The Southernmost World: Antarctica

Photography by Yu Tai

Text by Yu Tai

I had been imagining this journey for years.

Again and again, when everything far away, both familiar and unfamiliar, appeared in my dreams, I would wake in sweetness and excitement. At that point, could I still call it only a dream?

It was a summons to act.

I had added Lan Xi on WeChat long before the journey. Our occasional consultations were put on hold by the pandemic, and through those three unforgettable years, the farthest and most sacred place became the most unreachable dream.

In my mind, Antarctica was the purest place on Earth: unspoiled, direct and without artifice. Each time I reached toward that dream and realized how much I still did not know, a weight rose inside me, even a kind of guilt. That feeling made the courage to travel shrink again and again. Because the place was so far away and so difficult to picture clearly, the dream sometimes thinned out and disappeared into everyday exhaustion. At other times, after watching only a few minutes of Antarctic videos or photos, my excitement seemed to lose its force. Desire and anxiety grew through the long wait, yet the call of that distant place was the one thing I could not let go.

After years of circling back to the same dream, it felt like an overfilled balloon about to burst.

When I finally started moving in that direction, there was no cheering or jumping. I became very quiet instead. I lifted my camera and let composition, color and story enter the frame one by one, wanting to hold on to as much of it as I could.

This was the gift I gave myself as I stepped into the age of 64.

As the plane passed from one night into another, light was already waiting ahead. The sun was still as fresh as ever, but the glaciers and ocean before me carried new meaning, like the years that had already passed.

Those years had settled into layers: thousands of years, hundreds of years, gathering all the world's changes and sorrows. Hardship, frustration and pain would eventually become the strongest places inside us.

The window I had longed for was finally open. I no longer wanted to talk about the thirst those waiting years had left in me, or describe the landscape in ornamental language. I simply wanted to look clearly and tell the story of this land.

Everywhere I looked, time seemed to stand still. I come from northern China and have seen snow all my life, but Antarctica's snow and ice still stunned me. It was not the familiar white of a northern winter. It was blue sea, blue sky, blue ice, curious penguins and a line of green expedition parkas. Together they washed away a year's worth of exhaustion.

At sunset, we met a rare and unforgettable glow. The horizon below the distant icebergs was edged with orange cloud. It was dazzling and deeply moving. Standing on deck in the wind, I felt a coolness that settled both body and mind.

Inside the glass dome observation lounge, piano music arrived at just the right moment. It felt like a space outside ordinary life. In the afterglow, with the sea moving beneath us and each note hanging in the air, all my old fantasies about Antarctica fell away. The moment felt cinematic, almost cleansing. Perhaps that is what people mean by a peak experience. At the end of the world, friends and strangers quickly came together and greeted one another simply: hello.

Who could rehearse in advance the people and surprises one might meet at the end of the world? Who could have imagined that this pristine landscape could soften so much of what life had weathered?

When you finally reach a place you have longed for, phrases such as "beautiful scenery" or "mountains and rivers" become too small. Some places are better met in silence.

There is no noise or bustle in Antarctica. Here I found a world of peace and beauty. I felt less like a visitor than someone returning home. Everything there seemed to stir feeling, loosen what had been knotted inside and open a part of me that had been longing for belonging.

It was my first visit, yet it felt like a return.

Antarctica had become an old friend. I stood at the door and knocked gently. The sunlight was still there. You were still there.

My Newayer experience

Someone once said that apart from the place where they lived, they had never set foot anywhere else. Hearing that gave me a faint ache.

At some point, I became sharply aware of age. Going out into the world had become something I hesitated over. Antarctica had become a stormy sea inside me, and in struggling with that desire I realized that travel itself could be a kind of rescue. Newayer and several other Antarctica operators became the options that might make the journey possible. After comparing price, reputation and support again and again, I finally chose Newayer. It turned out to be the right choice.

I do not speak English, so I relied on the tour leader for the practical details of the journey.

After I told Lan Xi from Newayer what I was worried about, I did not expect tour leader Wang Miao to take such careful care of me from Beijing Airport onward. For someone like me, who had spent six consecutive years crossing remote areas in China, being looked after so closely felt unfamiliar at first.

At first, I was not used to being looked after. It blurred the line between imagination and reality. My feelings were complicated. Surrounded by English words and unfamiliar voices, I moved as if in a haze, like a bewildered child, following the group closely and not daring to fall behind.

By the time the plane landed in Paris, the spirit of the group had already taken shape: joyful, easy, trusting and warm. Quietly, I was glad that I had chosen correctly.

Walking through Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina, I immediately felt the freshness of a new city. After years of familiar Chinese streets and buildings, the architecture, colors and rhythm here opened my eyes. This city was the true starting point of our Antarctica journey. Although I knew where the trip would eventually lead, I felt the old excitement of being young again. The wider world and the streets of a foreign city opened in front of me.

That day's sightseeing included Plaza de Mayo, the colorful La Boca district, the world's most beautiful bookstore, the famous Teatro Colon and the well-known cemetery in Argentina.

In that way, we saw a good part of the capital. Newayer arranged the day tightly. Even though it was only a quick overview, the city left a real impression. As we moved through it, I began to feel the weight and pleasure of travel again.

The service along the way was excellent. I am not someone who nitpicks, and for a traveler who had often endured rough outdoor conditions, this level of service already felt very high. Please forgive my limited experience.

When the plane landed in Ushuaia, my excitement sharpened. This was where we would board the ship, cross the Drake Passage and make the dream of setting foot on the Antarctic Peninsula real.

There was still some time before boarding, and Newayer arranged for us to visit Tierra del Fuego National Park. We saw the world's southernmost post office, reached the end-of-the-world photo point, bought postcards and walked around the town of Ushuaia. None of it felt quite real. That instant happiness belonged entirely to the act of moving forward.

With such a good beginning, the following days on the ship carried no burden and no fear. Online descriptions had made the Drake Passage sound violent and merciless, but our own crossing ended in calm seas. Before we had time to feel tragic or wait for fierce waves, we had passed through safely.

All of us were extremely lucky.

I still remember Mr. Zhao saying that he had wanted to experience big waves and a pitching ship. Unfortunately, the Drake Passage did not give him the chance.

I am not writing an advertisement, but I still want to praise Newayer's service: it was thoughtful.

They celebrated guests' birthdays.

They made dumplings for the Lunar New Year.

We held our own Lunar New Year gala.

There was much more, too much to list.

When we boarded at the port of Ushuaia, the sky was perfectly clear. The ship, the wide water and the town at the foot of the mountains seemed to hold the promise of departure. After putting down my luggage, I rushed straight to the deck. Everything was blue: the sky, the sea, the light. In the distance, a red ship stood out sharply against it all. I kept pressing the shutter on my phone, trying to keep every detail.

From the moment we boarded, the Antarctica I had dreamed of truly began to appear. A real Antarctica journey, imagined thousands of times, had become much clearer. The warmth on board made me feel welcome. Though language was a barrier, it did not prevent greetings and kindness.

This was a five-star ship, with 133 crew members serving us from more than twenty countries. To have boarded was to become part of this temporary circle of fate.

Everything on board felt new to me. I had taken ships before, but World Traveller felt different. In the corridors there was always a faint plant-like fragrance, never sharp, only a soft trace that calmed the mind.

I have a habit: whenever I enter a new environment, I quickly learn it. Fire exits and safety doors are the first things I must understand. So I moved up and down, level by level, and in less than half an hour I had learned the passageways and doors.

I was fortunate to share a room with a young woman from Beijing. The room was small but refined. Small as it was, it had everything we needed and did not affect our rest at all. The hygiene was excellent. The clean surroundings made someone as casual as me feel almost restrained.

As the journey continued, that sense of warmth stayed with us. What moved me most was how naturally people and landscape seemed to belong together. Standing on deck, with a cool breeze and the faint scent of the sea, I looked toward the horizon and felt as if I had entered another world.

The first night on board was extraordinarily romantic. Fine food and piano music accompanied us into our first sunset at sea.

Only then did I understand how unbelievable a night of just four hours could be. There was no thick black curtain, no full sky of stars, no heavy darkness. Everything was exciting, everything stirred imagination.

I do not know how that first night passed, nor when the ship slipped into the Drake Passage.

In my excitement, I waited for sunset and sunrise, because in my imagination, the Drake Passage must have its own special sunsets and sunrises.

When the second day opened, activities sprang up one after another. Life on the ship was rich and varied: lectures, events, different programs, luxurious and nutritious meals three times a day. We enjoyed five-star service.

Each day moved between anticipation and excitement. The luxurious and comfortable journey made every traveler forget fatigue and the discomfort of drifting at sea. After the excitement, I slept deeply, dreamless and worry-free. The night was short, but waking felt like returning from another world. Each day, I lifted the curtain to look at the sky and the sea. I had brought two books but never opened them, because I wanted to enjoy this leisurely life and remind myself that I was no longer young.

People asked whether I got seasick. To be honest, a few people did feel sick and vomited, but my own discomfort passed quickly and did not affect my lively state.

I would often ask for a cup of coffee and pretend to be deep in thought. In truth, I was simply overwhelmed by everything I was seeing and feeling.

Route:

We departed from Beijing and transferred in Paris.

From Paris we flew to Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina.

After spending a day there, we flew to Ushuaia and visited Tierra del Fuego National Park.

From Ushuaia, we boarded the ship and spent two days crossing the Drake Passage.

We made five landings and visited China's Great Wall Station in Antarctica.

Finally, we reached King George Island and flew to Punta Arenas in Chile, then onward to the Chilean capital.

From there, we returned by way of Chile, the Netherlands and Beijing.