THE END
OF THE WORLD
It is four in the afternoon on November 7; the very last leg of my trip has started. The intensity, uniqueness, and beauty of the surrounding nature outshine the past 140 very challenging days.
The first explorer to cross the Antarctic Circle was James Cook in the year 1773. Cook apparently was in a hurry to reach Hawaii, so he didn’t set foot on Antarctica. Not until December 14, 1911, did the Norwegian Roald Gravning Amundsen become the first man to reach the South Pole, followed by his rival Robert Falcon Scott three weeks later, who didn’t survive his journey home. The fact that the first exploration took place only about a hundred years ago makes it clear how special this place really is. The climate and the weather records of the continent underscore this: in August the average temperatures here are between –40°F and –95°F. Even in February, the warmest month for Antarctica, the temperature seldom exceeds 5 °F.
Antarctica is also the windiest continent in the world. During a long-term measurement in the Commonwealth Bay, average wind speeds of 45 miles per hour have been recorded and the highest speed has been 150 miles per hour. Yet despite the snow, Antarctica is the driest of all the continents.
The Antarctic Dream is the ship that I will be traveling on. It was specially built in the Netherlands in 1959 for its rough trips to the South Pole. From 1959 to 2004 it served the Chilean Navy, and after that it was rebuilt for trips to Antarctica. There are forty double cabins so that a maximum of eighty passengers can be accommodated. In addition, the ship has a crew of twenty-five. On the roof there is a helipad and Zodiacs, which are the rubber rafts that can be lowered into the water by means of a crane. As compared to the container ship that brought me from Europe, the Antarctic Dream is much smaller, with a length of just about 270 feet; it is also much lighter. This is something I come to learn in the first two days while crossing the Drake Passage, a strait between South America and Antarctica that is about 500 miles long. This passage acts as a floodgate for the winds blowing from the west. A few hours after departing from the harbor of Ushuaia, I go to the bridge to say hello to the captain. He warns me not to go on either of the side wings of the bridge because they are not protected against the wind. Naturally, I want to test this out immediately: the distance is hardly sixteen yards from the rear part of the right wing of the bridge to the front part. How much time do I need to reach the front? I battle through the wind at every step, mostly with one hand on the railing, in order not to be blown into the water. I take a few more steps before I slip and fall to the ground. From here, I crawl on all fours until the target: twenty seconds to walk sixteen yards. The forces of nature definitely have an upper hand here.
The next morning I wake up in my cabin feeling very ill. My stomach is aching intensely. The ship is swaying about twenty degrees from left to right. Just for comparison: steep mountain passes in the Alps often have straight ascents of 10 to 15 percent. Twenty percent swaying from left to right and then from right to left, all in half a minute, is simply brutal. I try to concentrate on other things in order to divert my attention from the pain. That doesn’t help, so I search for the doctor on the ship. He gives me two tablets to take for seasickness, but only five minutes after I take the first tablet, I start to vomit; the same thing happens when I take the second tablet. After a few more encounters with the toilet, I need something else to stop my nausea: a Band-Aid. If you place a small piece behind your ear it will help the body disregard the extreme swaying of the ship. I later find out that, at least, I wasn’t the only one who was suffering.
Everything at dinner—the décor, four-course menus, the piano player, the friendly service—impresses me. It’s hard to believe that I’ll spend the last ten days of my journey being spoiled in luxury. During the days, when I am not fulfilling my duties, I am allowed to take advantage of the leisure activities. There’s a fitness center and a sauna available at any time of day, and a library with books and DVDs. In addition, there are presentations held twice daily, talking about both the history and present-day circumstances of Antarctica.
In the beginning, I find it difficult to make use of these offers without feeling guilty; for example, I don’t fill my plate to the fullest at the buffet. One would think after so many months of little to no food that I would stuff my face given an opportunity like this, but this isn’t the case whatsoever. During my ventures through the many shops, cafés, and restaurants, each apple, bun, or even cup of water that I received gave me a feeling of success. The process was strenuous and sometimes frustrating, but in the end, always exciting. It was too easy at a buffet.
The age of the passengers at my table range between twenty-five to fifty years old. They are from England, Canada, the United States, France, and China; mainly backpackers traveling across the world and wanting to see more than the stamped-out paths. Blake from the United States tells me that the main reason he set out for Antarctica is because it is, without a doubt, the leas-tvisited continent on earth. A total of about 30,000 people visit it every year. Antarctica also has only 3,000 permanent residents, mostly scientists, who live at research stations. Petra, from Switzerland, booked this cruise because she wanted to see the huge ice masses of Antarctica before they disappear due to climate change. The Antarctic Peninsula, a huge headland that points from Antarctica in the direction of the Drake Passage, is already being affected.
The temperatures on the Antarctic Peninsula have increased by three degrees since 1950. The Larsen Ice Shelf lying on the east coast has already lost large parts of its area since the beginning of the twentieth century. Despite this, the icebergs in Antarctica are still very big: in some places the ice is about 1,600 feet thick. Some tower even higher than the highest mountain in Europe. In all, only 0.4 percent of the continent is free of ice. This extreme data does not come as a surprise, with the record temperature of –128°F being measured at the Vostok station.
The leader of the expedition, Paulo, tells me that the Antarctic Dream now opens its season two weeks earlier than, say, five years ago, since there’s less ice, and passengers pay $4,000 to $5,000 for a double room per person for the ten-day trip. During peak season, one could pay up to $15,000 for a single room. Luckily for me, there is an odd number of workers on board, so I get my very own single room.
On the second day, Paulo comes to me and inquires if I have ever had any experience as a waiter. I am speechless. Waiters have the hardest job on a ship because even with the aggressive swaying, they must perform as professionally as possible. I fear that I will embarrass the company if the passengers see me staggering through the dining hall and spilling things all over the place, so we decide to test it out: I fill two cups with coffee, which I must carry on a large black tray while walking from one end of the dining hall to the other. The cups slip from my tray and the disruption startles some passengers. Paulo then agrees that I shouldn’t have any direct contact with the customers, both for the sake of the customers and the ship’s reputation.
I then spend days two and three in the basement of the ship with Rodrigo, arranging the rubber boots and polar jackets according to size so that all passengers can be properly equipped upon reaching the shore. Unfortunately, there ends up being a lot of confusion when distributing the boots and the jackets, as some people get two left boots, or one boot in a size 9 and the other in a size 5.
On day four, we finally cross the Drake Passage; the winds have died down and we land at the South Shetland Islands. These islands come before the Antarctic Peninsula and, like the rest of Antarctica, there is no noteworthy vegetation; only penguins and seals are found here. I stand at the exit of the ship and ask every passenger who wants to go ashore in the rubber dinghy to first disinfect and wash off their boots in the tank of liquid. This is to eliminate the risk of passing bacteria from the other parts of the world to the animals here, which can be very harmful.
Soon we are standing in the middle of hundreds, or perhaps even thousands, of penguins; they run around us gingerly. Si
nce they have never had any bad experience with humans, they don’t consider us as a threat. Directly near the penguin colony are beaches where numerous seals are lying around lazily, and who, like the penguins, are not at all bothered by us. Just beyond the colonies of penguins and seals appear incredible snow and ice-capped mountains.
Unfortunately for me, this excursion becomes extremely painful. I am the only passenger on the ship without special polar-proof pants, instead wearing only jeans. Within twenty minutes, my legs are ice-cold and my jeans are frozen stiff. Paulo hands me a bunch of small red flags on long sticks to set up around the colony of the penguins in order to show the tourists that they should not walk directly through the colony. He looks at my jeans and becomes annoyed: “How can you go to Antarctica without polar-proof pants?” I explain to him that I have traveled without money through eleven countries and simply didn’t have any means of buying them. Paulo shakes his head in disapproval.
Deception Island (or, The Island of Deceptions) will be our next offshore venture. It consists of an active volcano, which can heat up the water flowing to the sea to such an extent that one can swim in it. Unluckily, our ship sails straight into a body of thick ice. There is the sound of ice crackling, the engine ramping, and loud squeaking, until suddenly everything comes to a standstill. The Antarctic Dream remains stuck in nineteen-inch thick ice; they try moving it forward, backward, left, and right, but nothing works. The engines are ramping at full blast in an effort to move the ship, but the force of nature is simply stronger. Finally, the overhead speakers announce that the scheduled visit to the hot springs is canceled. This puts a damper on things because it means that my long-awaited first step on the continent will be postponed. I look out of the porthole of my cabin and see seals lying on the packed ice about 100 feet away. They seem indifferent toward this new object stuck in their natural environment.
On the fifth day, we finally reach the Antarctic Peninsula. Huge glaciers 70 to 100 feet thick hang down from the steep slopes of the coast. This spectacular view can be seen nowhere else. Huge icebergs float in the water near the coast, which we bypass at a snail’s pace. We travel through the Lemaire Channel, which is just less than 300 feet wide, and which is covered by mountains on both sides. My anticipation to finally set foot on Antarctica—especially after all that has happened in the last five months—creates a feeling of extreme ecstasy . . . that is, until I see Paulo, who tells me that today we’ll go with the Zodiac boats through the icebergs, but we won’t go on land. Still, the day remains unforgettable as we travel in rubber dinghies between 70-foot-high icebergs.
Meanwhile, I notice that the need for my help is becoming less and less urgent. Despite being available for all-around work, I am probably called on for only four hours a day. For more demanding work, like lowering down the rubber rafts, Paulo tells me to stay away. He explains to me that he doesn’t want to be held responsible if an unskilled worker wearing jeans falls in the water, and only sends for me for smaller legwork, like refueling the rubber rafts or scrubbing the deck.
It’s November 13 and the sixth day of the tour: it’s finally time to go on land! Paulo gives me his spare polar-proof pants so that this day isn’t remembered for any frostbite I will get—the temperatures are between –15°F and 5°F. The expedition gets postponed a little longer because Guillermo and Willi, two adventurers from Chile, have to be dropped off. Their plan is to travel through Antarctica for the next three to four months with a kayak and 770 pounds of luggage. A large part of the luggage consists of dehydrated food (also called “microfood”).
Finally, it is the be-all and end-all moment. I help the passengers squeeze into their life vests and disinfect their boots, and I help the elderly ones onto the rubber dinghy. When we are just about 100 yards away, the mixed feelings of excitement, anxiety, and happiness can hardly be contained. Memories from the last five months flash through my mind; I can’t believe I have really made it to Antarctica without a single cent from my own pocket!
The anchor is dropping; once they give the okay to unload, I leap from the side of the rubber boat, and I take my first step onto the continent of Antarctica.
I run about ecstatically through the knee-deep powdery snow. Paulo calls behind me, asking whether I have gone totally crazy, but it doesn’t bother me: I have made it! Towering all around me are mountains draped in deep snow and glaciers. Huge icebergs with a diameter of 20 to 50 yards are floating in the freezing water. The sun is shining so the reflection off the white landscape is almost blinding. The strong polar wind stirs up the fluffy snow. The thought that I am actually standing at the end of the world plays over and over in my mind! Finally, I have reached my destination. I throw myself in the deep snow and let out a big cry for probably the most intense five months of my life. I look up at the blue sky and reflect back.
Countries visited: Germany, Belgium, Canada, the United States, Costa Rica, Panama, Colombia, Peru, Bolivia, Chile, and Argentina.
Continents: Europe, North America, South America, and Antarctica.
Temporary jobs: A butler for Harold in Cologne and for the German ambassador in Panama; an all-around first mate on the container ship to Canada; an advertising film producer in Las Vegas; the human sofa on the streets of Las Vegas; suntan-oil applier on the beach of Santa Monica; a hill helper in San Francisco; a professional pillow fighter; a moving guy in Hawaii; a chorus boy in The Magic Flute; an unsuccessful porter in Machu Picchu; a fruit vendor in Puno; a ventriloquist in Buenos Aires with Ümit; and assistant on the Antarctic Dream.
Accommodations: Over forty people took me into their homes, through either couch surfing or friends; a barn in an Amish community in Ohio; the park in Albuquerque; motels in Las Vegas; Waikiki Beach in Honolulu; a Hare Krishna temple in Berkeley; overnight buses and bus stations; and the freezing heights of Machu Picchu.
Food: Asked for food in over 500 shops, restaurants, and cafés. My most memorable meal was the steak at the Nobel restaurant in Honolulu. And I won’t forget the flowers on Big Island.
Transportation: A container ship; seven aircrafts; a horse-drawn carriage; a bicycle; trekking; trains; hitchhiking rides in over twenty cars, trucks, and buses; and the Antarctic Dream.
Climates: Polar, desert, subtropics, tropics, alpine, and temperate.
Final Total: 25,000 miles in 150 days.
Most importantly, I want to thank the hundreds of people who have made this impossible trip possible: Harold for hiring me as his butler; my fellow crewmates on the container ship for helping me realize what I have; the Amish community who took me in when I was most in need; Joseph in Albuquerque for teaching me some street smarts; David in Las Vegas for the nice comfort of a hotel room; Murph’s dad for the flight ticket to Hawaii; Brandon for showing me how to live off the land and introducing me to tasty flowers; Dr. Luck for introducing me to bicep implants; Michael Grau for the lovely party at the Residencia Alemana; the generous family in Cartagena from whom I learned that sometimes one needs just five minutes and twenty seconds to get a free accommodation; the Machu Picchu porters for carrying some of my weight and not leaving me behind; Hedwig and Cicki for the tour on Lake Titicaca and the ticket to Bolivia; the bus company in La Paz for the free ticket that crucially helped keep the journey going; everybody on the Antarctic Dream for bringing this trip to such a successful end; and to all of the salespeople and waiters who made it easy for me to get enough food. Thank you!
Now that I’m standing here in freezing temperatures remembering all that got me here, I have to ask myself: What did I plan to do once I got to Antarctica? During my trip, I have often wondered how I would feel or how I would react once I got here—jump for joy, do my happy dance, run around like I’m crazy? Well, I’ve done all that, so now what? I could swim with the penguins, but since I didn’t even bring polar-proof pants, I don’t think my swimming trunks will do.
Well, I know one thing is for sure: I need to start moving around before my foot freezes. The tear in my right rubber boot is le
tting the cold in. But I am too late: my foot is completely numb, so Paulo helps me back to the rubber dinghy. As we sail away, I never imagined my much-awaited landing on shore would be like this. “So long, f***ing Antarctica!” escapes loudly from my mouth. Paulo, aghast, questions me in English about whether I have a screw loose: first I leap off the dinghy with inexplicable cheer, and now, here I am cursing the continent.
Back on the ship, my foot finally thaws so that I can make peace with Antarctica again. This also means that I can now look forward to returning to Germany: my jeans are almost in shreds; the crown of my tooth has fallen out and urgently needs replacing; my thick beard needs a good shave; my diet in the last 150 days consisted mainly of fast food, little vitamins, low fiber, and high sugar. I am looking forward to getting my life back in order.
What I am taking away with me through this experience? In life it’s not always about more; more is more than enough. Personal happiness depends only to some extent on consumption. Despite having to carry on with no razor, torn jeans, a toothache, no food, and total exhaustion, I didn’t ever really feel unhappy. All the conveniences and amenities I have back home I didn’t miss. The Amish community, the Filipinos on the container ship, and the family in Cartagena taught me that having less doesn’t mean you have to be less happy. Rather, the lesson appears to be that it is better to give than take. Not everything in life needs to be a deal; one should give instead of investing. This is a lesson I need to keep in mind. When you really give without seeing a benefit in it or expecting a return, you open up, learn new things, and become unbelievably richer.
In retrospect, I would encourage all travel enthusiasts to travel to the remotest corners of the earth, even in an unconventional way, like I have done. One thing is for sure, and though I said it earlier, it bears repeating: the negative image of humanity, shown to us by the media, is not in alignment with reality. Naturally there are such incidents and such people. But with a certain caution, knowledge of human nature, and curiosity for people and cultures, you can meet people from whom you can learn a lot.
How to Travel the World for Free Page 13
