capital we took a plane south to Ushuaia in Tierra del Fuego. En español it’s nicknamed el fin del mundo — the end of the world. While we were there, we drank (okay, they drank, I sipped) delectable Argentinian wine, the best (and cheapest) any of us had ever tasted, wandered through the Museo del Fin del Mundo, ate fresh seafood, and admired how fluffy the local dogs were (gotta have a thick coat to live at the end of the world). We also shared a pint at an Irish pub, because nothing says Antarctica prep like the world’s southernmost Guinness. Well, one thing might say Antarctica prep better; actual Antarctica prep. 

During dinner one night we sat next to a group who had just gotten back from their own Antarctica expedition, our two groups started to chat.  That’s when I realized how crucial it was that I acquire waterproof pants. I didn’t bring any because my stomach didn’t fit the ones I owned and I said as much to the woman next to me who offered to lend me hers. I’ll be forever grateful to her!! I crammed them into my backpack and lived in that kind stranger’s pants for all of my time on shore in Antarctica. Months later, back in the States, I mailed them back to her with a heart-felt thank you.

It was from el fin del mundo that we met our boat — also named Ushuaia.  As we boarded, we learned that the crew had arrived that morning and were heading back to open water the same day. We couldn’t believe they turned around immediately. “The same day?!” we kept repeating.

During check-in, because of my “condition,” we got a room upgrade. Helen and I weren’t forced into bunk beds! We got individual beds and our own bathroom! Hilarious that they thought my best friend wouldn’t just give me the bottom bunk.  I guess you can never be too sure.

That evening, at orientation, one of the first things they told us was that this was an old expedition boat and it didn’t have shocks. We were to spend two nights and two days crossing the Drake Passage, starting literally now, in waters that are notoriously some of the roughest in the world, with no shocks. And, because I was pregnant, I wasn’t eligible to take the ship’s seasickness pills.  BUMMER! But my bestie, Emily, had thought of this in advance and slipped me several pregnancy-approved Scopolamine patches before I left Pittsburgh which you do need a prescription for in the United States but we were in international waters, baby!!! Thank you, Emily! I could not imagine how horrific the boat ride over the Drake Passage would have been for me had I not had these patches.

I was absentmindly fiddling with my aforementioned Scopolamine when the ship’s doctor asked, “Is anyone here pregnant?” Helen nudged me, “That’s you”, she whispered.  I raised my hand and looked around. Were there other pregnant people on this boat!?! No. Absolutely not, haha.  The doctor just wanted to identify me right away. 

Over the 10 days we were on the ship the doctor came to check on me daily, it was nice to be looked after though what could she do? Seasickness is a battle everyone passing through the Drake for the first time has to suffer.

And suffer I did.  I was throwing up in my sleep, staggering from bed, and so dehydrated I was having both muscle cramps and contractions. “Is this because I’m pregnant or, you know, The Drake Passage?”, I groaned into the void. “Yup,” it thrummed back.

The crew told us that one way to alleviate seasickness was to “keep your eyes on the horizon” and another was to “get some fresh air.” So Patrick, Bel and I became outdoor horizon hunters, scanning for that thin line of steadiness while everything else pitched and heaved around us.  Did it work?  Hard to say as I barf moaned into yet another bag.  

On day two, while immobilized, I told my best friends that “I would not have done this if I knew how hard it would be” and “I will never get on another boat again.” I was sick. Not dangerously sick, but uncomfortably, unrelentingly sick. They were sick, too. We were all sick.

Meanwhile, each morning the captain would come on the intercom (Bel and I slept on the starboard side, unrelated but just for our shared memory) and would make announcements for the day.  He cheerfully declared that this was the easiest crossing in six years. We shuddered to think about what the hard ones looked like. Helen joked, “If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere” was famously written about the Drake Passage.

BUT THEN.

On the morning of our third day aboard Ushuaia the boat stopped pitching. The water went calm. The horizon held still. We had made it through the Drake Passage (!!!) and the change was seismic.

That morning, the crew gathered us in the lounge and declared us Antarctic Ambassadors. The slide on the screen read: “You are now an ambassador for the continent. We hope you will spread the word about Antarctic conservation and its value to science.” And this wasn’t just shipboard cuteness — it came straight from the International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators (IAATO), basically the bouncers guarding Antarctica’s future. It’s such a smart move: instead of handing us a rulebook that says “stay 15 feet from penguins,” they made us part of the mission. So here’s our new role, Antarctic Ambassador. It’s a lifetime term with no campaigning required. Though now the three of us are legally bound to protect penguins and shout about icebergs at dinner parties. You should know that before you invite us anywhere. It’s the idea that you don’t just visit Antarctica — you take it with you, and you owe it your voice. Which, I guess, is exactly what I’m doing here: fulfilling my ambassadorial duty, one blog post at a time (and there are going to be seven.)

Anyway, THERE IT WAS, surreal landscape: penguins porpoising (did you know penguins porpose?!) alongside us. Icebergs, glowing blue from within. I took my pregnancy announcement photos. 

The show had begun! We were welcomed to the theatre (of our planet)!!!
I am not exaggerating when I say that the trip to Antarctica was the best trip of my life and, for those of you new to this blog, that is no small statement. I have decided that crossing the roughest waters in the world and arriving in Antarctica is an initiation. The Drake Passage is a rite of passage; it is the gateway portal to my idea of heaven. Honestly? It was everyone onboard’s idea of heaven.  Visiting here is akin to religious ecstasy. It is wild(ly) inviting for such an inhospitable place. “Go for the animals, come back for the ice.” – the wisest crew member.

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Patrick reminded me: “Wait — didn’t you say you would ‘never have done this if you’d known how hard it was going to be?’”
“Shhh,” Helen teased. “We all said things we didn’t mean in the Drake Passage.”

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Prepare yourself, what I can only assume are exclusively pregnant readers heading to Antarctica. For the superlatives. For the arctic animals. For icebergs that headline as modern art. And for more beauty than I can possibly capture with words, photos, and exclamation points.

Pregnant or not, I urge you: take the MV Ushuaia to Antarctica.
Before we went, the trip felt expensive; once we were there, it felt cheap. Worth.Every.Cent.

Antarctica is the golden snitch. The game is over. Hang up your passport — you won’t be needing it. You might not have won the game, but the match has been decided. That continent is the pinnacle of anything I will ever see in my lifetime. “Because I knew you, I have been changed for Good.”

(Slightly) mad for new and extreme encounters,
‘mi (+ 1)

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Tags: antarctica, cruise, penguins, south-america, Travel