I found Goldilocks in Antarctica with this big little ship that’s just right

Inviting spaces

On an Antarctica cruise, you spend a perhaps surprising amount of time on your cruise ship. It takes nearly two days each way to wend your way through the Beagle Channel and sail through the rocking and rolling Drake Passage between Ushuaia, Argentina, and the Antarctic peninsula with no stops. Once alongside the White Continent, the captain prefers to sail the ship during daylight hours, so mornings are often spent making your way to the landing site and waiting for the expedition crew to set up.

You need a vessel you enjoy spending time on. Viking Polaris is that ship.

The ship has three main lounge areas — the midship The Living Room; the forward-facing, two-deck Explorers’ Lounge; and the low-level, speak-easy-style The Hide — and all are designed to feel like inviting hangouts in your stylish home.

In The Living Room, friends of ours would often hang out in “business class” — oversized leather chairs with footstools — scrolling through photos while sipping a glass of Champagne or an Irish coffee from the nearby bar. A dedicated group would gather on the couches and easy chairs for daily trivia at noon; other passengers saved their competitive spirit for mahjong and Scrabble at the game tables by the windowed exterior walls.

It was easy to strike up conversations with other guests in the Explorers’ Lounge, even when we were all facing forward along the curved windows to take in the view. Fani at the bar would bring us nearly any drink we could dream up — a lemon drop or ironically tropical mai tai for me, a Pimm’s Cup for Emily — and always stopped to chat.

The few times I stopped by The Hide during the day, I would collapse into an oversized chair, put my feet up below the slanted windows and immediately start to doze off, lulled by the rocking of the ship. In the evenings, we’d grab a double shot of Baileys at the speak-easy-style bar (all the booze, minimal mixers) and listen to the expedition crew members tell tales of their adventurous exploits, like a bedtime story for grown-ups.

Big-ship choices

“We’re always so busy,” I complained to Emily around the halfway mark of our two-week trip. “There’s too much to do on this ship!”

I was frustrated because I’d gone to hear a talk by one of the expedition crew members and missed an orca whale sighting. I was constantly torn between attending all the events in the Viking Daily newsletter I’d starred, spending time outside with my binoculars hoping for serendipitous animal sightings, or participating in multiple off-ship activities (landings, Zodiac cruises, kayak tours).

It was a good problem to have.

Viking Polaris is not a big ship but it has so much to offer, with choices at every turn.

For its not quite 400 guests, the ship has four restaurants, plus room service. For example, each morning, I’d make my way upstairs to the World Cafe buffet for breakfast, where I’d debate whether I should pillage the fruit and yogurt bar or ask one of the chefs for a made-to-order omelet.

If I wanted a cheat day, I could turn right instead of left and duck into Mamsen’s, where a Scandinavian-style waffle topped with chocolate sauce or Norwegian brown cheese was always an alluring option. Or, on a truly lazy morning, I could order a full hot breakfast to my room, no extra charge.

For dinner, I could also make reservations at The Restaurant for a big-ship-style three-course meal with waiter service. For a date night or a group celebration, or just Thursday, Manfredi’s wowed with its housemade pasta and Italian specialties. Shackleton could have survived for days on a plate of the restaurant’s droolworthy gorgonzola gnocchi.

I had even more choices of how to spend my time on board. I could attend a workshop in Expedition Central about knot tying or identifying bird feathers, pop into The Aula (the ship’s auditorium inspired by the Great Hall in Oslo where the Nobel Prizes used to be presented) for a documentary screening or a presentation on whale sex or Neanderthal DNA, or join a gin tasting or mate workshop.

I wanted to do it all — but I also wanted to linger on the aft Finse Terrace with its sunken fire pit seating and gaze out to sea, or walk laps along the outer promenade in the hopes of spotting whales or seabirds. Or, perhaps I just wanted to be lazy and spend more time in the Nordic Spa’s gorgeous pool or reading a breezy novel, curled up on a sofa in The Living Room.

Cozy cabins, built for expeditions

“Pass me more chocolate from the magic drawer,” I said to Emily one afternoon after we’d shrugged out of our multiple thermal layers and collapsed on our beds in our fleece pullovers and leggings. She handed over a small bar of Norwegian milk chocolate, as well as a bottle of soda water from our minifridge, which our room stewards topped up every day to keep us in a never-ending supply of treats.

I used to think of expedition ship cabins as bare-bones affairs, with fixed twin beds, tiny bathrooms with the shower practically on top of the toilet and no design aesthetic whatsoever. On older ships, that portrait might be accurate, but on Viking Polaris, my room was cleverly designed and full of creature comforts.

Every room on the ship is classified as a balcony cabin or suite, but a true balcony is useless in Antarctica, where you’re not going to sit and watch the waves at frigid temperatures for long. Instead, the outer wall of my room was made from two panes of glass. At the touch of a button, I could roll down the top pane like a car window, allowing some fresh air in and enabling me to take photos without glass in the way.

It was a perfect compromise between an exterior veranda and a picture window that does not open. Plus, the huge window filled my cabin with light (blackout shades can also be deployed with a button for light sleepers).

I loved the L-shaped leather seating nook by the window, where I could curl up with a book or a room service meal. (The fried chicken on the in-cabin dining menu is divine!) I used the desk to charge my laptop, but a handy hidden drawer beneath the desktop is the perfect spot to hide your jewelry, should you use the mirror for dolling up for dinner.

On the far side of the cozy beds (twins that can be pushed together into a queen), extra space is devoted to getting dressed because it’s a tad more complicated on an expedition cruise. An L-shaped wardrobe has plenty of hanging space and drawers for all the hats, gloves, warm jackets and base layers I brought to handle the polar chill, not to mention the pharmacy of seasickness medication and remedies Emily and I brought to survive the Drake Passage. The extra floor space is needed for pulling on boots and wiggling into life jackets.

Accessible adventures

The ease and comfort of Viking Polaris’ onboard persona also extend to its offshore adventures. You might have to endure some wind and rain and freezing temperatures, but Viking is going to do everything possible to make sure its guests are able to access all Antarctica has to offer.

It all starts with The Hangar, which is part water-level boat storage, part comfortable passenger loading zone. The expedition crew members can launch 16 Zodiacs, two special operations boats (affectionately called SOBs), two yellow submersibles named George and Ringo with their patrol boat, and eight double kayaks (plus two single guide kayaks) in under an hour, partly because they don’t have to lower boats from the top deck of the ship, as is the case with many expedition vessels.

For their part, guests don’t need to navigate gangways or crowd a floating marina when they’re ready for their playtime. The Hangar has multiple waiting areas — a main space for the Zodiac queue with bench seating, a gear-up zone for kayakers and a seating area (with snacks and hot beverages) for guests going on a kayak or submersible ride.

These are all separate from the boarding zone, where groups are invited to go only when they’re about to board their ride. And it’s all accessible from the ship’s main elevators.

The first time I arrived at The Hangar, it was crowded with people clomping around in the ship-loaned heavy boots and bulky outer layers. But Polaris’ expert crew kept everything orderly and moving. They even helped me put on my Zodiac life jacket, which I swear to you is not as simple as putting on a backpack, and directed me to the correct waiting area.

The crew also demonstrated how to stomp through a boot-washing machine (imagine a car wash, with soap and spinning bristles, for your shoes), the latest in biosafety technology, before escorting me to a Zodiac. Here, two crew members helped me into the boat like I was royalty alighting from my carriage — one handing me down from the ship into the waiting grasp of another crew member standing in the Zodiac.

Once in the Zodiac, we’d race to shore for a landing, cruise the sea looking for whales or transfer into kayaks (my favorite) for a quiet paddle. The transfer from the Zodiac to the kayak and back again is not exactly a graceful endeavor, but anyone who wants to paddle must prove their agility in an on-ship trial before being allowed to take their skills to the water.

It’s worth it, and easier than it looks. On my first kayak outing in Damoy Point, I watched our first penguins of the trip cavorting on the rocky shores and occasionally diving smoothly into the sea. We did more floating than paddling, but I still enjoyed playing penguin paparazzi from the sea.

On the second outing, my group paddled all the way around a small island in Mikkelsen Harbor, where we admired a seal preening on the rocks and penguins soaring in and out of the waves (a swimming style called porpoising). Being part of a small group on the water amid the dramatic backdrop of Antarctica’s mountains and never-ending sky was a quiet thrill — but no less incredible.

Education as entertainment

The biggest social event on a Viking Polaris Antarctica cruise is not necessarily the first glimpse of the continent’s towering icebergs and snow-covered mountains. It’s the weather balloon launch.

All week, our shipmates asked the expedition team, “When will you launch the weather balloon?” When the auspicious date was finally announced, we all set our phone alarms so as not to miss the big morning event.

On the day, I climbed up to Deck 7 (usually off-limits to guests) to find not only a crowd of passengers, but the dining team handing out cups of coffee spiked with Amarula liqueur.

The atmosphere was festive as Meghan, the chief scientist, explained how weather balloons worked, and we all excitedly counted down to the release as if it were New Year’s Eve. Afterward, the nerdiest of us crowded around a projection screen in Expedition Central to watch as the balloon’s recording device reported back on air temperature, pressure and humidity at different elevations.

Viking Polaris has no activities team, as its officers are quick to tell you, because Antarctica provides the entertainment. But aboard the ship, education takes center stage in most of the activities.

The ship’s 22-person-strong expedition team is made up of mountain and kayak guides, but also naturalists, biologists and other experts. They lead the daily briefings with information about landings and itinerary changes, but they also host presentations on topics ranging from penguins and sea birds to glaciers and global warming, often with some cheeky humor and cartoons thrown in to keep topics from getting too dry.

And while every expedition ship in Antarctica sets sail with an expedition team, only Viking employs a full-time crew of scientists who record actual data on board and send it off to the line’s research partners to analyze.

A chief scientist and two assistants live aboard the ship and collect water samples to study microplastics and phytoplankton, take video of sea life for polar species studies and send up weather balloons to contribute data to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Their partners include the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, the University of Western Australia and the University of Cambridge’s Scott Polar Research Institute.

The ship’s working lab is off-limits to passengers except for a few times during a cruise when they’re welcomed in to look at microplastic samples or phytoplankton under microscopes. These events were always well attended, so much so that sometimes it was hard to get a good view of the scientists.

Some of us might have been a tad disappointed that guests couldn’t participate in most of the real data collection on board. The consolation is knowing that your vacation dollars are doing more than putting money in the pockets of travel company owners — they’re funding actual scientific research, as well.

Adventure for everyone

Halfway through our cruise, after yet another day spent riding in Zodiacs and grinning like dorks at the adorable antics of gentoo penguins, Emily decided to video chat with her parents in Australia. (Let that sink in for a moment — video chatting from Antarctica to Australia on a cruise ship.)

“I’m so jealous of your adventure,” her mom said on the call. “I’m too old to do that now.”

My friend — and Viking and its entire expedition department — begged to differ.

I don’t know who Emily’s parents thought were cruising with us aboard our ship, but it was certainly not overrun with sporty tech bros or outdoors enthusiasts accustomed to roughing it in the wilderness.

Instead, our shipmates on this no-kids-allowed ship were mainly retired couples with the occasional family group of older parents with adult (30-plus) children looking to visit a bucket list destination in safety and comfort.

Essentially, our ship was filled with people just like Emily’s parents: well-traveled, active folks who are curious about the world and want to experience it all. But now, instead of settling for the old, renovated Russian ice-breakers or bare-bones expedition vessels that used to be the only options for exploring remote destinations, they can choose a more comfortable option. Our shipmates preferred Viking’s thoughtfully designed and spacious accommodations, choice of elevated dining options and inviting onboard spaces over the experience found on many other, especially older, expedition ships.

The younger travelers on the ship appreciated the spacious gym, opportunities to kayak and late-night bars with a welcoming vibe. Older guests appreciated the opportunities for waiter-served, sit-down meals; the way the ship and crew made getting on and off the ship for landing opportunities easier; and the flexible nature of the daily schedule. (You could race from event to event or enjoy a leisurely afternoon reading in The Living Room.)

When we finally had a landing on the Antarctica peninsula proper, the expedition leader announced that his team would do everything they could to make sure every passenger had the chance to at least set foot on land, even if they weren’t up for a walk through the snow.

The only folks Viking Polaris can’t accommodate are extra-adventurous travelers who are looking for multiple landings a day, polar plunges, the option to camp out on the peninsula or more active hikes, kayaks or snowshoe adventures.

Also, rules for cruise ship visits to the Antarctic peninsula state that only 100 passengers (plus expedition staff members) can be ashore at any given landing at a time, and ships carrying more than 200 passengers can only land at specific locations. The result is that Viking Polaris does not have full access to all the landing sites on the peninsula and also that guests have limited time ashore to make sure everyone on board can rotate through, 100 people at a time.

Friendly atmosphere

At the World Cafe, our waitress Celeste approached our table with a sly smile and presented Emily with a dish of coconut gelato she hadn’t ordered.

Emily had asked the previous day if any coconut gelato was available, and Celeste had gone down into the galley and fetched her some, even though it wasn’t on the day’s ice cream rotation. Emily had been so happy about the treat that Celeste took it upon herself to repeat the experience the following day.

Celeste was not the only crew member to go above and beyond to make our stay on Viking Polaris memorable. I don’t think I’ve chatted as much with my room stewards on other ships as I did with Rico and Joko, who were always in our hallway and would come out of whichever room they were cleaning to greet us and ask us how our day was.

Grace at Manfredi’s moved mountains (or maybe just tables) to accommodate our requests for group dinners, and Santosh at the World Cafe made us vegetarian chickpea curry on request and fetched me chile oil from below decks to spice up my eggs at breakfast. The expedition team members were always happy to take our photos, point out whales or chat with us out on deck.

The friendly ethos of the crew quickly spread to the guests — or maybe Viking passengers self-select for congeniality. Every time we got a drink in the Explorers’ Lounge, Emily and I would find ourselves in conversation with whoever was seated next to us. The folks we shared a submersible ride with or the folks who always worked out in the fitness center at the same time as me would greet us when we met in the buffet or in line at The Hangar.

(The only exception to this rule was in the ship’s self-serve launderettes. Like the wilds of Antarctica, those were a penguin-eats-penguin, survival-of-the-fittest, lawless outland — and you’d better watch your back … and your wet clothing.)

I admit I was nervous about spending 11 nights on a cruise ship in the middle of nowhere, but by the time we disembarked in Ushuaia, I found I was a bit teary about leaving. The ship had quickly become my home, and the crew and my shipmates my family, and I knew I would miss them all.

I didn’t have the luxury of trying multiple ships sailing expeditions to Antarctica, but it didn’t matter. The first one was a hit, and my shipmates and I discovered that for a comfortable adventure to the ends of the earth, Viking Polaris was “just right.”

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