The most epic cruise ever? What it’s like traveling to the North Pole on a luxury icebreaker

13 September 2023

Editor’s note: TPG’s Gene Sloan accepted a free trip from Ponant Cruises to accompany one of its first expedition cruises to the North Pole. The opinions expressed below are entirely his and weren’t subject to review by the line.

Our luxurious French expedition ship, Le Commandant Charcot, shudders as it plows through a thick slab of snow-covered ice.

Down below, under the mighty vessel’s specially sloped bow, a 6-feet-thick sheet of “glace,” as our French captain likes to call it, is cracking and sliding to the side, creating an opening that lets us glide forward.

But from my perch in the ship’s elegant observation lounge, five decks above, all I can see is the white of the snow all around. It feels as if we’re bumping across the top of a cloud.

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Le Commandant Charcot, the toughest expedition cruise vessel ever built, is taking me somewhere few humans have ever gone: the North Pole. And despite a few shudders, it’s doing it with relative ease.

Unveiled in 2021, the 245-passenger vessel — named after a famed French polar explorer — is made for the ice like no other.

It is a true icebreaker of the sort that only governments have built until now — a vessel capable of traveling to the most remote, ice-filled parts of the polar regions, including the North Pole.

Le Commandant Charcot’s massive bow is capable of breaking through polar ice. GENE SLOAN/THE POINTS GUY

But it’s also a very upscale polar vessel, with all the trappings of luxury cruise ships that operate in warmer climes. As I sit in the warmth and safety of the cozy observation lounge, writing this, I am sipping a cafe latte from French-made Pillivuyt china and nibbling on handmade croissants. Really, it feels like a dream.

But then comes another shudder to shake me out of my stupor. This is no dream.

The North Pole is only 150 miles away.

A rare voyage

As recently as 1977, no human had arrived at the North Pole by surface ship. That was the year the Russian nuclear icebreaker Arktika, with a working crew, became the first vessel to reach the world’s northernmost spot, a triumph at the time.

Since then, 18 more vessels, all icebreakers and almost all government-owned, have made the journey at least once, some multiple times.

But even today, a ship-based trip to the North Pole is a rare occurrence — particularly in cases where paying passengers are involved.

In recent decades, expedition travel companies have periodically chartered space on some of Russia’s working icebreakers to take adventure-minded travelers to the top of the world. But only in small numbers. And never in the style of Le Commandant Charcot.

Operated by Ponant Cruises, a French company specializing in high-end expedition-style cruises, Le Commandant Charcot is the first purpose-built expedition cruise ship capable of reaching the North Pole.

In other words, it’s the first vessel designed for the comfort of tourists that offers such trips.

The journey north

Our sailing to the North Pole, just the eighth that Le Commandant Charcot has operated with paying passengers, begins in Longyearbyen, the northernmost settlement of any size in the world.

Located on the western end of the Norway-controlled Svalbard archipelago, high above the Arctic Circle, the town of 2,500 people is also one of the northernmost points in the world reachable by airplane — in our case, a chartered flight from Paris organized by Ponant — and an Arctic destination in its own right. It’s famous for its northern lights and polar bears.

Alas, we don’t stay long in Longyearbyen. After a quick buffet lunch in the town’s banquet hall and a visit to its small museum, the 199 tourists who have signed up for this trip — an international contingent that skews heavily to wealthy Chinese and Taiwanese travelers but also includes 45 Americans, Brits and Australians — are herded to tender boats for a quick transfer to Le Commandant Charcot, which is waiting for us just offshore. Within hours, we are on our way north.

Just 819 miles from the North Pole, Longyearbyen is not far from the polar ice cap that covers the top of the planet. Twenty-four hours after departing the town, we leave open water behind and begin pushing into it.

When I was young, looking at maps of the world, I would see the giant white mass at the top representing the north polar ice cap and assume it was just like it looked on the map: One big solid sheet of ice. You were either on it or you weren’t.

But it turns out that’s not the way the north polar ice cap works. There is no defined edge.

As we discover on our way north, the massive sheet of ice that covers a wide swath of the Arctic Ocean isn’t one big sheet at all, but a countless number of floating sheets of ice of all shapes and sizes jammed up together — tightly in some places, more loosely in others.

Open areas of water are not uncommon across the polar ice cap. GENE SLOAN/THE POINTS GUY

As our captain, Patrick Marchesseau, explains in a briefing for passengers, winds and currents constantly move the ice around, driving it into a thick pack in some areas and loosening it in others.

In many areas across the polar ice cap, these winds and currents create “leads,” open lines of water through which vessels such as Le Commandant Charcot can pass without having to break ice. There are also bigger pockets of open water called polynyas.

Marchesseau aims for such water openings, not because Le Commandant Charcot can’t handle plowing straight through hard ice, but because it’s faster and more energy efficient to avoid doing so.

“The best way to travel through the ice is to avoid the ice,” he and his officers often quip to passengers.

As a result of Marchesseau’s search for leads, our journey to the North Pole isn’t a straight line north from Svalbard — the most direct route as the bird flies. Instead, we head northeastward from the archipelago, cutting at an angle through an area of the ice cap where satellite images show more openings.

The roundabout route takes us eastward above Russia’s Franz Josef Land before we turn true north toward the pole.

Experiencing the ice

For three days, we plow our way northward across what increasingly resembles a Rothko painting made with variations of white and gray. While the sun appears at times, the skies are mostly densely cloud-covered, resulting in a grayish-white field that fills the top of the horizon all the way down to a whiter field of snow-topped ice — the latter in turn punctured by darker gray channels of open water.

To my surprise, the ice never gets completely solid, even deep into the polar ice cap. The officers on the ship’s bridge (which is open to passengers) talk about it in terms of ratios. The ice today is an “8 out of 10,” they’ll say, or a “9 out of 10,” meaning that about 80% or 90% of the surface of the water is covered by ice.

Even as we near the North Pole, we rarely come across stretches of ice that are a “10 out of 10.”

The Arctic landscape can sometimes resemble abstract art. GENE SLOAN/THE POINTS GUY

As we learn during lectures given by climate scientists and other experts on board, this is partly due to the increasing melting of the Arctic ice cap during the warmer summer months caused by the planet’s warming in recent decades. Average temperatures in the Arctic have risen significantly — and thus made journeys like this easier.

But channels of open water, or leads, have long been found across the polar ice cap in the warmest months when the ice melts back. Early Arctic explorers, we learn, would use them to navigate the polar regions. They would look for “water sky” as they traveled north — the dark reflection of open water on the clouds in the distance.

They would also look for “ice blink” — a glow on the horizon caused by the reflection of snow-topped ice on the clouds.

The idea for those in ships was to strike out toward the first and avoid the latter to make a polar passage easier.

Despite all the modern equipment on the bridge of Le Commandant Charcot, Marchesseau tells me that he and his officers still read the clouds ahead to find the best path forward through the ice.

Traveling through the Arctic, particularly on a journey as far north as the North Pole, still is as much art as science.

It’s also mesmerizing. For three days, Le Commandant Charcot’s passengers spend hours gazing out over the ever-changing floes of ice, which stretch as far as the eye can see in every direction.

It is an otherwordly landscape, both magnificent and terrifying in its emptiness — a part of the world so removed from our normal experience that it might as well be the moon.

Arriving at the North Pole

All around Le Commandant Charcot are digital screens that show the vessel’s latitude and other live data from the bridge. As the number gets closer to 90 degrees north — the top of the world — the excitement on the ship grows.

Each degree of latitude represents 60 nautical miles, and as we plow through the last degree of distance, Marchesseau begins counting down the gap in regular updates from the bridge: 30 miles to go, 20, 10, 5.

For the last couple of miles, he calls everyone to the bow of the ship, where the moody theme song from “Interstellar” blasts from loudspeakers — a nod to the great distance we have come. From there, we can see him up in the bridge, maneuvering us forward at a crawl as he watches his instruments.

At first, he overshoots the pole by a few hundred feet, tipping over the top of the world toward Siberia. Then he reverses and overshoots again, this time by just dozens of feet. Pushing forward again, he finally hits it on the nose. He blows the ship’s ear-splitting horn, and a cheer echoes across the ice.

We are there. The North Pole. The point where all longitude lines in the world converge. A place where even time is indeterminate, as it’s in every time zone at once.

What follows is a decktop celebration with a level of French flair that only could be done on Le Commandant Charcot. It includes Champagne and caviar arriving via the giant lift typically reserved for the ship’s helicopter, which is stored one deck below.

Marchesseau then drives the ship firmly into the ice, and within a couple of hours, after a quick dinner, we are disembarking through a side door to take our first steps off the vessel.

We giddily take pictures next to a sign labeled “North Pole” that our expedition guides have brought along for the occasion. We walk a perimeter marked off around the vessel, protected by rifle-carrying lookouts scanning the horizon for polar bears. (The rifles are only to be used as a last resort.) We make snow angels in the ground and sip hot chocolate at a warming station the crew sets up on the ice.

But, amazingly enough, it’s just an appetizer for what proves for many to be the day’s biggest excitement: the spotting of a polar bear.

GENE SLOAN/THE POINTS GUY

It happens just minutes after we return to the ship, and the bear saunters right up to the vessel, clearly curious.

Two hundred cameras fire in unison.

A day at the North Pole

The next day is set aside for a longer exploration of our surroundings.

Emerging from Le Commandant Charcot in the morning, we discover that the ship’s expedition guides have laid out snowshoes, cross-country skis and sleds near the ship’s door for romping around the ice.

A mailbox also has appeared, from which we can “mail” letters marked to say they came from the North Pole. Plus, the North Pole sign is back, drawing a never-ending stream of selfie-takers, along with two more signs marking the distance to various points around the world.

GENE SLOAN/THE POINTS GUY

At one level, it’s like a North Pole-themed carnival attraction. It’s a little cheesy, for sure. But maybe it’s just right for this Instagram age; even on an epic, perhaps life-changing trip, you must come back with photos, or it doesn’t count.

Like many of the passengers on board, I give the snowshoes a try, strapping them on and playing polar explorer in a “hike” around a relatively narrow perimeter line that our expedition guides have set up around the ship — really just a short walk.

The sighting of the polar bear the night before, coupled with low visibility, has the guides skittish about letting us wander too far from the vessel. But our playing field is large enough to give me a taste of this icy and barren outpost far from anything.

And, yes, I get the selfie.

But I also try to soak it all in, the enormity of what I am experiencing.

As I walk, I push myself to take in the scene with all my senses: the sound of the snow crunching under my feet, the sting of the Arctic air on my face, the white-on-white vista where the clouds meet the snow.

That I am here at all seems impossible. When I was born in 1969, this spot on the map was still considered the exclusive realm of only the most adventurous explorers. In fact, the first confirmed arrival at the North Pole by an expedition team on foot — the British Trans-Arctic Expedition team — didn’t take place until the year I was born.

In contrast to the handful of days it takes us to reach the North Pole and return to civilization, it took that expedition, led by Sir Wally Herbert, 476 days to get to the pole and back.

Yet here I was, a tourist with no explorer bonafides, tromping around the North Pole, having arrived in warmth and comfort in mere days on a modern and luxurious cruise vessel— albeit a tough one.

Around the world

Our visit to the North Pole is, alas, over almost as soon as it begins. We spend just one night lodged in the ice at the top of the world. Twenty-four hours after we arrive, we are gliding back south.

That is, only after our mischievous captain, Marchesseau, takes us on one final adventure — a “trip around the world.”

Returning the ship to the exact spot of the North Pole (which has moved several miles during the day, as polar ice is always drifting), he drives us in a large circle, hitting every latitude line and time zone in just shy of 12 minutes.

It is, he jokes, the fastest trip around the world ever.

Luxury in the Arctic

As we return south through the ice toward Svalbard, passengers settle back into our luxurious surroundings aboard Le Commandant Charcot.

Unlike any other vessel that has traveled across the polar ice cap, it has all the elements of the most elegant hotels on land: spacious suites, stylish lounges, fine dining and a spa.

Le Commandant’s main restaurant, Nuna, notably has a menu designed by Alain Ducasse, the famed French chef.

There also are more crew members on the vessel (201) than passengers, something that is almost unheard of in the world of cruising. As a result, the service is high-level.

A French chef aboard Le Commandant Charcot prepares hors d’oeuvres in the ship’s lounge. GENE SLOAN/THE POINTS GUY

As you might expect for such a high-end vessel, Le Commandant Charcot also has a price point that might shock some.

Fifteen-night sailings to the North Pole on the ship start at a sky-high $46,450 per person, based on double occupancy. (That is, it’ll cost you $92,900 or more per couple for a cabin.)

While a princely sum, for sure, such a fare is not all that unusual for an icebreaker trip to the North Pole. Even the expedition travel companies that chartered spartan Russian icebreakers for such voyages in the past charged $35,000 per person or more.

Icebreakers, it turns out, are extremely expensive to build, and Ponant needs to recoup its cost. Part of what you’re paying for is where this ship can get you.

Among the indulgences of Le Commandant Charcot is a contingent of 18 expedition guides, or nearly one for every 10 passengers. They are experts in ornithology, geology, biology and more; some are kayak and hiking guides. As we sail through the ice, they offer daily lectures on what we see around us, from the polar bear to the cracking ice.

It turns out that Le Commandant Charcot isn’t just a floating luxury hotel for the Arctic; it’s a continuing education classroom at sea, too.

This is, for sure, all a bit incongruous: luxury and learning in one of the world’s harshest places.

As one of the lecturers points out, not many years ago, people were dying trying to reach this place where we now travel with such comfort and ease.

A final taste of the ice

After departing the North Pole, Le Commandant Charcot spends nearly three days working its way back south through the ice to Svalbard. But the trip isn’t over.

Ponant had built a large number of days into its initial North Pole sailings as it wasn’t sure just how fast Le Commandant Charcot would be able to travel through the ice. It turned out to be more days than needed.

With days to spare, Marchesseau points the vessel toward some of the most remote parts of glacier-covered Svalbard for exploring, including far-flung Kvitoya island, where passengers ogle polar bears along the shore from the safety of Zodiac boats, and the northeastern coast of Spitsbergen, where they land by Zodiac to walk the edge of the giant Vaigatbreen glacier.

Three days of impromptu Svalbard exploring also brings walrus spotting at ice-covered Wahlbergoya island and an epic morning of kayaking and zodiac cruising along calving Lilliehookbreen glacier on Spitsbergen’s west coast. After a day sailing westward across the Greenland Sea, there’s also an afternoon stop for hiking and kayaking along the mountainous and glacier-covered coast of Greenland before the trip ends in Reykjavik, Iceland.

Together, the visits to Svalbard and Greenland offer an ice experience different from our days weaving through the north polar ice cap.

Still, for me and the other passengers on board, it’s all secondary. On this trip, we stood at the top of the world — and nothing else could ever compare.

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