The one destination no traveller can ever be fully prepared for

Their to-do list for becoming Antarctica-ready is extensive. At the top is completing a medical form confirming they are fit to travel to the remote White Continent.

"You don't think I'm just going to sign this, do you? You're over 50 – anything could happen," says their GP, before ordering a blood test and an ECG to check for various heart conditions.

They pass the tests with flying colors, but the GP is right about one thing: something unexpected does happen. There’s no hint of it when they land in Buenos Aires, Argentina, practically buzzing with excitement. They're focused on finding tango, a glass of Malbec, and a mouth-watering steak before getting up at 2:30 AM to catch the early morning charter flight 3000 kilometers south to Ushuaia, the world’s southern city.

As Argentina’s pancake-flat pampas crumples and fractures into the snow-capped peaks and sparkling fjords of the Tierra del Fuego archipelago, any fatigue from the short night's sleep evaporates. Descending into Ushuaia, they spot the dock where their expedition ship, the hybrid-powered MS Fridtjof Nansen, is preparing for their arrival.

Before boarding, they visit nearby Tierra del Fuego National Park and the End of the World Post Office perched on a short rickety pier. The shanty is so crowded that they don’t linger, planning instead to send postcards from Antarctica’s Penguin Post Office.

Their jaunt includes inspecting a beaver dam and glimpsing a curious Arctic fox, which only whets their appetite for more wildlife.

At last, they board and glide away from frosty Ushuaia down the Beagle Channel. Swaddled in their warmest gear, they head to the deck to sip a pink cocktail. Raising it to the afternoon sun, they toast to seeing the world anew through rose-colored glasses.

By the next morning, those glasses have slipped right off, thanks to the “Drake shake.” The swell is up on the Drake Passage – one of the world’s roughest ocean crossings – pinning them to the bed. Blissfully unaware, they miss the mandatory safety briefing for sea-kayaking (rookie mistake – and if they ever get a second chance, they’d apply an anti-nausea patch before setting sail).

The sea mellows on day two; icebergs shimmer into view. Distant white blobs don’t make great photos, but they can’t help snapping away. Soon enough, icebergs appear more frequently and at closer range; only the most spectacular are immortalized in pixels. On board, the 335 passengers are organized into animal groups to facilitate Zodiac shore transfers. They become a Cape petrel, a common seabird in these parts that has a fondness for following ships.

By the time they reach Brown Station on the Antarctic Peninsula, they’ve adapted to nature’s rhythms. It’s still twilight when they hit the sack, but their cabins’ blackout curtains (cleverly edged with magnets) make it easier to fall asleep and help the ship avoid bird strikes.

Brown, an Argentinian research station, is unoccupied when they visit early in the cruising season, but it has a fascinating history. In 1984, the station’s doctor was ordered to stay on for the winter. To say he was unhappy is an understatement – he torched the original facilities, and station personnel were duly rescued.

Unlike the bad doctor, they can’t wait to step ashore at this stunning spot in aptly named Paradise Bay. The Nansen’s expedition team has pegged a path for them to follow. It’s a steep scramble up the first few steps hacked into the snow, but using two trekking poles helps keep them upright. When they reconvene with fellow Cape petrels (after pausing at a penguin “highway” to allow the waddling birds right of way), most of them are emotional and a little teary that they’ve stepped onto their seventh continent.

Gentoo penguins have gathered here to build their pebble nests and breed, but it’s too early to see chicks or experience the pungent smell of penguin poo that late-season cruisers often mention. Two crabeater seals laze in the distance. Some lucky passengers camp overnight on a small offshore island (tip: if you’re keen but relegated to the waiting list, complete the safety briefing in case there’s a last-minute dropout).

The next day brings their final landing – although they don’t know this yet. The Cape petrels, last to go ashore yesterday, are first to reach Petermann Island in the Wilhelm Archipelago. Tramping through cotton-ball snow, they wonder if early explorers ever felt overwhelmed by the beauty. Their gloves stay stuffed in their pocket on this sunshiny day (they felt colder back in Ushuaia). Penguins are belly-sliding along their thoroughfares, feeding, and fornicating (who wouldn’t want to be a penguin in November?).

Mostly, they see gentoos, although several Adelies, Antarctica’s littlest penguin species, are also present. As they return to the ship, penguins porpoise through the water alongside them, demonstrating their astonishing speed in their natural environment. “I don’t ever want to go to a zoo again,” says a passenger, voicing their thoughts.

With pack ice preventing a third-day shore landing, they join a science-boat outing to collect water samples and see the Secchi disk water-visibility technique in action. Port Lockroy’s Penguin Post Office team also boards the ship to talk about life at their base and sell souvenirs.

It’s still a sensational day. They’ve slid right past icebergs with electric-blue innards (the disco color is the result of air bubbles, which can interfere with the passage of light, being squeezed out of dense ice).

Throughout their journey, passengers gravitate to the MS Fridtjof Nansen’s Science Centre.

Geeking-out here takes many forms, from peering into microscopes to examine water samples for tiny phytoplankton to chatting with the multidisciplinary science team members aboard the ship.

Their journey includes an Australian expert on marine mammals, Connor McGarry, who grew up watching migrating whales from his family’s balcony near Busselton, Western Australia. “Being in a small community, you’d see blows and ring your neighbors,” he says.

Between giving lectures for passengers, he also collects data on the abundance, distribution, and behavior of ice-loving seals – Weddell, crabeater, and leopard – while noting their surrounding ice conditions. This, he says, will help scientists understand how seal populations and their distribution might change or overlap as sea ice inevitably changes.

Passengers can also check a wildlife list pinned to the wall to see what animal and bird species have been clocked during their journey and inspect “green stay” and food-waste charts that document daily on-board sustainability efforts.

For each day that a passenger declines housekeeping services, 50 euro cents is donated to the ship's Foundation. These funds have supported organizations with projects ranging from restoring Norwegian sea-kelp forests and refurbishing a Greenland museum to using AI for whale science interpretation.

The ship’s hotel manager, Gabriela Murara da Rocha, says green-stay numbers rise on rough sea days and sea days towards each cruise’s end when passengers are tired. Food waste calculation takes into account both excess production from the kitchen and leftovers from plates – which is higher on nights when there’s a buffet for dinner.

From their dining room window seat that night, they’re hypnotized by the Lemaire Channel’s silky waters, ruffling like silver taffeta in the ship’s wake.

Suddenly, dinner is interrupted: a surprise announcement crackles through the loudspeakers. Due to an onboard medical emergency, they’re returning immediately to Ushuaia. Antarctica is unpredictable – the human body even more so – yet it’s a disappointment. Some of them will never step foot on the continent again.

In a daze, they drift to the open deck, where nature heaps consolation prizes upon them. Orcas are frolicking among the ice floes, as if to bid them farewell, and the White Continent is completely colored-in thanks to a sunset that doesn’t know the meaning of restraint.