Sail from Christchurch to Antarctica on Ponant’s luxury Le Commandant Charcot cruise ship. Photo / Supplied; Ponant
Sail from Christchurch to Antarctica on Ponant’s luxury Le Commandant Charcot cruise ship. Photo / Supplied; Ponant
If anyone’s going to convince you that a trip to Antarctica can be done in style and with sustainability front of mind, it’s the French, writes Anna Sarjeant
“Cruise convert”. The buzzword of marketers. Title for a thousand travel stories the world over.
It’s the idea that anyone can be converted from being cruise adverse to a cruise lover. According to brochures and travel mags alike, the magic lies in finding the right cruise ship for you. Granted, there are currently 51 ocean and 27 river cruise lines navigating the globe, so you really shouldn’t base all your judgments on one or two.
But is there any truth to it? Do avid non-sailors — those with a penchant for a villa holiday and seclusion verging on a hermit’s agenda — really jump aboard a cruise ship and succumb to seduction?
I’ve always been sceptical. I don’t like snow and skiing weekends only made me loathe it more.
Surely, we can’t lure everyone into loving a boatload of confined fun.
Or so I thought, up until I ran my foot across the cool, grey slate tiles of a Ponant cabin. A room that, had you blindfolded me and hidden the sea views, I’d have assumed was a five-star hotel. The size alone feels too big for a cruise ship. The bathroom – and extension of those excessively slick slate tiles – has all the hallmarks of a luxury resort.
Many of the larger suites aboard Le Commandant Charcot boast a huge walk-in wardrobe.
This is Ponant, the French cruise line. I’m sampling the onboard delights of Le Commandant Charcot, a day after the vessel returned to Christchurch following an expedition to Antarctica. Tomorrow she will set sail again, ferrying fresh guests to The Ice at the end of the world.
For now, she’s stationed in Lyttelton Harbour, all 31,000 tonnes of her, which for a cruise ship is relatively demure. For context, the largest cruise ship in the world — Icon of the Seas — weighs 250,000 tonnes. The vessel carries just 245 guests, serviced by 215 crew members. Forget what you think you know about gazillion-passenger cruise ships and tabloid newspapers citing fisticuffs over the breakfast buffet, Ponant is none of that. The Commandant doesn’t even have a buffet. There are two upscale sit-down restaurants, Sila and Nuna, and the latter is the only Alain Ducasse restaurant at sea.
Breakfast in Sila restaurant on Le Commandant Charcot by Ponant.
With itineraries that find the furthest reaches of Antarctica and venture as far north as its polar opposite, you could describe Le Commandant Charcot as an expedition ship. Of sorts. Except the idea of anyone roughing it in gaiters and knit balaclavas is farcical. Le Commandant Charcot is your gateway to the Northern Lights and Greenland’s most remote Innuit villages (several weeks ahead of any other ship we may add), which may sound intrepid, but you’ll be doing so with spa treatments, heated pools and a detox-bar to hand. Never had a manicure with a polar bear in eyeshot? Now’s your chance.
The spa onboard Le Commandant Charcot. Photo / Gilles Trillard
The expedition element comes into play when you hit the ice. Quite literally.
Le Commandant Charcot is the world’s only luxury ice-breaker. Capable of exceptional maneuverability in icy landscapes, it’s a vessel that takes passengers into the heart of a penguin colony rather than wait for Pingu to eventually wobble by.
Worry not, Le Commandant Charcot doesn’t smash through penguin habitats with sheer brute force, the agility of her design allows the ship to shift and move with the ice. Whereas other ships may view the difficult terrain as a blockade, this one simply goes with the flow.
Of course, with privilege also comes backlash and the surge in Antarctica’s popularity has put environmental impact back in the spotlight. In response, Le Commandant Charcot utilises state-of-the-art hybrid technology, reducing its emissions via an electric/liquefied natural gas engine. For those of us who fearfully envisage ice-white plateaus smeared in smog by 2030, Ponant shares your anxieties, hence why they’ve ditched diesel in favour of cleaner energy.
Your in-room fireplace to warm you up after a long day in Antarctica.
Joining you onboard and for excursions to the Big White is a full team of researchers and approximately 20 nature guides. Le Commandant Charcot also takes full advantage of her year-round polar visits, with two onboard laboratories to foster scientific research, part of The Ponant Science Project.
Now, back to those slate tiles, which may seem like an odd detail to obsess over, but this is a cruise ship when all is said and done – I’d have expected them to use a lighter material. They didn’t. Ponant spoils its guests with the perfect example of “anti-cruise” fixtures and fittings. Many of the larger suites boast a huge walk-in wardrobe and an enormous fireplace. Duplex Suites feature a mezzanine level and a Jacuzzi (complete with separate entrance on level 2 so you don’t have to navigate the stairs after a boozy dinner). There’s a helipad for excursions and the Owner’s Suite presides over 115sq m of the ship, accommodating two (very lucky) guests, where many cruise ships would squeeze in another five suites and a swimming pool. Lest we forget those slate tiles and a balcony for every cabin. Viewless interior cabins do not exist. Not now, ni jamais.
The mezzanine level inside a Duplex Suite on Le Commandant Charcot.
My time onboard is short-lived but as my second overnight dalliance on a cruise ship, I am becoming more and more convinced that there is truth in the “cruise convert” paradigm. While you may argue you too could be swayed should you find yourself on such a luxurious option, complete with Michelin-star food and a price tag to match, but I am not here in the capacity of a bank manager.
