Polar Opposites

A journey north to one of the harshest, remotest spots on Earth couldn't be more luxurious.

- Michael Verdon

A century ago, an expedition to the North Pole involved dogsleds and explorers in heavy, furlined clothes, windburnt and famished after weeks of trudging across ice floes, finally planting their nations’ flags in the barren landscape. These days, if you’re a tourist, the only way to reach 90 degrees north latitude, the geographic North Pole, is aboard Le Commandant Charcot, a six-star hotel mated to a massive, 492ft icebreaking hull.

My wife, Cathy, and I are among the first group of tourists aboard Ponant’s new expedition icebreaker, the world’s only Polar Class 2-rated cruise ship (of seven levels of ice vessel, second only to research and military vessels in ability to manoeuvre in Arctic conditions). Our arrival on 14 July couldn’t be more different from explorer Robert Peary’s on 6 April 1909. On that date, he reported, he staked a small American flag—sewn by his wife—into the pole, joined by four Inuits and his assistant, Matthew Henson, a Black explorer from Maine who was with Peary on his two previous Arctic expeditions. (Peary’s claim of being first to the pole was quickly disputed by another American, Frederick Cook, who insisted he’d spent two days there a year earlier. Scholars now view both claims with scepticism.)

Our 300-plus party’s landing, on Bastille Day, features the captain of the French ship driving around in an allterrain vehicle with massive wheels and an enormous tricolour flag on the back, guests dressed in stylish orange parkas celebrating on the ice, and