After three hectic weeks living the Selina digital nomad life in Bogota, Medellin and Cartegena, it was time to pause the bean counting, down tools, and power off the laptops.  It’s like that Friday feeling, only better – because we knew when Monday came around, we’d still have a week’s holiday left.  Big smiles all around.

First up was Tayrona National Park, a tropical paradise with Caribbean beaches and lush rainforest.  We were staying at Finca Barlovento, an upscale lodge style retreat where the River Pledras meets the sea.  A perfect oasis to spend Christmas.  

We embraced Christmas Day sunrise with an early romantic stroll on the beach.  We chilled out in the afternoon with cocktails by the pool.  And my Christmas treat was the most awesome full body massage in an open cabana, surrounded by nature.  The squawking and screeching of the resident parrots only added to the ambience.  In fact it reminded me of the time in Zimbabwe when I had a massage in similar circumstances, a rare pampering treat while traveling.  Half naked and half asleep at the end of the massage, that time I was rudely awakened by a mischievous playful lion cub wanting in on the action.

It was so relaxing to wind down and escape completely, feeling a long long way from the hectic hurried normality of the day to day.  Despite the remote isolation of the place, I was very pleased to find they had wifi.  We got to speak to most of the rellies to say hi and Merry Christmas.  And of course, no Christmas is complete without Love Actually, downloaded to the iPad and watched in bed with a baileys.

Next up was Minca, a tiny off-the-beaten-path mountain village.  

Minca is gradually becoming more on-the-beaten-path for hip backpackers and those in the know, which I guess includes us.  Darren had booked us into a rather unusual Airbnb – a tree house.  Or more accurately, a tree tower.  And I have to say he rather excelled himself.  It was quite the structure – crafted from bamboo, it resembled a tall mushroom (think very large very tall mushroom) with a flamboyant leaf-shaped roof.

From the ground-level open bathroom (with running hot water), a narrow winding staircase took us up to the next level, minimally yet tastefully decked out.  Above that, the king sized bed was draped with a mossie net like a grand four-poster, and a French press was on standby for morning coffee. The jungle views were expansive and impressive, whether we enjoyed them seated on the high top bar stools, relaxing horizontally in the hammock, or splashing around in the open shower.

There was a river nearby for soaking in.  While Darren immersed himself in the experience and the water, I enjoyed a little paddle, for the cool relief it gave to my swollen bite-infested ankles. We also used a local guide to accompany us on a hike to some of Minca’s hidden waterfalls.

Leaving Minca behind, we had a l-o-n-g journey ahead of us to get to Bucaramanga.  Three reasons to go to Bucaramanga – one, because Diego, Darren’s Columbian colleague lived there; two – there’s not really anywhere else remotely suitable for tourists to stay overnight between Minca and Bogota; and three – because it’s just such a cool name!

The hire car we picked up in Cartagena hadn’t been put to the test much as yet.  Not by us anyway – I have to say it’s the most beat up, dented, dinted, scraped, scratched and bashed up excuse for a hire car I’ve ever seen.  I guess they didn’t bother fixing anything ‘cosmetic’.

We were reliably informed by Waze that our 330 mile journey would take us at least 11 hours.  True story.  Think narrow busy roads where you take your life in your hands every step of the way.  There is no concept of a bypass so every town and every village involved endless speed bumps, hawkers stepping into the road selling all sorts of random stuff, and mopeds whizzing by any which way.  Then came the mountain roads – very scenic but steep and windy with trucks crawling at snail’s pace, cars overtaking on blind corners, and cruel potholes poised to take you out ninja-style.

Somehow, 12 hours later, we made it in one piece (well, we were both in one piece – the car was almost in one piece, something did fall off after one of those pothole assassinations).  A few deep breaths and beers with Diego were needed for normality to be restored.  

The last stop on our Columbia holiday was Barichara, one of the prettiest villages in the country.  Think colonial architecture with sandstone churches, whitewashed houses with red tile roofs and brightly painted doors, and narrow cobbled streets.  It reminded me very much of a Spanish village.

Those narrow cobbled streets posed their own particular challenge as we tried to navigate to the Trip Monkey hostel we were staying at.  Google Maps was no use, it just wasn’t working.  Waze was missing at least half the streets.  And Apple Maps made up its own imaginary streets.  Between them all, we ended up at a dead end along what we’d thought was a one way street.  A brief yelling match and a 7 point turn was all it took to resolve 🙂 

The initial intention was for Darren to do some mountain biking but the worlds didn’t align and he was stuck with me and a hike through the beautiful surrounding countryside.  We had stunning mountain views the whole way, interrupted only by the local ‘wildlife’ – a herd of cows, excited to be getting their lunch (those funny cows with humps on their backs), and some goats on leashes, out and about for their daily walk.

We arrived into the neighboring village of Guane with low expectations, which it massively exceeded.  It was another delightfully pretty whitewashed village, with the most laid back understated mirador bar. Give me a beer with a view and some sun and you have one very happy chick.

And there you have it… our Christmas in Columbia was brought to a close in the paradise of Guane. All that was left was a New Years Eve meal (and an early night) at the Marriott in Bogota before our early morning flight home. As we presented our American passports (for the first time flying into the US as American citizens), we were greeted with a smile and a ”Welcome Home!” 🙂

Another flight, another Columbian city and another heat upgrade.  Our final week in the run up to Christmas was in Cartagena and we felt the tropical Caribbean heat as soon as we stepped off the plane.  The most touristy destination so far, Cartagena really had a relaxed holiday vibe.

We were staying at, yes you guessed it, another Selina.  In addition to the standard co-working area, this one boasted a rooftop terrace with a classic sea view, a taco bar (and beverage bar) and a pool.  The perfect place for a leisurely breakfast, a sundowner cocktail, or a video call for the work Christmas party.

Selina was situated in the Getsemani neighborhood, which boasted a lively street art scene.  

We were but a stone’s throw from the walled Old Town, we just had to negotiate the Christmas decorations along the way – all quiet in the heat and humidity of the midday sun but oh so mobbed at night.  

The Old Town, founded in the sixteenth century, was a maze of cobbled alleyways amongst colorful colonial buildings.  Walking the historic city walls, both here and around the San Felipe de Barajas fort, gave us an opportunity to immerse ourselves in the history and culture of the place, while taking in the impressive architecture.

With both the Old Town and Getsemani on our doorstep, there was no shortage of bars and restaurants to check out.

And just like that, it was Friday 23rd December and our last night in Cartagena. We had that fabulous ‘Happy Friday, Happy Christmas, no more work til next year’ wind-down feeling. What better way to indulge that feeling than by watching the sun go down over a margarita.

To mix things up a bit, I ordered a grand sounding cocktail with mezcal, ginger, gin and tonic. It was served in a golden goblet nearly as big as my head.

After that, it was pretty much game over. We politely thanked the locals on the way out. Who quite frankly looked like they’d seen better days, a little on the pale and skinny side.

Christmas in Columbia…? Bring it on!

Having somewhat recovered from the onslaught of returning to work in a busy period, we moved on from Columbia’s capital to its second largest city – Medellin.  Medellin is known as ‘the City of Eternal Spring’ because of its perfect climate (although my sun-loving self couldn’t help but wonder if there’s a City of Endless Summer somewhere in the world that might be more up my street).  Upon landing in Medellin, I was pleasantly surprised to find it much warmer than in Bogota.

Another thing that Medellin, and indeed Columbia, is known for is its friendly people.  We could attest to a positive vibe so far but what really makes the difference is the chance to get to know some of the locals.  As luck would have it, Darren had a Colombian colleague from work, Diego, who didn’t live in Medellin but a five hour drive away.  Diego and his mum had benevolently offered to meet up with us and be our travel hosts for the weekend.  We were greeted at the airport like long lost friends and the welcoming hospitality continued from there.

In the 80s and 90s, Medellin was considered the most dangerous city in the world, with urban war declared between drug cartels leading to violence and terror on the streets.  District 13 in particular was one of the poorer barrio communities that embodied Pablo Escobar’s Medellin.  Further political troubles ensued in the early 2000s but over the last twenty years, this place has seriously reinvented itself.  

With a Spanish speaking local guide (and Diego for handy translation!), we spent a good few hours touring District 13, learning about the troubled history and experiencing what it had now become.  The community was vibrant and buzzing, street dancers shaking their booty and anything else they could with such vigor and energy.  

There was also a flourishing art scene, with a super cool glow in the dark genre.  My inner 80s chick (the one of mismatched fluorescent socks and sweatbands) was awakened; I was in my element.

Urban escalators took us into the heart of District 13. Just re-read that sentence one more time. I mean there were actually escalators in the streets, i.e. outdoors, leading up the steep valley slopes.  We could probably do with some of those in Scarborough!  The rooftop view down over the city and the forested hillsides really topped off the afternoon.

At the other end of town, they’ve gone one better than escalators with a Metrocable system – six different lines of gondola style cable cars extending up the hillsides, providing transportation to the masses.

A popular day trip from Medellin is the nearby town of Guatape, less than 50 miles away.  But when it comes to Columbia, you have to re-think your expectations on times and distances.  This would supposedly be a two hour jaunt each way.  But that was before they threw in some roadworks.  Add to that the creativity of Waze’s driving app and we found ourselves pootling along narrow winding dirt roads in the back of beyond for three hours.  Diego, as designated driver, had the job of avoiding potholes and rocks and dogs, while keeping his fingers crossed that his car would make it.  Safely tucked away on the back seat, I didn’t mind the country scenery and colorful wildflowers one bit.

For some time as we approached Guatape, we could see the iconic granite rock formation, el Piedra del Penol towering 200m above its surroundings.  

The rock is nestled amongst lakes and rolling hills, a very pretty area indeed.  We made it up the 700+ steps up the side of the rock to amazing views.  It was the coming down that finished me off.  This brought on a bout of ‘jelly legs’, which I think needs no further description.  Luckily, lunch with a view was right around the corner.

Spending a week working in Medellin was just awesome.  Our home for the week was another Selina – so co-working, hotel, cafe and nightlife all in one.  We were based in the affluent El Poblado area, surrounded by chic cafes (and indeed they redeemed themselves on the coffee front after a poor initial showing in Bogota), cosmopolitan restaurants, museums, shopping, and boutique hotels.  And all this was immersed in rainforest greenery, with native trees, tropical plants, bamboo and palms providing green corridors of shade.  Like a city and a jungle at the same time.

Darren’s persistence in negotiating the most convoluted baffling booking process ever eventually scored us a reservation at the fine dining El Cielo restaurant in Medellin.  The executive chef, Juanma, is somewhat of an icon in the gastronomic world, with Michelin stars for his unique culinary experiences.  

I don’t have the time to walk you through all 18 courses of our tasting experience here; suffice to say an experience it was.  A phenomenal one.  OK, maybe just a little insight into one of our favorite courses.

Note, we already had clean hands from a previous table-side hand washing ritual, followed by a few courses that involved some hand-food interaction.  At this point, we were presented with large bowls on the table in front of us and I was requested to remove my rings.  With our hands cupped over our respective bowls, the waitress poured warm melted 70% chocolate from a height into and onto our hands, some of it dripping teasingly into the bowl below.  We ‘washed’ our hands in the slick chocolate, to which was added generous spoonfuls of sweetened coffee grains.  This was designed to evoke a joyful childhood sensation of playing in a sandpit!  There was a seductive cacao aroma in the air as we massaged the silky smooth chocolate and the fine grains of coffee ‘sand’ into our hands, and only then were we invited to taste and lick the deliciousness from our hands.  I have to tell you… probably the best chocolate I’ve ever tasted.  We both did a very decent job of licking our hands clean until the waitress returned with a jug of warm water to finish the job.  

And now you see why I don’t have the time to cover all the courses of ‘La Experiencia’!

Not quite to the same level of gastronomic delights as El Cielo, but there was no shortage of great food and drink across El Poblado.

By this time, we were halfway into December and it wasn’t feeling very Christmassy.  I rather like to be inundated by festive Christmas songs, decorations and lights in the run up to the big day – but the samba beat was definitely winning out against Chris Rea.  

We tried to address this with a visit to the Christmas lights at Parque de la Luz in Medellin. As it turns out, Christmas in Columbia isn’t all about Christmas trees, snowmen and Santa Claus.  Time to readjust our expectations and just enjoy the lights.  Quite spectacular lights at that, although I struggled to quite dig the Disney Encanto theme, all boats, flowers, and larger than life characters.  

All in, we managed to fit a huge amount into our Medellin visit.  And we’d go back in a heartbeat.  If Columbia is even remotely on your radar, then the City of Eternal Spring is where it’s at. Oh and give me a heads up if you’re going, I’ve got a favor to ask… there’s a certain denim jacket back there with my name on it.

South America sounds kind of close to North America.  Believe me, it is not.  What it also is not is due south of North America, although in my simplified mind that’s exactly where it was.  Guess it’s a while since I looked at a globe.  Not only that, South America is massive, and when you’re all the way down in the south of the South, it’s a long long way not only to Tipperary but also to California.  The answer: break up the return journey.

Work restrictions limited our choices, but one country stood out as being a promising option – no work permits needed and pretty much as close to our time zone as we could get in South America.  It also wasn’t on our previous 2003 global adventure itinerary and so was new to us: Columbia.

I have to admit when Darren first proposed Columbia I was a tad skeptical.  Guns and drugs and gangs and shootings.  An unsafe place where we could be robbed at gunpoint, umm, no thanks.  I was assured that my impressions of the country were at best outdated.  The country had come a long way since the days of Pablo Escobar and we’d be just fine.  And just like that, we were going to Columbia.  The plan: to work a week in Bogota, work a week in Medellin, work a week in Cartagena, and finish up with a week’s vacation (somewhere in Columbia) over Christmas, flying back in January to start the new year at home.

Bogota was all a bit of a blur honestly.  After leaving the ship in Ushuaia and flying north, we had a long layover in Buenos Aires and then an overnight flight to Bogota. We rocked up all bleary eyed ready to start work on a Tuesday morning.  Our destination for the week: Selina – the Digital Nomad Hotel Of The Future (according to Forbes).  Beyond the promised creative living and working environment, we were actually very pleased to be greeted with an included breakfast, random though it was.

Also rather impressive was the proximity of Selina to the nearest brewery.  Literally right next door.

So we made it there and not too much further honestly. Although we did partake in the excellent local restaurant scene, with a nice meal out or two.  

And we embraced the Selina lifestyle where our hectic working days blurred traditional boundaries with coffee shops, bars, and the World Cup final. Good job we were so tired when we went to bed for when the late night live music finally ended, the DJ kicked it up a notch. The paper thin walls did little to keep the tunes confined. The Latin salsa beat ran through my head as I drifted off, music and sleep forging an alternate dream-state where penguins pirouetted with footballs in my head and formed a drug-fuelled conga to party the night away.

Our Bogota visit coincided with a national holiday on 7th December: The Day of the Little Candles.  Unofficially, this marks the start of the Christmas season by…. you guessed it, lighting candles.  I’m sure it’s a very lovely and traditional way to bring family and friends together to embrace the upcoming festivities.  For us having very recently arrived in a foreign country, it was a somewhat subdued affair on the hotel front doorstep.  After all, it doesn’t take very long to light a candle.

By the end of the week, we had recovered sufficiently to spend a little time before work doing something touristy.  And the most touristy thing to do in Bogota is take the funicular up the Montserrat mountain that dominates the city.  

When you’re immersed at ground level, the hustle and bustle of the city is all-consuming.  There’s a sense of urgency peppered with beeping and honking of impatient traffic, weaving of motorbikes, and yelling of street side vendors.  The funicular on the other hand took us into a different world.  The views were breathtaking and the change of pace like a weight off our shoulders. For the first time we were able to “see” Bogota.

Speaking of Christmas decorations, they were very much getting into the spirit of Christmas up this mountain. Well, they had decorations with lights (it really was so very tempting to come back at night) but they were not not your average traditional Christmas decorations. More of a jungle theme going on. We were literally surrounded by colorful monkeys, bears, snakes and anteaters.

They also had various effigy re-enactments of scenes from the New Testament featuring Jesus Christ. Not in the spirit of Christmas, these were permanent statues. Funny enough, they didn’t seem out of place surrounded by tropical plants and thick rainforest – it added an air of pensive tranquility as we wandered the grounds. I didn’t even mind the Christmas lights draped tastefully across the scenes.

Although I feel they went a step too far when they tried to marry the religious statues with the jungle flora and fauna. And there you have it… my overarching memories of Bogota are this series of ”Jesus and the [random animal]”.

After five of the most memorable days of our lives, all that remained of our Antarctic adventure was the return journey through the Drake Passage.  The swaying and the side to side shuffling along corridors was back.   The nausea was kept at bay by the sea-sickness patches, replaced with a resigned sleepiness.  In fact it was a welcome guilty pleasure to catch up on some rest after such a hectic week.

Meanwhile, my teddy bear was having the time of his life.  During the cruise while we were off galavanting, he’d been happily amusing himself with iridescent sea shells, just for the fun of it.  On another evening, we’d returned to our suite after dinner only to hear from outside the door that a movie was playing in our cabin.  Curiouser and curiouser.  We stepped in tentatively… Turns out my bear was in his element, sprawled out on the bed like a furry Homer Simpson with popcorn and beer, watching a Disney movie.  Having the time of his life.  And finally as we forged northward leaving Antarctica far behind, here he was – the center of attention, loving it up on our crisp white duvet.

And then in true Seabourn style, the team totally pulled it out of the bag on the last evening at the Officer’s Epicurean event out on deck.  The waters had calmed throughout the afternoon and as the Venture breezed northward through the Beagle channel, we were happy to lay our eyes on land again.  We ensconced ourselves at the open patio bar to take it all in.  One of those “the holiday’s not quite over, gonna make the most of it” moments.  Chatting with bar tenders and passengers alike.  There seemed to be some untold affinity between those who’ve visited Antarctica: a shared dream, a mutual respect.

We got caught up in the set up of the evenings proceedings, as the staff busied themselves with the set up of cocktails and hors d’ouvres.  Out came the caviar, smoked salmon, and leg of jamon ready to carve.  And out came the whisky and bitters for the Old Fashioneds.  Along with the centerpiece of a perfect 1,000 year old mini Antarctic iceberg.  Just in case you have any doubt precisely which continent you just visited.  This is one time I absolutely want ice in my drink, thank you very much.

It is not lost on me that Antarctica is something lifelong dreams are made of.  I feel intensely privileged that we were able to do this trip and I’m humbled by the experience.  Wildlife does that to me.  Yes, even penguins.  Absolutely penguins.  Penguins with their comedy antics, where waddling inevitably ends up with a face plant. (There’s a life lesson there somewhere I’m sure).  It’s not about ‘seeing’ something and ticking it off.  It’s the watching and waiting, it’s experiencing, and it’s just being there and enjoying the moment.  Or moments.

And the final word – or photo(s) – goes to Daniel Fox the professional photographer.  I’ve featured a few of his pics from our cruise in the blogs already.  There’s a few that didn’t quite make it, but it would be a shame not to share.  So the last little round up – Photos by Daniel; Collages by moi!

When I was discussing this upcoming trip with my mum way before we even set foot on the continent, she asked what we’d do in Antarctica, questioning what was at the ports.   T-shirt and tat shops, restaurants and bars?  I scoffed at the idea of any built up retail establishments and patiently explained we wouldn’t be going to any “ports” as such.  And then we rocked up at Port Lockroy.

Port Lockroy is home to the world’s most southerly post office.  It’s also the most remote.  Hardly the Harrods of Antarctica but nevertheless, real people live here – staffing the post office, adjacent shop and museum.  A group of four British ladies had arrived a week or so earlier than us, having beaten thousands of other hopeful candidates to run the place over the Antarctic summer.  (I can’t help but wonder what that job interview entailed.  Presumably took place in the frozen aisle of the local supermarket.)  

Within a few days of their arrival, the faintest whiff of the promised Antarctic summer was whisked away in a snowstorm.  The 500 breeding pairs of gentoo penguins that share the UK base were probably used to this.  The British girls, not so much.  That’s ok… Royal Navy to the rescue!  A team of marines from HMS Protector, a nearby ice patrol ship, stopped by for a cup of tea and spent two days helping them dig out the buildings.  It even made the BBC news.

It really was quite a novelty to us to be able to buy things.  Of course tacky Antarctica t-shirts had to be done.  I don’t think I’ve sent a postcard in ten years and yet I had an overwhelming urge to do so.  Under extreme time pressure, I scribbled a few lines to my mum and dad – what on earth are you supposed to say on a postcard?  I was going to offer a sweepstake on here to guess how long it would take for a postcard to wing its way half way round the world from Port Lockroy, Antarctic Peninsula to Scarborough, England.  But it’s taken me so long to get round to the blog that the postcard beat me to it.

Snow continued to shape our day, with another snowy zodiac boat ride.

I have a distinct aversion to cold water.  Both drinking it and being in it.  And so the mere thought of voluntarily entering a body of water so cold it has ice floating in it is not just unthinkable, it’s insane.  And yet… for some reason unbeknown to mere mortals like myself, it’s rude to not allow the insane to indulge themselves in such an act.  They’ve even got a name for it.  The Polar Plunge.

This was our last day on the Antarctic Peninsula and conditions were apparently ripe for a Polar Plunge (well it had stopped snowing and the sea wasn’t as crazy turbulent as previous days).  

There was a long line of passengers willing to subject themselves to this insanity.  It won’t surprise you that I wasn’t one of them.  It probably also won’t surprise you that Darren was.

The mentalists stood shivering in their bathrobes as they waited their turn for the plunge, tension building, teeth chattering.  Meanwhile I stationed myself on deck ready to capture the moment on film (or iPhone), happily encased in Seabourn orange.

I watched and waited, waited and watched the lunatics go about their polar plunge business.  Most of them were minimally dressed in swimwear.  They took off their bathrobes exposing their goosebumps to the windchill and stared into the abyss of dark swirling water.  They said a silent prayer as they stepped up onto the side of the zodiac.  And then they Jumped. Into. The. Freezing. Water.  Yes I’m still trying to get my head around this.

Finally it was Darren’s turn.  Off came the bathrobe.  And out came the Hawaiian shirt. He looked like he’d set out on a Caribbean cruise, took a wrong turn and somehow ended up here, bemused and confused yet still ready to launch himself into the tropical turquoise water.  Rather him than me.

Apparently there’s an exhilaration that comes from subjecting yourself to such an extreme temperature rush.  I doubt I’ll ever find out.  Still, once in, Darren couldn’t get out fast enough.  This being Seabourn, he was welcomed back onboard with warm towels and a shot of vodka.  Or a hot chocolate but the vodka seemed more in keeping.  And the top deck hot tub was the perfect way to complete the experience.

After cruising the foggy Penola Strait and Lemaire Channel overnight, we awoke to find ourselves at Petermann Island, the most southerly position of our trip.  Gone was the drama of yesterday – the ocean swells and the snow, the blizzards and the whiteout.  The sea was calmer and the snowman’s days were numbered as it was forecast to be a little warmer today, up to 34 degrees Fahrenheit or 1 degree centigrade. That’s without the windchill of course.  Juan the expedition leader informed us that the landings were a Go.  And omnipresent of course were the penguins.

Over the past few days, we’d witnessed plenty of penguin monkey business going on.  We’d watched waddles turn into full on sprints in order to outdo the competition and secure a mate.  We’d seen stone envy shenanigans as each penguin sought to build the best rock nest – not easy in these snowdrifts.  We’d looked on or averted our eyes deferentially while they progressed to third base and beyond.  And we were starting to see the fruits of their labors.

Whilst some penguins were still very much in the early flirtatious stages of their courtship, others remained stationary, upright and proud.  I swear you could see it on their faces.  For they were perched on a nest of stones, and nestled securely under them were their two eggs.  At this point they have one – and only one – job.  And that’s to protect their eggs.  You may have a hunch where this is going.

Lurking all around are predators.  Not leopard seals and killer whales, they’re only a danger to the penguins once they get into the water.  On land it’s the giant petrels and skuas you’ve got to watch.  Or more importantly – they, the penguins have to watch.

Inevitably, it only takes a moment’s lapse in concentration to reveal an egg to the onlookers.  And the opportunistic birds wasted no time in swooping in to swiftly scoop up an egg in their beaks.  The poor penguins barely knew what hit them.  

I know it’s just the circle of life playing out.  But it’s impossible not to side with Steve and his dedicated hard-won partner against those demonic evil birds of prey.  As they realized the futility of their early parenting efforts, the confused, forlorn looks on those penguins’ faces will stay with me for a long time.

And without further ado, here’s the rest of the pics from Petermann Island.

Back onboard, we relaxed over a leisurely lunch.  As our zodiac ride was a little later in the afternoon, we had plenty of time to curl up with a good book and enjoy a steaming mug of earl grey tea and cookies in the Seabourn Square cafe.  Not all penguins and icebergs you know.

Our call to arms – or to the zodiac, did come.  We dutifully togged up and like orange penguins, waddled down to the mud room and lined up to join the boats.  And what a treat was in store – for we were cruising around Iceberg Alley.  Wedged between Pleneau Island to the south and Booth Island to the north, this section of water is where all the cool kid icebergs come to hang out.

The intensity of iceberg blue was enough to rival the piercing eyes of the Game of Thrones Night King.  The icebergs themselves were surely the work of art of some master sculptor.  We cruised around and amongst the greatness set against a backdrop of bright white snowfields illuminated in the occasional patch of sun, while moody skies looked on.

Our eagle eyed skipper spotted a whale blow o’er yonder worth checking out.  Sure enough, a mother and calf humpback whale were in the ‘hood, eager to join our iceberg party.  They gatecrashed in style, determined to make an entrance by surfacing right by our zodiac.  We felt a blast of fishy salty whale breath wash over us.  And then just as quickly, with a flash of their tails as if to wave goodbye, they moved on.

So yes, just another day on the Antarctic Peninsula.

Snow.  Snow on the balcony.  Snow on deck.  Snow all around.  Well, we are in Antarctica.  

Luckily a bit of snow wasn’t going to stop us landing on Cuverville Island, and we were the first group off the ship at 7am.  Well, not quite the first as the expedition team were one step ahead of us.  An advance party had been dispatched to carve a steep staircase into the snow and ice to get us up and away from the landing site.

Which brings us back to penguins.  Because quite honestly that’s a lot of what Antarctica is all about.  It wasn’t just the orange jacketed flock of people that were grateful of these steps – the gentoos were loving them too.  They hopped and waddled their way up and down the steps with indecisive comedy timing.  And if you can watch penguins in their natural habitat without imagining a Benny Hill soundtrack in the background, then kudos to you.

Of all the landings we did in Antarctica, Cuverville Island came out on top for me.  Oodles of penguins surrounded by fresh-fallen pristine snow and a backdrop of icebergs, this was quintessential Antarctica bucket list.

And just when you think there can be no more penguins, here’s Daniel the pro photographer…

Right on cue, as if to complete the classic landscape, it started to snow.  Perfection, actually.

Not quite perfection, because for any of the punters yet to make it out, the change in the weather didn’t just bring snow but also increased sea swells, canceling any further landings.  All that remained was to get us safely back to the ship.  Which with a wing and a prayer, we did.

Who’d have thought while repositioning from our morning anchorage at Cuverville to our afternoon location of Paradise Bay that the sun would come out and we’d be treated to some sunny weather. Out on deck we go…

As we sailed towards Paradise Bay, the scenery only got better, and the icebergs more impressive.

The burst of sun brought out an excited snow day vibe among passengers and crew alike, with lots of photo opportunities and the urge to build a snowman.

But lo and behold, the polar weather genie was up to his tricks again.  For right when it was time for our afternoon zodiac ride, back came the ocean swells.  And these were not insubstantial swells.  In fact, only about 40% of passengers elected for the afternoon ride. I question the intellect of the 40%. That would include us then, the FOMO Fear of Missing Out greater than the Fear of Putting Yourself in Grave Danger.

Here’s how it goes when the going gets tough.  The first trick is getting your timing right to step onto the zodiac when it’s about level with the ship deck, whilst ship and boat are careering up and down with opposite trajectories.  The second is transferring weight from feet to seat voluntarily vs the movement of the boat doing it for you (way more exuberantly).  Thirdly comes the shuffle.  The art of sliding on your backside around the rim of the zodiac to your allotted spot (I would say seat but this seems a rather grand word for the place to perch your buttocks).  And all this with a pillar box view of the world, head encased in beanie, buff and Seabourn hood of orange.

Initial cruising round the iceberg garden was impressive, even with the threatening grey clouds and chilly temperatures.  But the afternoon finished as the day started – with snow.  Difference being we were out on a small boat in a blizzard vs being cozy in bed watching snowflakes drift effortlessly onto the balcony.  Paradise Bay became far from my idea of Paradise.  And stepping back off the rodeo rafts to the ship, well let’s just say we needed a stiff hot toddy after that.

To round off our almost perfect (best and worst, highlights and near death experiences) day, our post-dinner entertainment came in the form of Steve the Adélie penguin and his quest for the happy ever after.  DisneyNature totally outdid themselves with this coming of age penguin movie, innovatively titled Penguins. In my exhausted state, I don’t think I made it quite to the end. But I’m pretty sure I dreamed about penguins.

We were awoken each morning around 6am by the mellow tones of Juan the expedition leader’s announcement about the morning’s activities.  When I first heard of this I was horrified at the thought of a ship announcement blaring intrusively into the cabin in the early hours.  But it turned out to be a welcome harbinger for the day, made acceptable nay desirable by our eagerness to hear whether we were on Plan A, B or Z.  Juan’s calm smooth voice, devoid of drama regardless of the news, made for a gradual awakening with the dreamy ‘coming-to’ awareness of being on holiday.  I’ll take that over my iPhone Marimba alarm rudely announcing another working day, thank you very much.

Overnight, we’d sailed south down the west coast of the Antarctic peninsula to the Palmer Archipelago.  The location of our day’s activities was Mikkelsen Harbor, a small bay offering somewhat sheltered anchorage between Borge Point and Skottsberg Point.  

The zodiac ride to nearby D’Hainault island was a mere five minutes.  Maneuvering the boat around the rocks and ice to get close enough to shallow water to exit the boat was the taxing piece. This was what is known as a wet landing – stepping out of the boat into the icy water, which looked at least knee deep, although it didn’t spill over and down my wellies so I guess not quite that.

So there we were.  On land.  In Antarctica.  Our very first time stepping foot on the seventh continent.  A momentous occasion indeed.  Meanwhile, the Weddell seals assigned as hosts to greet us lounged lazily as only seals do.  Less of a greeting, more an indifferent, relaxed, yawning “don’t step on my flipper as you walk past, thanks”.

I’d reduced layers slightly after yesterday’s shenanigans and step two of being able to access my iPhone more easily for photos involved putting it in a clear waterproof case in a lanyard around my neck.  Level up!

Having negotiated the snowy path up and around the hill, we became more accustomed to our surroundings and realized we’d been whisked away to the World of Penguins.  Gentoos to be more precise.  Hundreds of them in separate clusters doing their gentoo thing.  Whilst we were ignored by the seals, we were practically welcomed by the penguins.  With no natural land predators, they really didn’t seem to mind us being there, and merrily went about their daily social interactions.

With more days and more penguins to come, I’ll leave the penguins there for now.  After a leisurely lunch onboard, our afternoon’s activity was a zodiac boat ride around Mikkelsen Harbor.  

During the ride, our skipper Brent, leaned way over the side of the boat (“someone grab my feet and make sure I don’t fall in”) and scooped out a hefty block of highly compressed glacial ice.  

With all the bravado of a tribal warrior jubilantly tearing into a hunk of freshly killed meat, Brent bit into the ice, his first of the season.  He obligingly passed around his bounty for anyone else to have a go, or merely to marvel at its thousand year old clarity and beauty.

The sauna on Seabourn Venture has floor to ceiling windows.  I don’t think I can imagine a better view out of those windows than the pristine snow covered slopes of the Antarctic peninsula.   Apparently they’ve had way more snow than average in the region this year, which is no doubt indicative of climate change.  For us, it meant the mountains were draped in a velvet cloak of white, the odd patch of blue belying more recent calving activity.  Looking out at the great white continent while my body came back to life through the penetrating dry heat of the sauna: priceless.

The chef’s special tasting menu in the dining room completed our day.  Possibly rounded off with an espresso martini in the Constellation Lounge, but I don’t have any photos of that.