Following Your Curiosity
Antarctica, 2023. Tailor-Made Journeys Dayget Aurora Expeditions
In my early twenties I didn’t know what I wanted to really DO in life, which was a problem because society tells us we should be able to answer that question, as though life is about working towards a single goal. When I expressed my concern to one of my mentors, she simply said, “follow your bliss.” At the time I found such an abstract piece of advice exasperating. I didn’t know what my bliss was. How could I follow it, let alone know how to achieve it? It’s only now, nearly twenty years later, that I’m starting to work it out.
My life today is very different from the life I imagined for myself when I was a child, or a teenager, or even twenty years ago. Some pretty significant and heavy stuff has happened which was out of my control, but where I am now is largely a product of the choices I have made. I’ve been fortunate that in many cases I’ve had the freedom to base these choices — on a subconscious level or in more recent times, very deliberately — on what interests or excites me. And what interests or excites me may differ from those around me — friends, colleagues, family, society’s expectations. That’s because, as Mia Freedman and Emma Gannon discuss in a recent episode of the podcast No Filter, our curiosity leads us in particular directions.
I’ve been an English language teacher to adults for the majority of my working life and my students’ questions are always the same: Teacher, how old are you? Teacher, are you married? Teacher, do you want children?
When we get onto the topic of travel and I tell them the places I’ve been, their next question is often, “Teacher, where is your dream place to visit?” My answer, without even having to think, has always been Antarctica.
There aren’t many job opportunities available for someone with my skillset in Antarctica. Believe me, I’ve scrolled through the Antarctic job websites many times over the years. As for travelling there for recreation, well, financially it was impossible.
Then, in October last year, I came across an email in my junk mail folder. The subject line: ‘Win a Trip for Two to Antarctica.’ This wasn’t spam, this was my chance. All I had to do was explain why I wanted to go to Antarctica — in 25 words or less.
For a writer, 25 words is not enough. In fact, when I started to think about it, I couldn’t put my feelings into words. I just knew I had to go.
My partner, Paul, was equally enthused. He’s a traveller too. We agreed we should put together something soon — entries closed in seven days. I thought perhaps my 25 words would come to me as I was walking along the river, driving down the highway, or washing my hair. That’s when my ideas usually surface. But the night before the cut-off I still couldn’t articulate why I found Antarctica so captivating.
About 8pm, after I’d finished my evening classes, I sat down to put a lifetime of wishing on a page. By 2am I’d come up with fifteen possible entries but I needed some feedback. I needed someone to read my words. Thank goodness my friend had got sucked into watching a bad thriller online. “Can’t believe I’m still awake at this hour,” she typed. “I’m eating a giant yo yo biscuit. Off to sleep soon, but these two options are my faves.”
I also sent my list of possible entries to Paul. We didn’t live together at the time. He was asleep, but messaged me early the next morning. He’d got up to watch the soccer before work. “I’ve been workshopping,” the message said. “Call you in five.”
Turns out my partner can multi-task quite well. He’d managed to watch the soccer and drink his morning coffee while re-working my lines into a rhyming poem. It was corny. It was catchy. It was fab.
We negotiated and re-worked a couple of words and I still wasn’t sure about the order of the last two lines, but we were running out of time. The moment I pressed ‘submit’ Paul said, “We’re gonna win, honey.”
For the next eleven days Paul put positive vibes out into the world. That’s just what he does. He made me visualise the moment we find out we’re the winners, discuss what we’d do in South America beforehand, and ponder when we should write our packing list. We marked October 31 on our calendars with “Pen and Paul win Antarctica Competition.” All the while, I smiled and nodded and kept telling myself it wasn’t going to happen. Can’t be disappointed that way. That’s just what I do.
And on that last day of the month, at 8.27am, I received an email. “Congratulations,” it said. “You’re off to Antarctica.”
Of course, I thought it was a joke. “No one ever wins those things,” our friends and family said. Some were cautious enough to ask us, “Are you sure it’s not a scam?” And though I didn’t say it out loud, despite all the signs suggesting otherwise, I wondered this myself. It wasn’t until four months later, when we joined our fellow expeditioners in our starting point of Chile, that I finally believed it was real.
We met the others in our group in the southern Chilean city of Punta Arenas. With extreme and unpredictable winds and very little grass or greenery, it feels like the end of the Earth. It is in fact the world’s most southerly port and in the summer season it’s a gateway for travellers to Antarctica. Some are scientists, others maintain the research stations, and many, like us, go purely for the adventure. There are a variety of ships, of varying sizes and levels of comfort, which sail from Punta Arenas across the infamous Drake Passage and on to Antarctica.
We were able to avoid sailing the Drake by flying from Punta Arenas to King George Island, where we met our ship. While the ship could hold just over 130 passengers, we were fortunate to have half that number on our expedition. On board — no nightclubs, no swimming pools. But there was a library, a lecture theatre, and jacuzzis on the deck. Truth is, our aim was to spend as much time as possible off the ship. None of us had travelled all that way to sit at the ship bar and relax. We were there to be among icebergs, penguins, seals, and whales. And so, twice a day, we headed out on the inflatable zodiac boats in search of wildlife and ice, or to disembark and hike on the land.
Exactly where the main ship could travel and when was largely determined by the weather. Although we had many days of blue sky, minimal wind and relatively calm seas, there were times when we were reminded that places like Antarctica cannot be tamed. It’s a humbling and freeing thought. Our problems and our own feelings of importance mean nothing to the world out there.
Despite the fact that we did this trip in comfort, the physicality it requires cannot be ignored. The crew make everything as easy and safe as possible but sometimes we were tested. Stepping off the side of an eight deck ship into a wobbling Zodiac, snow falling, is a reminder you’re doing something big. Then there’s the hiking. The Antarctic Peninsula is an extension of the Andes — there are cliffs and hills covered in snow and it’s at the top these that you get the best views.
I am often asked to name my favourite part of the trip. For me, it was the whales. We’d be in our zodiac boats, bobbing about in the the ocean, water calm and surrounded by icebergs. Despite our double layer of socks and gloves, our toes and fingertips are frozen. And then, out of nowhere, a pod of whales approach. One after the other their black shadows come out of the water. Just a little. They show their flukes, then disappear. And then they breach, exposing themselves. Showing off. They crash again into the water. We lose them for a moment until we notice them slowly, stealthily, moving closer. Closer they come, until they appear beside the zodiac, and then pass under the hull. The size of these things. They’re three times bigger than our zodiacs. And the sound. No one prepared me for the sound when a whale exhales. I am transported to a time and land where humans do not yet exist.
Such beauty and wonder. One of the last places on the Earth unspoilt. And yet, here we are. Humans. Leaving our carbon footprints and more in the snow. Should we be here? It’s a question our expedition guides encourage us to ask. Many of the guides are biologists and environmentalists who are on these expeditions to educate. They do so through lectures and slide shows and by being on hand with facts about the wildlife and environment, but their most effective method of education is through showing. As visitors to Antarctica, we don’t need to be told. We have seen it. We’ve been in it. And what we’ve experienced means we leave with an enhanced appreciation, a hunger to do all we can to share with the world what we’ve witnessed and to encourage others to do all they can to assist in its preservation.
While in Antarctica, our expedition leader also encouraged us to pause. To take a moment. To stop while we were on land, or on the deck, or sitting in the zodiacs. He suggested we remind ourselves of where we were and how we came to be there. Re-visit our memories of Antarctica regularly, so that we did not forget. He warned us that it would all be over soon. And it was. It’s a strange feeling to have wanted to do something for so long, to do it, and then it be done. Now Paul and I are plotting ways to get back there again. Only this time, even further south.
When I consider our own path, it was with a great deal of good fortune that we ended up at the bottom of the world and in the place of my dreams. But this mini miracle makes us all the more thankful for what we experienced. I wouldn’t consider myself a spiritual person, but I’ve always felt that everything happens for a reason. There was a reason we were there. Of course, I like to think a little skill contributed to our win. We were fortunate that on some level, our words compelled the judges to choose us. If nothing else, it’s a good reminder of the power of words.
It could have turned out differently. The competition may not have gone our way. But we followed our curiosity and it led to something magical. Doing that again and again — that’s what I want to do in this all-too-short and precious life.
Thank you Tailor-Made Journeys, Dayget, and Aurora Expeditions
