Onboard Obsession is a new series that explores the can't-miss highlights of the best-loved cruises—from the shore excursions to book to the spa treatments too relaxing to pass up.
Our Antarctic Airways jet descends rapidly onto a harrowingly short gravel runway, coming to a surprisingly smooth stop. Realizing I’m holding my breath, I exhale deeply. I’m not alone. Flying into Antarctica is, well, breathtaking. I’ve come for an Antarctic Bridge cruise on board the 200-passenger, ultra-luxe Silver Endeavour. But, really, I’ve come for penguins.
An Antarctic Bridge cruise necessitates a long journey prior, involving three flights and overnights in Santiago and Punta Arenas, Chile. Yet, this type of voyage skips the two-day crossing each way of the potentially turbulent Drake Passage. Instead, we fly some two hours from Punta Arenas smack-dab into Antarctica. On this last flight I keep pinching myself; I’m going to see penguins again.
Garbed in expedition gear to deplane, we’re bussed close to waiting Zodiacs hugging the shoreline as smiling expedition team members wave. I see Silver Endeavour hovering in the distance—and then spot my first four penguins, chinstraps, on the pebbled beach, peering into the ocean. I would have jumped with joy if I wasn’t wearing heavy waterproof knee-high boots.
Goosebumps appear on my arms, and not just from freezing temperatures. I rip off my thick outer gloves so I can snap a picture. Chinstraps possess distinct white lines stretching across their faces, as if perpetually smiling. They make me grin, too.
I became entranced with penguins four years ago, on board Silversea sister ship Silver Cloud. We visited the South Georgia Islands, and I met my first macaronis, who primarily live in the sub-Antarctic islands. They look so different than other penguins, with spiky yellowy-orange crests emanating from their foreheads and extending horizontally. Here, I encounter one appearing to have a tantrum. He (or she) was melting down, squawking and shrieking, waving his flippers and violently shaking his head. The vivid-hued plumage blew in every direction in the wind. I could relate, not just because my untamable hair also blows in every direction in the wind. When I get upset and frustrated, I’m a foot-stomping, head-shaking, squawking fool. It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever felt simpatico with a bird.
Penguins permeate my nine-day Silver Endeavor cruise. On one standout day, absolute magic unfolds. We Zodiac to Paulet Island, landing askew on jagged, icy rocks. So much fresh snow has fallen here and ice lies beneath. Not far from shore, I fall backwards. I walk slowly after that tumble, leaning on trekking poles, my cheeks as red as my Silversea parka.
But I forget my embarrassment when I see them: Thousands of Adélie penguins and their baby chicks gathered on a sloping hill. These are but some of the 100,000 pairs of penguins on this tiny isle. They’re squawking, braying, flapping flippers, sharing parenting of new chicks. Some are sheltering babies, all fluffy gray coats and wide-eyed innocence. Others are waddling to the water to find fish and krill to feed their chicks and themselves.
They’re so loud I can barely hear my whoop of joy. I forgot they smell. Bad, like dead fish. Some have guano stains on their white bellies. I don’t care. This isn’t a zoo, it’s nature at its rawest and best.
Other passengers have trekked far past me, seeking other colonies. I am alone in this penguin world. I feel like someone dropped me into a Nat Geo documentary. Even the backdrop, snow-capped mountains and the bluest sky, looks picture-perfect. Snowflakes begin falling, swirling around me, settling on my sleeves and eyelashes. As a decades-long resident of Los Angeles, the flurries alone feel like cause enough for me to celebrate.
Despite the freezing temperatures, I don’t move for what feels like hours although in reality, it’s probably 45 minutes. So much to easily observe, as the penguins ignore me. I’m like the mountain before me; unmovable, harmless, part of the scenery.
The expedition team waves for us to return, but I don’t want to leave. This is a moment that I may never experience again. Plus, I feel protective. What will happen to these birds? Will they survive in this harsh environment, or will a leopard seal or orca call them dinner? The penguins, on the other hand, just keep doing their instinctive thing. They’re not worrying about the future; rather, they’re fully present. I finally turn away, grateful for nature’s reminder.
Finishing the cruise on board Silver Endeavour, I ogle penguins nearly daily, both ashore and on Zodiac explorations, sometimes while gawking at turquoise-hued ice floes in peculiar shapes reminiscent of a Salvador Dalí dreamscape. Excellent swimmers, penguins cannot breathe underwater. They must pop up for air, then resubmerge to continue hunting for food.
I also spot penguins when cozily ensconced on board. One indulgent afternoon, I’m soaking in a bubbling hot tub in a two-story glass-enclosed solarium with 270-degree views. Out darts three penguins, just beyond the glass.
With 24-hour daylight, penguin-sightings can even occur nightly. On a ship with floor-to-ceiling views nearly everywhere, I see them when sipping complimentary champagne and caviar in-suite, in lounges nibbling salmon mousse cones, at dinner in La Dame, distracting from the delicious modern French cuisine.
The last day onboard, I curl up on my stateroom couch wrapped in a plush Silversea bathrobe. As I savor a Pierre Marcolini dark chocolate square that appeared on my bed after turndown service, two penguins surface by my veranda. I may not be religious in the traditional sense, but I know that I found my heaven in Antarctica.