White Silence: Notes from the Bottom of the World
A journey across oceans, into silence, and beyond expectations. A story about a private Antarctica expedition.
I never expected to visit Antarctica so soon. It lived quietly on my bucket list—one of those distant, sacred destinations you imagine reaching someday. But life sometimes has different plans, and suddenly, I was packing my gear for the bottom of the world.
The journey began in Buenos Aires, alongside my friend and fellow photographer, Guido.
We stayed at the Park Hyatt, a stunning palace-turned-hotel with impeccable service and the best location in the city. Buenos Aires wasn’t part of the plan—we simply couldn’t fly directly to Ushuaia—but we made the most of the detour.
That night, we managed to get a reservation at Don Julio, the famed Argentine parrilla. Between the wine list and the wood-fired steaks, it became a memorable farewell to city life before the vast silence ahead.
The next morning, we flew south to Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world. Upon arrival, Quark Expeditions greeted us and transferred us to our hotel in town.
There, waiting quietly in port, was our ship: the World Explorer. Just looking at her made our minds race with possibility. But for that evening, it was simple—beer, food, and anticipation.
The following day, we boarded.
The World Explorer was a ship built for adventure, carrying around 170 guests, with all the creature comforts you could want before stepping into the most isolated place on Earth. We met some of the expedition team: ornithologists, marine biologists, professional photographers, glaciologists, and our expedition leader, Sean, with 24 years of Antarctic experience. Their energy was contagious.
Before setting off, we were briefed on what everyone quietly feared: the Drake Passage.
We were warned: this crossing would be a rough one. We secured everything in our rooms, took showers (while still possible), and had a calm dinner, knowing what was coming. There is no feeling like being jolted awake by a massive wave slamming into the hull of a ship.
The Drake showed no mercy that night. Two days of dizzying swells, staggering hallways, and the humbling realization that nature would not be tamed. And then, the world changed. The seas calmed. The sky softened. And outside our windows, icebergs—titanic, blue-white sculptures—floated past in eerie, sacred silence. When I stepped onto the observation deck, it was as if I had crossed into another planet:
Ice. Light. Silence.
No engines. No noise. Just the crunch of the hull through ice and the call of distant seabirds. We were finally in Antarctica.
Our days settled into a rhythm that, even now, feels dreamlike:
Breakfast. Zodiac landing. Lunch. Zodiac cruise. Game night. Dinner.
Five days of pure wonder, and somehow it never became old.
We visited colonies of Adélie, Gentoo, and Chinstrap penguins—and let me say this clearly: penguins are not overrated. They are pure personality on two feet, waddling through ancient snowfields, completely unfazed by our presence. They brought an energy and humor to the starkness that I didn’t expect. Between landings, life onboard was just as vibrant.
Our small group bonded fast:
Shauna, the energetic heartbeat of our crew.
Jay and Chloe, the power couple—he, a famous drummer, she, one of the most creative and witty people I’ve met.
Cat, a fascinating soul whose journey took him from pottery to Antarctica.
Amelia and Trevor, Air Force members based in Las Vegas, the kindest couple I’ve ever traveled with.
Michael, elegant and effortlessly entertaining, with real estate advice and dating tips always at the ready.
We spent nights playing everything from UNO to card games I had never even heard of before, laughing until late while the polar twilight hung outside the ship’s windows. As a photographer, I thought penguins would dominate my lens. Instead, I returned with more photographs of ice than I ever expected. Icebergs—each one a cathedral carved by wind and time—became endless muses for my camera.
As the trip neared its end, and we prepared for the journey back across the Drake, a few unexpected realizations hit me:
Wi-Fi was ridiculously expensive.
In my line of work—running a travel agency—it’s difficult to disconnect. Yet here, I had no choice, and it turned out to be a gift.
The passengers were much younger than I expected.
Far from a retirement crowd, it was full of adventurers, creatives, and explorers at every stage of life.
Antarctica feels completely out of this world.
The scale, the silence, the colors—nothing prepares you for how surreal it is to stand in a place so untouched.
Crossing the Drake Passage back felt infinitely longer.
Maybe because we were heavier—not in body, but in soul—with all that we had seen.
Antarctica doesn’t change you with a single moment.
It changes you quietly, irrevocably, in a way you only notice when you’re already back home—and suddenly, the noise of everyday life feels just a little bit too loud. This experience was something I had dreamed about but never fully imagined—and a huge part of why it surpassed every expectation was Quark Expeditions. Their passion, expertise, and attention to every detail made an extraordinary journey feel effortless, personal, and unforgettable.
Some places leave you with memories.
Antarctica leaves you different.
