Antarctica is a place that can teach you about what you are really capable of, if you are open to learning from it. Right at the outset, we were told by our expedition team to disregard any set schedule—we were at the mercy of The White Continent. It would tell us where we needed to go, and when. With no internet and no itinerary, I welcomed the complete and total disconnect from the mainland and found myself able to stay more present and in the moment than on any other trip prior. I was there to surrender myself to Antarctica.
Back at the Santiago airport, my Dad had handed me his copy of “Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage” and said, “Here—read this. What these explorers did is beyond impressive.” My father’s wanderlust mirrors a lifetime of reading history books, awakening his insatiable need to see the places described on each page. He then passed that wanderlust on to me at a young age through annual summer road trips throughout the American West, inevitably transforming me into a world traveler in my own right. It was fitting, then, that our shared travel bucket list overlapped with the ultimate destination of all: Antarctica. This would be his seventh continent, my fifth, with 35 years between us, one tiny ship cabin for two weeks. We were new age explorers bound for the bottom of the earth.
Once we got our sea legs, we socialized with the 130 other well-traveled passengers from 18 different countries. There was a communal feeling of hunger for the unknown that permeated ship life.