The Long and Winding Road Home

Within the next hour, the M/S Expedition and all her weary passengers, stuffed to the gills with indelible memories, fantastic digital images and superb cuisine from an endless parade of meals will cross back over the Antarctic Convergence, and re-enter the South Atlantic Ocean into the Drake Passage back toward Ushuaia over 400 miles to the north.  My long, extraordinary journey into the Land of Ice will soon come to an end.

The Antarctic Convergence is the political, biological and geographic line of demarcation that separates Antarctica from the rest of the world.  A colossal, clockwise current of powerful winds and bone-chilling water swirls around the continent like an enormous whirlpool isolating this special, magical place from the rest of the world. The Convergence is what keeps Antarctica cold and frozen.  As we crossed the line ten days ago heading south toward the Pole, the difference in air temperature was instantly palpable, and it was then that our first iceberg was sighted.  We all were filled with enormous excitement, joy and celebration at that moment, but now - after seeing thousands upon thousands of them - they have become part of the seascape that no one barely notices anymore. Funny how easily one can become jaded; it's the same with penguins, too. But now, I savor the last of those gargantuan tabular bergs floating by, the final ones that will soon be behind me, knowing it will probably be the last one I see….ever.

After leaving Ushuaia heading south out of the Beagle Channel, the ship was immediately surrounded by an awesome aerial display of cape petrels, medium-size, acrobatic, black and white seabirds that congregate curiously alongside the Expedition and swoop dangerously closely to the waves that the tips of their delicate wings nearly touch the surface of the water. They were soon joined by the giant petrels, twice the size of their smaller cousins and the color of dark, grey, rain clouds, following in the wide wake of the ship. Mixed into the petrel brigade are handfuls of huge Sooty Albatross, appropriately named for their light-charcoal coloring, expansive wingspans and their ability to remain at sea for upwards of seven years without a minute's rest.  The list naming all of the different species of birds we have seen on this magnificent voyage kept by our studious ornithologist on the bulletin board near the reception desk numbers over thirty at this point. Once we crossed the Convergence southward, the birds slowly - within a matter of hours – quietly disappeared and refused to fly with us anymore into the frigid Antarctic Zone. But today, they are at our side once more, welcoming us back, a sign that we are heading back into warmer climes.

The sentimental side of me, the one that dreads saying good-bye, is slowly beginning to emerge, knowing that this magical dream of a trip soon will be over. I will miss the wonderful new friends I have made on board the M/S Expedition. I’ll miss sitting for long stretches of time on the observations decks soaking in the extraordinary, stunning seascapes, the ethereal, floating ice castles, the incomparable sounds of absolute silence in this remotest of places, the gentle rocking of the ocean which I’ve become fond of over time, the pampering I’ve received from the hospitable staff and the privilege of being in a part of the world that only one in twenty million people have the luck to witness.  (A mathematician on board did that calculation for me.)  The thrill of all the “firsts” I experienced now inevitably give way to all of the sad “lasts”.

Things I am missing most and anxious to experience again: taking a long, hot bubble bath with flickering candles nearby and classical music in the background.  I believe this has been the longest length of time in my entire life in which I’ve not taken a bath, one of life’s greatest pleasures for me. (Note: I HAVE showered daily!) I miss my lightning-speed Internet connection!  The last two weeks have brought me back to the early days of computer usage where we all were forced to suffer through the “dial-up” phase of Internet technology. But to be able to witness the staggering, overwhelming wilderness of the last continent, giving up these few small conveniences of my life back home has been a small price to pay and insignificant in the end.

I miss the familiar sound of my cell phone, which has been buried in my suitcase for a whole fortnight.  I miss the smell of fresh, French roast coffee being brewed in my kitchen. I miss seeing dogs and cats. I long to watch CNN, the nightly news and “Dancing With the Stars”. I long for the sound of my parents’ voices. I miss the students and staff with whom I spend my (half) days at school. I cannot wait to get into my little red Honda, open the sunroof, pop in a CD and take a long ride on the freeway. I miss my flannel sheets and the warm, familiar comfort of my own bed. I miss all my dear friends and loved ones. I am ready to come home. I am ready for it all to be over.

Tomorrow I begin packing up and reorganizing the jumbled mess of a suitcase I’ve made for myself, say my farewells to my Expedition family and begin the long, 8,200 mile winding road back home to my life in little, old Everett, Washington, and say good-bye to this unparalleled world of titanic icebergs, waddling penguins, blubbery seals, illusive whales, infinite snow and historical feats of exploration. It will most likely come with a deep, soulful sigh and perhaps another tear on my cheeks, but every journey must come to an end with its final step…the step that leads to my back door when I turn the key and return to my wonderful life and the next dreams and adventures ahead.

But don’t cry for me, Antarctica, the truth is I’ll never leave you.