Antarctica: Where Dreams Become Reality

Every great adventure begins with a single step, or in my case, an early flight from Fresno California on the Sunday after Thanksgiving, one of the busiest travel days of year (my bad for not realizing the dates). After connections through Dallas and a delayed long-haul flight to Buenos Aires, I finally arrived in South America, ready to begin what would become the most extraordinary experience of my life. I just didn't know it yet. Antarctica was my #1 Bucket List trip and that alone made it special, but I couldn't have known what was ahead.

Buenos Aires offered an enjoyable preview of what was to come. At the airport, I met fellow adventurers who would share this incredible journey: Robin and Bobby bursting with energy and travel stories; Jilda and Kathy, friends for years; Nancy and Brian, a travel blogger; and so many others all drawn by the same magnetic pull toward the White continent.

Little did I know that these strangers would become my "Penguin Posse", people I still text with almost daily, weeks later. When you experience something this profound together, you're bonded in a way that transcends typical travel friendships.

Arriving at Casa Linda, our overnight hotel stop, I savored a delicious glass of Malbec over lunch and felt the excitement building. Jilda, Kathy, and I walked to visit the famous Recoleta Cemetery where Eva Perón rests in an unassuming crypt amongst the ornate. This fascinating place where I could have wandered for hours among the elaborate mausoleums, the colorful houses of Buenos Aires, the harbor views from my hotel window, it all felt like the perfect overture to the symphony that awaited us.

Setting Sail: The Adventure Begins

Our Aerolineas Argentina charter flight the next morning headed south to Ushuaia, the Southernmost city on the planet, with just our group, which meant I collected an exit row window seat after takeoff, leaving my new friends Tony and Terry, from Cape Town, South Africa, comfortable in their own row. Before going forward with my story, I wanted to mention a few others I met: Jim, a widowed solo traveler from New York; Barbara traveling solo from Edmonton; Justin and Rob, a younger couple; Brittany and Chris; Kim from Atlanta, a retired optometrist on her first solo trip; Carl and CeCe from Encinitas, an wonderful couple who look decades younger than they are; the other 7 of the lucky 10 kayakers; and so many more! Out of a group of 90 onboard, there were quite a few solo travelers (for my solos who are fearful of being lonely). Each would become a friend over the next 10 days. We also became well acquainted with the expedition team, our wait staff, the bartenders, the cabin attendants, and others who tended to our every need like we were their own family and treated better than any other group ever on that ship.

Our first day on board was filled with sessions for meeting some of the Swan Hellenic team and of course the mandatory safety drills and briefings. That evening we met the full expedition team and an overview of the days to come as we began our sailing in the Drake Passage.

That first night in my cabin aboard the ship, I was quite cozy. My cabin was lovely, with a balcony and an electric fireplace which provided wonderful ambiance. The rocking and rolling of a relatively calm Drake Passage, an extremely comfortable bed, the knowledge that we were heading toward Antarctica, it all combined to create decent sleep! At breakfast I joked about the Drake, saying sometimes I felt like I was in the Exorcist movie, the wave bouncing me up out of bed like I was being levitated and then dropping me like a rock back to the mattress, or the never ending Los Angeles rolling earthquake. Although I was prepared, it wasn’t the “Drake Shake”, and I am grateful for that! Using my patch and a pressure bracelet, I felt no motion sickness, and for me that was a huge win.

Preparing for the White Continent

The approximately 36 hours of sailing from Ushuaia to the Antarctic Peninsula were filled with excitement and preparation. We had mandatory briefings about how to respectfully interact with the pristine Antarctic environment, every word making me more eager to see what awaited us. We were fitted for our enormous boots and parkas (mine was huge so they exchanged it for one that wasn’t quite as huge – but still too big IMO) and all our outdoor gear was meticulously inspected to ensure we wouldn't introduce any foreign materials to this protected ecosystem. This was called "Bio Security" and my red puffy ball on my winter hat was a casualty, too much fuzz!

There's something humbling about this process. You realize you're not just a tourist; you're a temporary guest in one of Earth's most sacred spaces. The responsibility of that began to settle into my bones. I was one of approximately 120,000 people able to visit Antarctica each year, a number that's grown from just 8,000 in the mid-1990s. The International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators (IAATO) manages tourism to minimize environmental impact, limiting ship size and landing numbers.

The educational sessions in the comfortable observation lounge were informative. We learned about using our iPhone to take great pictures, the birds we'd encounter as we sailed the Southern Ocean including storm petrels and albatrosses that never need land, which absolutely amazed me, particularly when I actually saw them outside my balcony hundreds of miles from land! We studied different penguin species, learned about whales, and understood the delicate ecosystem we were about to enter.

During these transit days, I kept scanning the horizon for the first sight of ice. In the afternoon we had our first “wildlife watch” out on the deck and saw some birds only. Antarctica is the coldest place on Earth, the lowest temperature ever recorded was -128.6°F at the Soviet Union's Vostok Station in 1983. We were arriving at the end of their spring, so our temps of 30’ F were balmy in comparison! The anticipation built with every nautical mile, but more than that, I felt myself beginning to quiet inside. The normal noise of daily life started to fade, facilitated by no cell service and poor internet quality. Something was opening in me, though I couldn't name it yet.

We also had to attend mandatory briefings on Zodiac landings, and if interested in kayaking, there was a briefing and sign up (yes please!).

First Glimpse: The Magic Reveals Itself

And then it happened. We arrived early and took our first Zodiac landing to Barrientos Island. The excitement among the passengers was at a fever pitch. We weren’t expecting to do a landing until the following day, so this was a truly pleasant and well received surprise.

The moment I saw my first Antarctic penguins, something shifted inside me. This was real. We were here, in one of the most remote and beautiful places on Earth. But it was more than that. Standing on Antarctic ground for the first time, my 5th continent, surrounded by creatures who have no fear of humans because they've never learned to fear us, watching them go about their lives completely unconcerned with our presence, something in me lit up. I was "meeting" those penguins. A day I dreamed about.

Kayaking with Giants: The Moment Everything Changed

After our first landing, I made my way back to my cabin, where I found a letter - I won the lottery! Yes, one of the 10 (who later became known as the Lucky Ten) who got to experience the first day of kayaking. With just 5 double kayaks, only 10 people per day could go! I didn't know yet how much I really won, but it turned out to be immeasurable.

We boarded the Zodiac with our kayaks in tow, partnered up (I was with Sally, a lovely younger woman from Seattle), and headed out onto the Antarctic waters of Charlotte Bay, filled with Krill (making it ideal for whale sightings). Our guide Alexis kept us safe and together as we paddled through a wonderland of ice and impossibility.

The whales came.

Not just one or two, dozens of them. Humpback whales surrounding us, surfacing, spouting, diving. I lost count, but I'd estimate at least 25-40 in various locations around our small flotilla of kayaks. Several came within 10 to 20 feet of us. Close enough to hear their breathing, their noises. Close enough to feel the spray from their blowholes. Close enough to look into the water and see their massive forms gliding beneath us.

And then the moment I'll carry with me forever. I was sitting quietly in my kayak when I glanced to my right. There in the crystal-clear water were bubbles rising to the surface. My heart jumped as I realized what was happening. A whale was going to surface less than 2 feet from my kayak! Startled, I let out a little scream.

I saw him under the water, massive and graceful and ancient, so close I could have reached out and touched him.

Time didn't just stop. It dissolved entirely. I didn't move a muscle.

In that moment, there was no me and whale. There was only presence. Only connection. Only this revered, impossible, perfect instant where a human and a humpback whale shared the same breath, the same water, the same existence.

I have been trying to put this experience into words since it happened. When the official photos came and I saw myself feet from a tail, it became truly real. That was me in that tiny kayak next to a massive whale. I wasn’t really scared, just awe-struck.

But here's what I've realized: some experiences are too big for words. Some moments mark you so deeply that they change the topography of your consciousness. You become someone different. You see the world in a different way. You understand your place in it differently.

It was chilly. It had started to rain. None of it mattered.

This became, in that instant, the number one life experience I've ever had (besides having grandchildren). I don't know anything else that has brought me more pure, overwhelming joy. But more than joy, it brought me something I'm still trying to name. Peace? Perspective? A sense of belonging to something vast and ancient and important?

All of that and something more. Something I will carry forever, cherishing just how lucky I am to have been there at that moment in time and space.

Days of Wonder and Deep Personal Retrospection

Days 4-8

Days meant nothing as we sailed, in fact, I had to look back to find out on the daily schedule what day this was. We arrived at Recess Cove and Meusnier Point. We took the Zodiacs out for a ride through the cove, looking for wildlife and enjoying the great outdoors. From there we landed at Meusnier Point and grabbed our trekking poles for some hiking.

We visited Cuverville Island with its large colony of Gentoo penguins, one of three species located in the area. We sailed on the Zodiacs before landing, everywhere we looked was filled with incredible beauty created by Mother Nature. The weather was absolutely picture-perfect, 34°F with hardly any clouds. Everywhere we turned, there were penguins. Waddling, swimming, calling out, sitting on eggs, waiting patiently. Sadly, we were about a week too soon for the hatching to begin.

I stood there for at least twenty minutes just watching them. Not photographing, just watching. Being present. Letting their reality sink into mine.

Penguins don't care about politics or social media or deadlines or any of the things we humans spend so much energy worrying about. They care about fish and family and survival and living their penguin lives as fully as possible. There's something profoundly educational about that.

Who doesn't love penguins? They're adorable, and seeing them in their natural habitat, doing what penguins do, fills you with joy. But also with fierce protectiveness. This place needs to be preserved. These creatures need to be protected. We have a responsibility to them.

That afternoon we sailed on to Paradise Bay, which is unique as the home Brown Station, an Argentine summer research base. As the researchers haven’t yet returned, it was inhabited primarily by our Penguin friends (who now have an iPhone, thanks to Barbara who dropped hers into the snow). We’ve joked about this infinitely, picturing a Penguin finding it and calling her.

What happened next can only be described as a moment of immense insanity when I participated in the Polar Plunge. Yes, this plump old lady squeezed into her bathing suit and hurled herself from the side of the ship into 30-degree water after some extreme peer pressure. Whether my life flashed before my eyes, I couldn't say. What I remember is plugging my nose, leaping into the frigid abyss, and rocketing back to the surface as the safety team shouted, "Give me your hands!" But my body had other ideas, it wouldn’t comply. My limbs felt like they belonged to someone else as I fumbled for the ladder with my foot, each second stretching into what felt like an eternity. Finally, out of the water, I dragged myself up the stairs, a string of colorful expletives punctuating my triumph.

Would I do it again? Heck yeah! I've got my Polar Plunge certificate and bragging rights to prove it. At this point, I'll fall back on my common mantra: "Pain is temporary, glory is forever."

The Lemaire Channel: A Cathedral of Ice

The captain took us through the Lemaire Channel, and this might have been the most breathtaking experience of all. The channel is narrow, flanked by towering mountains on both sides. We navigated slowly through waters dotted with icebergs, hoping to reach the Gerlache Strait beyond. The ice was too thick, so we turned around, but nobody minded. The views were spectacular.

The sun was perfect, hitting the mountain faces and creating shadows and light that seemed almost spiritual. We were in a cathedral built by nature over millions of years, and the silence, broken only by the ship's engines and the occasional crack of ice, felt sacred.

I'm not a particularly religious person, but I felt something in that channel. Something bigger than myself. Something eternal and integrative absorbing that beauty all around us.

We actually jumped up from our dinner to go see it. That's how incredible it was. Everyone on deck, cameras out, but mostly just standing in awe, many of us with our mouths gaping.

We saw whales in the distance. We heard the thunder-like sounds of ice calving from glaciers. We saw an avalanche. We floated through a landscape that has existed for millions of years and will exist for millions more, long after we're all gone.

That thought that Antarctica will continue long after us brought me such strange comfort. The world is bigger than our problems. Beauty persists. Nature endures.

The next morning's Zodiac adventure delivered us to Damoy Point, a small research station perched on the edge of wonder. Penguins clustered on the rocks where we landed, our tuxedoed welcome committee greeting us like old friends. But the real magic happened on the approach: penguins launched themselves into our wake, rising in and out of the water with such exuberance that I couldn't stop smiling.

Pure delight. When was the last time you felt it? The kind that bubbles up from somewhere deep inside and spills out before you can contain it. Antarctica gave me that feeling over and over. I'm convinced I added permanent smile lines to my face, and honestly? I'm good with that.

Later, we cruised to Port Lockroy, a working research station that houses the world's southernmost post office. The penguin population there? Massive. They were everywhere - waddling between buildings, squabbling over nesting sites, tending to their precious eggs. We moved carefully through their domain, respectful observers of nature's complex choreography.

Our Zodiac then traced the coastline around Jougla Point, revealing new angles of this frozen paradise and colonies of cormorants suspended like sentries on the rocks. That afternoon, the Port Lockroy team came aboard to share stories of their work. I decided right then: I want the job of the woman who counts penguins. They brought items for sale too, proceeds supporting the heritage trust that keeps this remote outpost alive.

The next day swept us into Fournier Bay for a Zodiac cruise around Anvers Island. Glaciers towered above us in shades of white and blue that seemed impossible, their ancient ice telling stories in cracks and crevasses. We scanned the horizon for wildlife, catching glimpses of distant whales breaching in the rough waters, seeing a few penguins, and of course some birds.

This turned out to be the wildest Zodiac ride of the trip. Seated up front (big mistake), I took a massive wave (well more than one). Soaked, I stayed cold for the duration of the cruise. The Zodiac bounced it way through the ice crunching as we went over it like it was nothing. That's when I discovered my snow pants weren't waterproof. Live and learn: the hard way, or in this case, the wet way.

But here's the thing: I still didn't care. Not even a little. I was totally immersed in the raw, untamed beauty that nature reserves for those of us lucky enough to show up for the performance.

We also sailed through the Melchoir Archipelago which is composed of nineteen small islands scattered like jewels across Dallman Bay, and that became our final Antarctic act. We wove between them in the afternoon light, the ship threading through narrow channels as we began our journey back toward the notorious Drake Passage.

Those of us gathered on deck stood in reverent silence, broken only by hushed "oohs" and breathless "ahhs." We were drinking in the last icebergs glowing in the slanted sun, the final glimpses of paradise. Every moment felt cherished, knowing that our time in this frozen cathedral was slipping away. We lingered, savoring every last second among the ice and the incredible beauty that is Antarctica.

The return voyage through the Drake Passage proved a bit less forgiving than our initial crossing. In the dining room, waves blasted against the windows, and we laughed it off, (well sort of) holding our wine glasses tighter than normal. Determined not to let a little maritime chaos dampen our spirits, we gathered in the lounge for the evening’s entertainment. The swells turned our attempts at dancing into something between comedy and bedlam, the ship's rocking tossing us around like rag dolls. We must have looked absolutely ridiculous, but we laughed anyway, because what else can you do when the Drake Passage crashes your party? (Don't worry, that video will make it on the show!)

Antarctica: Beauty That Breaks You Open

How do you describe Antarctica? How do you put into words something that transcends ordinary words?

I've been home for more than 3 weeks now, and I still haven't fully processed what I experienced. I'll be going about my day, and suddenly I'm back there, floating among icebergs, and I stop whatever I'm doing because the weight of it, the beauty, the profound gift of having been there, savoring the memory.

I find myself feeling emotional as I write this, as I go through my volume of pictures and video, and plan for my next episode of my show. Not from sadness, but from the overwhelming beauty of it. From gratitude. From the sheer impossibility that such places still exist in our world and I was able to see it firsthand.

The mountains rise from the sea, majestic and snow-covered, their peaks touching impossibly blue skies. Glaciers tumble down slopes in frozen rivers of white and that ethereal, iridescent blue that appears when light penetrates ancient ice. Icebergs float past, some small, some the size of buildings, carved by nature into shapes that make you stop and stare and wonder. Realizing that each time someone else sees that it will look unique.

The sky…The kind of blue that makes you wonder if you've ever really seen blue before. And the water, a deep, rich blue that contrasts with the white ice and creates scenes so perfect they seem like paintings.

Except they're real. Gloriously, magnificently, impossibly real.

Everywhere you look beauty. Constant, overwhelming, heart-stopping beauty that makes you feel small and significant at the same time. Small because you're just one tiny human in this vast wilderness. Significant because you're here, observing this, being part of this moment in Earth's long story.

The People Who Became Family

Throughout this journey, the Penguin Posse was coming together, led by the "bad" penguins, Jilda and Kathy, who delighted everyone with their penguin hats. Each person bringing their joy of travel, years of personal travel experiences, locations from around the world, the common thread of an adventurous spirit, all of that created the perfect environment for friendships to blossom.

We text regularly now. We share photos. We reminisce. But more than that, we check in on each other. We understand something about each other that's hard to explain to people who weren't there. We are thinking about where we all might go next.

When you experience something this profound together, you're connected in a way that transcends typical friendships. We saw each other transformed. We witnessed each other's laughter and awe. We held space for each other's wonder.

Shared joy is amplified joy. Shared beauty becomes unity.

Why This Matters: The Urgency of Going Now

Let me be honest about something important: Antarctica is a physical journey. Beyond the amount of travel to get there, there's climbing in and out of Zodiacs multiple times a day. There's walking on uneven, sometimes slippery terrain. There's standing on rocking boats or disembarking in water. There's cold and wind. The expedition crew is extremely helpful, and trekking poles are readily available at each Zodiac landing, but being ambulatory is necessary, and your physician will need to clear you to go, specific to that part of the physicality. This trip is not a spectator sport, it is a substantially active journey.

However, on the positive side, I saw people in their late 70’s doing this magnificently. I saw people who were not quite fit, but adventurous, handling everything fairly well. But I also saw people stretching themselves a bit, perhaps wishing they had gone earlier, but doing it just the same! I was one of those people.

Here's what I need you to hear: if you're dreaming of Antarctica, go now. Go while you can. Go while your eyes can still see, your knees work, your balance is good and you can climb in and out of Zodiac boats without too much help.

My advice is don't wait for the "perfect time." Don't wait until you've checked off other items on your bucket list.

Go now before time passes and things change. Because someday has a way of never arriving, and this experience, this profound, soul-changing, perspective-shifting experience, deserves to happen while you can fully embrace it.

The Transformation I'm Still Discovering

Sometimes I'll be at my desk working, and I'll suddenly remember floating in that kayak with the whale beneath me, and I must stop. The memory is so powerful it demands my full attention. My breath catches. And I sit with it, this enormous, beautiful thing that happened to me. It’s taken me longer to even write this because it is so hard to put this experience, and the daily thoughts into words!

I text the Penguin Posse: "Are you guys still processing this too?" And they always say yes. We're all still there in some way. We're all still changed.

What changed exactly? I'm not entirely sure. But I'm more patient now. More present. More grateful. More aware of my place in the larger web of life. More committed to protecting wild places. More convinced that beauty matters, that nature matters, which preserving these sacred spaces might be the most important work we can do.

My photos are beautiful. But they're not it. They're not the thing itself. The thing itself lives in my body now, in my cells, in my soul. It's the feeling of cold Antarctic air on my face. The sound of penguins calling. The sight of a whale's eye looking at me through clear water. The immensity of silence in the Lemaire Channel. The connection I felt to the people I shared it with.

Antarctica gave me something I'm still discovering. And I suspect I'll be discovering it for the rest of my life.

The Call You Need to Answer

If you're considering Antarctica, my advice is simple and urgent: Go. Just go. Go now.

Yes, it's a journey to get there. Yes, it requires planning and preparation. Yes, it's an investment of time and money and physical energy.

But you'll witness beauty that defies description. You'll see whales surface so close you could touch them. You'll watch penguins waddle across rocks with their adorable, clumsy grace. You'll float past ice sculptures carved by nature over hundreds if not thousands of years. You'll feel more alive and more connected to our planet than ever before. We must be good stewards.

And you'll be changed. Profoundly, and likely permanently changed.

Antarctica isn't just a destination. It's a journey to the end of the Earth that somehow takes you to the center of yourself. It's a reminder of what's still wild and pristine in our world, and what's still wild and pristine in your own soul.

Only 1.5% of the world's population ever gets to experience Antarctica. Out of everyone who has ever lived, only a tiny fraction will stand on that continent. Only a handful will feel the spray from a whale's blowhole. Only a select few will hear the thunderous crack of a glacier calving.

Will you be one of them?

I floated in a kayak surrounded by humpback whales. I stood on the Antarctic continent itself. I watched the sun glint off ancient glaciers. I photographed penguins living their best penguin lives, while I was living mine.

And I became someone different.

I'm still integrating what happened to me down there at the bottom of the world. I'm still grateful beyond words that I said yes to this journey.

It's a knowing. A bone-deep understanding that I'm part of something vast and interconnected and ancient. That beauty matters. That wildness matters. That some experiences are so powerful they rearrange your internal landscape.

Antarctica gave me the deepest, most life-changing experience I've ever had. It showed me beauty beyond anything I imagined possible. It reminded me that Earth still has wild places worth protecting at all costs.

And it taught me that the best time to live fully, to embrace adventure, to say yes to the extraordinary, is now. Right now. Before you can't anymore.

Antarctica is waiting. The white continent is calling. And trust me, you need to answer that call while you still can.

The penguins are waiting. The whales are there. The ice cathedrals stand ready.

Your Penguin Posse is out there, waiting to meet you.

And the version of yourself that Antarctica will reveal? It's waiting.

Your soul will thank you.

Mine still does, every single day.

Note: My January episode of Senior Travel Adventures will feature the pictures and videos of this experience, so be sure to watch! Link will be posted soon.

If you are interested, I sailed with Swan Hellenic on the SH Minerva. Disclaimer: I did receive a free spa treatment, upgraded internet, and the kayak excursion complementary as they recognized me as media after I boarded, but I paid full price for the trip through Polar Adventure Company. I am also writing a short story about the ship and interviewed some of the staff, so stay tuned for that! Swan Hellenic was outstanding in every way, 10/10. I highly recommend them and hope to sail with them again to other parts of the globe.

Some pictures were taken by Werner Kruse on behalf of Swan Hellenic.