Antarctica chapter two
The Drake Passage: In search of sea legs.
Everyone is sick, or so it seems.
The night before we encountered 4 to 4.5 meter swells, and while the sea is calmer, the floors remain unstable. Barf bags have appeared on the landings by the stairwell, held by the railings. There are not enough, and not all are placed strategically enough. I’ll see people retch in the hallways. I’ll hear tell of people retching in the forward holds, in the mudroom, in the dining room. Thankfully, I don’t witness the latter.
Later, I’ll meet a woman traveling with her parents. Her mother wishes the boat moved more. She’s a veteran of four trans-Atlantic crossings on sailboats under 50 feet in length. Most recently she was crew and cook on a voyage with a couple and their four-month old baby, just the four of them. She’d like the stabilizers brought in and to be rocked more to sleep.
I think I’m fine; I’m not.
I take it easy at breakfast, limiting myself to some bread and yogurt and granola and orange juice. I choose a table by the window in an area of the dining room set aside as a sushi bar. Floor to ceiling windows offer views of the unbroken sea.
Elmer is my server, and I’ll find myself sitting in his section every morning. By the second day he’ll know my beverage order and have a pot of hot water waiting for me by the time I’m done gathering my breakfast.
It’s a wide assortment of food. The bread is baked fresh on board daily. An omlette station is available for those who want fresh eggs. There are also egg dishes in the hot trays: scrambled, poached, sometimes assembled into a benedict. There’s at least one Indian option and throughout the course of the voyage I’ll see various Chinese staples: scallion pancakes, you tiao, mantou.
After breakfast I retreat to my cabin. My room has been cleaned, my bed remade. In the bathroom my breakfast all comes back out.
•
At 0930 there’s a mandatory IAATO (International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators) and zodiac briefing in the lecture hall. We’re told to bring our ID cards for scanning. IAATO governs tourist activity and issues rules and guidelines on what we can and cannot do. Due to a bird flu epidemic there are extra precautions we are to take, including washing our boots in a liquid substance to eliminate contaminants when we depart and reboard the ship. We are also not allowed to sit, squat, or lie down on the continent when we are visiting.
Szymon outlines the procedures to follow with respect to boarding the zodiacs we will be taking on each of our excursions, including what to wear and what to bring and not to bring with us. He tells us not to worry too much about it now; it’ll become more apparent the first time we embark on an excursion; soon it’ll become habit.
He tells us that we’ve each been assigned to one of four color groups: red, yellow, green, and blue. We’ll be called by color when it’s time to head to the mudroom to prepare for an excursion. IAATO rules state that only 100 people can be ashore at a location at a given time, and so we’ll be split into two supergroups: red & green and blue & yellow; for a landing when one supergroup is ashore, the other will either be attending a lecture or on a zodiac cruise of the area.
He tells us that later this afternoon we’ll be given our parkas, outfitted with rubber boots, and shown our lockers in the mudroom.
I slouch on a couch leaning my head against the back. I try not to move it. At the end of the briefing Szymon welcomes us to join the staff on the deck eight at 1130 to look for wildlife. I retire to my cabin to lie down until then.
In the hallway I run into Ari, who will be my steward for the length of the voyage. She’s from Indonesia and I struggle to remember the little Bahasa I had picked up on my first backpacking trip through southeast Asia. Soon, I’ll be greet her with selamat pagi in the morning and terima kasih for her tidying my room.
I ask her how her evening was and she admits she was a little seasick this morning. I tell her I’m feeling a little queasy myself and she tells me they have seasickness pills at reception. I thank her and let myself into my cabin. I barely make it to the bathroom in time.
Before lunch I head up to deck eight. It’s a bit grey and overcast and there’s no one around. I step outside for a minute but the wind beats me back inside. On the way back to my cabin I stop by the bridge to admire the instrumentation. The first officer steps away to let me take take a photo.
I eat a small meal but even that is too much for me to handle. I head straight back to my cabin and my bathroom. I don’t feel terrible. I’ve felt better but I’ve felt worse, and I had expected to be seasick the first day while I struggle to gain my sealegs.
I retreat to my bed and wait to be called to the lecture hall for mandatory biosecurity procedures. We’re to bring all of our otherwear that we may wear while on the continent so that the guides can examine it for seeds or other contaminants we may introduce to the ecosystem. When my section of cabins is called I make my way to a station to have my outfits inspected. Afterwards I’m told to head to the forward hold to pick up a parka.
Pierre hands me a medium parka, but it’s a little tight around the chest. A large is fits almost perfectly. He tells me to head to the mudroom where I’ll be shown my locker and given rubber boots to be used for the duration.
In the mudroom, I’m fitted for boots and shown how to don the life preserver that hangs in my locker. I’m told I can leave my waterproof pants here as well if it suits me. On my way back to my cabin I pass a woman holding onto the railing on the deck four. She’s smiling and telling her friend that someone is bringing her a barf bag, but that it can’t come quickly enough. She spews as she finishes her sentence, trying to cover her mouth with her hands. I look away and pass as quickly as I can as a steward appears to clean up the mess.
I pop back out onto deck five to check out the provisions for afternoon tea and eat two cookies. I want to stay for the lecture on seabirds but decide that it may be best if I take the opportunity to lie in bed to gather my strength for the 18:15 evening briefing. I can’t even keep the cookies down.
During the evening briefing we’re shown maps of the wind and waves. We’re passing the storm that caused the swells the night before and while the map is still magentaish, there’s some blue and green on the edges. He tells us we’ve been making good time, traveling at about 13.5 knots per hour.
We’re given our schedule for the next day. There’s no wakeup call, but breakfast begins at 08h and at 0930 there’s a mandatory briefing for those who are interested in kayaking.
Two contests are announced: one for photo of the day and trip, and one to predict our first iceberg sighting. The latter requires the time and latitude and longitude. Szymon introduces the expedition team and although I don’t realize it then, I’ll come to know almost all of them by the end of the trip.
After the briefing I retire to my cabin. I decide to skip dinner. An announcement is made: they’ve cancelled the after dinner activity. It seems few are in any shape to attend. I’ve asked Leo for a seasickness pill and take it with a glass of water and put myself to bed. The next day, Ellie will tell me Dilini asked her why I was so quiet and somewhat standoffish. Trust me, she says. He’s not feeling well. How right she is. 🇦🇶
18 February 2024
