Polar bears, icy plunges, piano bars, and haute cuisine—all in a day’s cruising aboard the chic Le Commandant Charcot.
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ByChristian Barker Published: Sep 30, 2024 11:11 AM UTC10 min read
WHEN YOU FIRST ARRIVE IN one of the world’s great cities, like New York, Paris or London, somehow there’s a sense of familiarity. We’ve all seen so many movies set in these locations that when you physically arrive there, it’s like déjà vu. The Arctic Circle, meanwhile? It “hits different,” as the kids say. No matter how many Attenborough-narrated documentaries you’ve watched, when you first enter this otherworldly environment for real, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced.
My own unforgettable introduction to the dramatic seascape off southern Greenland came after a day’s sailing from Reykjavik, Iceland. I stood on the ship’s forward observation deck around midnight, the sky still duskily lit (the night hardly gets dark during the Arctic spring). Through the mist, I could see we’d reached ice. The ship shuddered slightly as she transitioned from navigating open water to frozen-over ocean, then began carving through the ice with a sound like a million sizzling skillets of bacon. It was EPIC. I was dumbstruck.
The arctic cruise vessel that ferried me to this properly awe-inspiring part of the world was named Le Commandant Charcot. This eco-friendly, LNG-powered Polar Class 2 icebreaker is the only luxury passenger ship capable of penetrating the frozen seas of the Arctic Circle—it can and often does take passengers all the way to the North Pole. At 150 meters long, Charcot is smaller than your average cruise liner, but that intimacy only adds to her appeal. In scale, she’s much closer to the super yachts favored by Russian oligarchs and Emirati royalty.
Charcot’s design is far more tasteful than you’d likely see on a petro-tycoon’s sloop, though. Her décor—awash in matte Nordic wood, slate finishes, and neutral-hued leather—is the handiwork of noted designers Wilmotte & Associés and Studio Jean-Philippe Nuel. The Ponant line is owned by the Pinault family, proprietors of the Kering stable of luxury brands (Gucci, Bottega Veneta, Balenciaga, YSL, etc.), so an elegant aesthetic is only to be expected. This carries through the two swimming pools, spectacular sauna and snow room, Technogym fitness club, theatre/cinema, and numerous social spaces.
There was a big-screen TV in my spacious cabin, but I wasn’t once tempted to switch it on during my eleven-day arctic cruise, on an itinerary Ponant calls Inuit Spring. Instead, I’d stand on my balcony—every cabin on the ship has its own—and gaze at the massive shattered ice blocks of the sea below, and the expanse of frozen ocean stretching to the horizon, punctuated by snow-covered peaks where few (if any) human beings have ever set foot.
The Inuit are the indigenous people of Greenland, but the undisputed ruler of this landscape is the polar bear. The officers and naturalists aboard Charcot took pains, at the start of our journey, to explain that there are no guarantees of seeing one of these incredible beasts. By the end of our trip, however, we’d observed a dozen—including the rare-as-hen’s-teeth sight of a mother bear nursing two cubs.
The bears would often come right up to the hull of the ship, where passengers could watch them from the safety of the deck, a few storeys above. It is best to maintain a reasonable distance from polar bears. The planet’s largest land-based predator, they are the only bear to be 100-percent carnivorous and see people as prey. Other bears may view you as threatening, and attack. Polar bears simply consider you a tasty snack.
Weighing up to 770kg, often standing taller than three meters, they’re able to run at speeds pushing 40 kilometers per hour—nearly as fast as Usain Bolt. No puny human stands a chance. That’s why, whenever the ship would stop and passengers be allowed out to explore the ice or take part in activities such as kayaking, dog sledding, hiking or Zodiac boating, crew members armed with rifles would set up a perimeter, guarding against the unwanted attentions of ravenous Ursus maritimus albus-major, articus.
As a polar bear would doubtless tell you—if he could talk, and if he could resist devouring you for long enough—being out in the cold, you build up a mighty appetite. The hunger pangs of Charcot’s passengers are sated at three restaurants. On the top deck, there’s outdoor grill Inneq (Inuit for fire) and smart-casual buffet Sila (Inuit for sky). They’re both very good indeed. But honestly, you’d be mad not to dine as often as possible at the ship’s most formal restaurant, Nuna (Inuit for land), which offers an ever-changing menu of haute cuisine and elevated comfort food designed by the renowned French chef, Alain Ducasse.
All cuisine, including room service, is included in the fare, as are the contents of your minibar and an array of sommelier-curated wines and spirits. My arctic-cruise companions and I took to having pre-dinner martinis each evening, made with Grey Goose vodka at the observation deck bar. I’d generally end the night with a dram or two of Talisker 10-year-old at the reception deck piano bar, where I may once have joined the band for a highly spirited rendition of David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance.” (Footage exists but will not be released until after I’m deceased.)
There was a convivial, collegiate atmosphere aboard, with the adventurous nature of the journey attracting a more youthful and spritely demographic than you might find on a standard, languid luxury cruise. Charcot has a maximum capacity of 270 guests, served by roughly 200 staff and crew, but my journey carried just 120 passengers. Most were French—unsurprising, given Ponant’s Gallic provenance—and pleasingly chic.
Immaculately turned-out ladies displayed a predilection for Chanel, Hermès and Celine, while gentlemen tended to sport subtle luxe from Brunello Cucinelli, Ermenegildo Zegna and Loro Piana. Evenings often carried a dress code, and passengers stepped up, swapping the day’s parkas, puffers and polar fleece for glamorous evening wear. In preparation, I’d commissioned a new Holland & Sherry black velvet dinner suit at my tailor in Singapore, Marlo Bespoke, worn with velvet slippers from Del Toro, emblazoned with a suitably nautical Jolly Roger motif.
It was one of my most scantily attired moments aboard Le Commandant Charcot, however, that would prove to be my most memorable. Several days before our reluctant return to Reykjavik, those of us who were brave and foolhardy enough had the chance to experience a polar plunge, descending into the minus-two-degree sea in nothing but a swimsuit.
If you ever have the chance to do the same, may I offer some advice? Step into the water gradually, purposefully, but don’t jump—as the gasping gentleman before me quickly learned, sudden head-to-toe submersion can be quite a shock to the system. And perhaps try cold therapy in the controlled environment of a spa before going the polar route, so you’ll be mentally prepared and know what you’re in for. In my case: 60 stinging seconds of toe-curling coldness. An experience, like the rest of this utterly exceptional trip, that I will not soon forget.
A 10-night arctic cruise on Le Commandant Charcot starts at €15,490 per person, full board, with no single supplement.
Lede and hero image by Morgane Monneret, and all images courtesy of Ponant.
Note:
The information in this article is accurate as of the date of publication.
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Tags
- Arctic Circle
- Arctic Cruise
- North Pole
- Polar Bear
- Ponant