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October 14, 2011
Reflections on Antarctica
I love hearing from travelers about how much they enjoy exploring the world with us—whether they write to me personally or simply share their thoughts on our website. But every once in a while, someone actually describes his or her experience in such a way that I'm transported back to that place in my memory. That was the case, recently, when I read this Traveler Review from 5-time OAT traveler Margaret Whitt of Murphy, Texas, who had this to say about her Antarctica adventure:
“… I would go again in a heartbeat. How can you explain to folks back home the feeling of being face to face with vocal inquisitive penguins that regard you as a curiosity rather than a threat or the look of the night sky filled with billions of stars since there is no light pollution or the pungent smell of slick gobs of penguin poo or the sight of enormous icebergs that dwarf your ship or the lack of sound in a vast landscape with no human interference? No photo can do justice to the landscape or wildlife that you will experience. You have to see it to believe it, and even then ...”
Alan and I aboard a Zodiac with our traveling companions, Antarctica, 1993.
I just love this review. I traveled Antarctica myself in 1993—an occasion I wrote about in my journal entry, Antarctica: Exploring with explorers. Aside from the company I enjoyed during that visit—which included my husband, Alan; our children, Charlotte and Edward; Bradford and Barbara Washburn; and Sir Edmund Hillary—I remember being awestruck by Antarctica’s crystalline white beauty … its perfect remoteness … and how the looming icebergs seemed to absorb the ocean’s deep blue color. There are places where the water is absolutely azure. It looks like the Caribbean. At one point while we were cruising Alan and I actually went in for a quick dip—that gorgeous color was so inviting. Of course, it was freezing. Not like the Caribbean.
Antarctica was also where I learned a travel tip that I still use to this day. I’m prone to seasickness, and I was very ill as we crossed the extremely rough waters of the Drake Channel (also known as “the Drake Shake,” this body of water certainly lived up to its reputation). I cautiously made my way to the ship’s bar to see if they had anything that might make me feel better. The bartender poured me a shot of Jameson whiskey, and then he gave me a small bowl of salted peanuts. He told me to drink the whiskey in one swallow, and then immediately eat the nuts. You have to understand how sick I was feeling, and the moment it dawned on me that his best advice was to drink whiskey (before he even got to the part about the peanuts) I thought I was going to be sick. But I figured, hey, I’m going to be sick anyway, so what have I got to lose? So I downed the whiskey, and tossed a handful of peanuts in my mouth, and waited.
Thirty minutes later, I was eating Thai food, feeling fine. And to this day, I always pack a small bottle of Jameson and a bag of salted peanuts no matter where I’m going … it never fails.
A memory like that one certainly stays with you, but when I think about Antarctica, what I really remember is the feeling I’d get when we were out cruising in the rubber Zodiac boats late in the day, as it was just getting dark. There was not another soul around. It was just water, ice, the stars in the sky, and us. I’d say it was a magical experience, but it was more than that … it felt spiritual to me, and made me think about my place in the world, and our place in the world …
My favorite experience was seeing the Rockhopper penguins (the region’s smallest penguins), who thrive in great numbers on Antarctica’s various islands. Hopping from rock to rock along the craggy shorelines, stealing stones from one another’s nests to augment their own, busily preparing to lay their precious eggs—I could watch their hectic routine for hours, and as a matter of fact, I did.
If you’ve ever experienced Antarctica, I invite you to share your own impressions of it by commenting below this journal entry, or simply by emailing me at harriet@oattravel.com.
Harriet Lewis