Packing light? Easier said than done when heading for a cold climate
Not being a skier, I've rarely had to dig out my extreme winter clothes here in Australia. But I'm in my cupboards right now trying to locate my long underwear and thickest pants for summer in Europe.
Summer? Yes, because I'm inadvertently on trend for this year. I'm about to go on a cruise to Greenland.
Packing is a real challenge for this trip. I've never travelled to polar regions and while those New York winters were intense (without earmuffs my earlobes would get so crisp, they were in danger of breaking off), I find it difficult to imagine exactly how cold it will get.
It's always the same with packing – I tend to underplay how warm or hot it might be. When it's hot, and I'm packing for cold, my imagination fails me. It's a bit cool in Sydney now but there are no chunks of ice floating in Sydney Harbour.
I'm cruising with HX Expeditions on its newest ship, the MS Fridtjof Nansen, and they've been great in sending passengers detailed lists of what to bring. There's also a dedicated travel portal I can download on my phone which includes practical advice such as what currency I'll need (Danish krone) and what electrical plug will work (type C).
Luckily the dress code is relaxed and informal, even for dinner, as it's an expedition ship. I won't have to bring cocktail dresses and my jewellery, as I always feel I should on cruise lines such as Regent Seven Seas, where female passengers tend to get gussied-up in their finest.
Much of the list is sensible and expected. Comfortable flat shoes with a good grip, as it can be slippery on deck. Swimwear for the hot tub and sauna. (I'll be in that sauna for sure). Gym clothes for the fitness facilities. (Well, maybe.)
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West Australian
16 hours ago
- West Australian
Greenland's culture of the kayak
Hanging against the timber rafters of an old shop in a remote fjord in Greenland is the delicate prow of a sea kayak. It is a familiar shape — it could be the one hanging on my own kayak rack. But the frame of this kayak is wood, where others might have been whalebone, and it is covered with seal skins, sewn together so that the stitches don't fully pierce the hide. This is an original, authentic Greenland kayak; in Greenlandic, qajaq. This is the home of this style of kayak, and this room in the remote community of Upernavik is a place I have longed to see. I have been paddling an equivalent sea kayak since my first, a Nordkapp, bought soon after it was designed for the British Norway expedition in 1975 and a rounding of Cape Horn by kayak in 1977. I still paddle my much-used and ancient Nordkapp, alongside my new sea kayaks, as it feels authentic. Indeed, there is a Nordkapp in the National Maritime Museum in the UK. In my Nordkapp, I feel at one with the water. It feels almost Inuit. 'Inuit are the true masters of sea kayaking,' says Adventure Canada expedition team member and Arctic filmmaker Julia Szucs, a keen kayaker. On Adventure Canada's Out of the Northwest Passage expedition on the Ocean Endeavour, she offers guests an insightful presentation on kayaks and their history — and there is no better place to do it. For, perhaps as far back as 4000 years ago, men hunted sea animals from such a slender single-seat boat. If it flipped over, it was easily righted, which was vital in these cold waters. 'Traditionally kayaks were used for short distances and for hunting,' Julia says. Like the Dorset and Thule people who were the ancestors of Inuit, kayaks migrated from Siberia, through Alaska. In the Aleutian Islands, they were deep and beamy for rough seas. In the Canadian Arctic, kayaks developed with a long, upturned prow. Here in Greenland, their lower profile reflected these calmer waters. 'They hunted among the ice — their kayaks had to be easy to roll,' says Julia. The bigger, open umiak, which might be from 5.1m to 18.2m long, was used to transport goods and as a family boat. They are thought to have reached Greenland around 1200AD. The climate was warmer and there was less ice. For both umiaks and kayaks, men made the frames, women prepared the skins, and they worked together to cover the boats. They needed constant oiling, as saltwater dries out hide. A good relationship with the boat was important. You took care of it; it took care of you. The decks were full of gear. Harpoons were attached to an inflated seal skin, which floated behind a speared animal and prevented them diving, tiring them; a round frame to spool the line; a kayak knife. Hunters mounted a white rectangular screen on the foredeck to disguise themselves and used a throwing board to propel harpoons, like an Aboriginal woomera. Great skills were needed to hunt — I try to imagine hunting a walrus from kayaks. Paddlers wore a tuilik — a soft sealskin anorak which tied around the hoop that formed the cockpit coaming, sealing the paddler in the boat. Paddles were thin and short. Inuit kayak builders had specific plans for their kayaks, and each kayak was built specifically for a paddler. The cockpit was as wide as the paddler's hips, plus two fists. Its length was three times that of his outstretched arms. It was as deep as his fist with its thumb outstretched. And this ended up, on average 5.18m long and 50cm wide. There were different styles — the rounded lines and many chines of the baidarkas of Alaska, the more angular shape and rising bow and stern of the west Greenland kayaks and the east Greenland kayaks, which were lower volume and a tighter fit. They were for hunting — mainly seals, and of those, mostly ringed seals, a staple food of the Inuit, but also for narwhals, walrus and even belugas and polar bears. There is an effort to reconnect young Inuit in Nunavut, in the Canadian Arctic, to their kayaking roots through the 'Q is for Qajaq' program. 'Q is for Qajaq' was the idea of Eric McNair-Landry, a young adventurer who took part in a 1000km Baffin Island expedition using traditional kayaks built with students in Nunavut. 'Q is for Qajaq' is a collaboration between the Canadian Canoe Museum and the Students on Ice Foundation, which takes youngsters on educational expeditions. Eric led the building of three more traditional Baffin design kayaks at the museum, which were paddled by youngsters during the Students on Ice Arctic expedition last year. And it was another young adventurer who took sea kayaks to the wider world. There had been a long connection between the traditional craft of Greenland and early sea kayakers in Scotland. Then in 1959, a student at the University of Glasgow called Kenneth Taylor undertook a solo expedition to the Uummannaq Fjord area of West Greenland to study kayaks, kayaking techniques and to learn about seal hunting by kayak. There, kayak builder Emanuele Kornielsen made him a sealskin kayak. Kenneth took it home, showed it and the techniques he had learned, and soon a plywood version was being made. That Anas Acuta kayak opened the way for the Nordkapp. In the Oceanographic Museum and Aquarium in Monaco last year, I saw a Greenland kayak with a small sail mounted on the front. History continues to be written. The migration of the kayak from Siberia to the Aleutian Islands, Nunavut in Arctic Canada and Greenland has continued east to Scotland, Norway and beyond. Further south-east along the Greenland coast, in Ilulissat, I will see traditional wooden kayak frames, tied at the joints and covered with modern fabrics. One paddler shows me the frame in his boat — his grandfather's, covered now not in seal skin, but in 'painted linen'. There is a big rack of unlocked boats on the foreshore, overlooking a bay full of the icebergs that spew from the Ilulissat Icefjord. They vary from glass fibre to canvas-skinned, chined boats very like the Anas Acuta, to kayaks almost identical to the Nordkapp. But they still have round hoop coamings. In the Inuit Cafe there, a new frame hangs from the timber ceiling. In the Ilulissat museum I see old carved toys — tiny wooden kayaks and one with the simple shape of a person inside. Further still down the coast, in Sisimiut, there's a healthy kayak club on the banks of its fjord, and one of its Inuit paddlers demonstrates some of the 90 kayak rolls that were developed to right boats quickly, under any circumstance, in these dangerously cold waters. Kayaks are both alive today and embedded in Greenlandic history and culture. After nearly 40 years of sea kayaking, it feels quite surreal to be in this upstairs room of kayaks at Upernavik Museum. There are three hanging over rafters, two at the end of the room, a tuilik, paddles and the hunting tools they used. Along one side, on a stand, fully kitted out, is a kayak complete with all its accessories used by a hunter called Pavia Grim, from Aappilattoq, until the mid 1960s. And above me, the delicate prow of a sea kayak that could be my own.
West Australian
5 days ago
- West Australian
Bear essentials of exploring the Arctic
12.30am, Monday June 9, 2025: 'Good evening, it's the Captain.' It's the wake-up call I was praying to get, about an hour after our arrival at the edge of the Arctic pack ice north of Svalbard. It follows a pre-midnight visit to the Captain's open bridge where I notice our location co-ordinates on a small screen: 80 degrees 49.71' N / 8 degrees 52.86' E — just 1000km or so from the North Pole. 'We have located a polar bear on the ice, portside of the ship. It's quite beautiful,' Capt. Stanislas Devorsine calls down the PA system. I'm aboard Ponant ship Le Lyrial on a seven-day Arctic expedition voyage threading the western flank of the Norwegian territory of Svalbard. The King of the Arctic has made an appearance, emerging from the polar desert in a scene akin to a rock star entering the stage. It's an ungodly hour, but who's to know under the constant Midnight Sun. The King's (or Queen's) impromptu visit demands all the fuss of a regal celebrity. So out comes the camera and a leap into the cold from my private perch of Suite 608, which is fortuitously portside and offering uninterrupted views of the bear. I estimate we are a few hundred metres away, but the marine mammal's beige fur and robust stature against the pure white drift ice makes it easy to spot. The bear trundles and hops between platforms of pack ice towards the ship, momentarily rolling about on the ice belly-up, waving its giant paws about. It glances our way a few times, and later swims towards us, I'm later told because it's one of the 'curious' types. It's where I finally see the incredible prowess of a polar bear in the wild. Sleep deprived, I can now add polar bear spotting to 24-hour sunlight as reasons for my messed up circadian rhythm two and bit days into the voyage. But while the Midnight Sun takes some getting used to it also means 24/7 access to endless spectacular landscapes dominated by mountainous terrain, ice and fjords. The Fjords and Glaciers of Spitsbergen itinerary starts with an early Saturday morning croissant and coffee at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris before a four-hour charter flight to Svalbard capital, Longyearbyen. It's all part of the cruise package and the first interactions with the 150 other passengers on the Ponant cruise. Longyearbyen is the northernmost settlement in the world with easy access by ship or plane. The town of about 2500 residents fans out from Adventfjord valley in Spitsbergen, the biggest of seven islands of Svalbard. After arriving here there's a group lunch at a charming 1951 inn called Huset, a short distance from the town centre at the foot of a towering mountain. Timber headframes strung along the cliff face are relics of the town's foundation coal mines, developed by namesake American entrepreneur John Munro Longyear in the early 20th century. A casual afternoon bus tour of snowy Longyearbyen ends at the pier where Le Lyrial's hoodie-clad cruise director Ilaria Antinori greets us for our 4pm boarding as cold wind gusts cut through. An Arctic welcome could barely have been better scripted. After a polite 'bonjour monsieur' and super-fast check-in I'm escorted to Suite 608 — my personal 37sqm of butler-serviced luxury aboard Le Lyrial. Waiting for me is a bottle of champagne in an ice box on a beautifully arranged table with canapes and a fruit bowl in front of a big, plush couch. The Privilege Suite includes a separate lounge and bedroom, with a television in each, and a supremely comfy king-size bed. There's a huge bathroom with separate shower, toilet and bath, and lots of wardrobe space for all my heavy gear. Sliding bay windows from floor to ceiling in both rooms open out to a 12sqm balcony, where I can watch the endless parade of rugged mountain scenery. Forward to day two and the packed itinerary is about to switch up a gear, with an update from the Captain ahead of today's first excursion. Capt. Stanislas is alongside expedition leader Alexandre Faurre in the theatre to explain a big change to the itinerary. The original course was to the south-west of the archipelago. But winds have whipped up in that area so Capt. Stanislas has made the call to track north from Longyearbyen. The plan covers the north-west's fjords, then traversing the edge of the pack ice north of Svalbard outside Norway's 12-mile maritime boundary. It's where conditions are looking favourable to explore and, hopefully, spot wildlife over the coming days. It's an insight into the meticulous planning and adaptive decision-making of polar navigation veteran Capt. Stanislas, and his expedition team as we'll also see again later. Alex then introduces his 16-member expedition team of passionate naturalists and scientists. Among them are qualified experts in biology, geology, glaciers, plants and animals. It's just the type of company to help this curious adventurer make sense of it all out in the field and back on board, where they present the enrichment program of lectures and excursion debriefs scheduled daily. This is where we delve deeper into the areas we sail and explore. Meanwhile, we've arrived in Krossfjorden — a 30km-long branching fjord in the Northwest Spitsbergen National Park — and it's looking splendid flanked by mountains with spiky tops and chiselled facades, drenched in thick snow. The gentle pace of the ship allows time to process the beauty and immensity of the glacial landscape. Around to the left a short time later we enter Lilliehookfjorden and stop in front of its namesake, Lilliehookbreen — one of the biggest glaciers in this part of Spitsbergen. Sadly, though, like many of Svalbard's 2600 glaciers, it is retreating at an alarming rate from the effects of climate change. Its awesome structure reveals recent ice calving with its light blue, gnarly frontage, while iced-up mountains on the horizon reflect off the fjord's mirror-glass water. Together, in the low-light, I'm immersed in a kind of fantasy world enveloped in mystique, deep in the Arctic wilderness. After the mandatory safety scouting, the expedition team have declared the pretty bayside area of Signehamna, a short sail back down the fjord, safe to explore. So, from the Marina landing area aft of the ship it's an easy step onto the Zodiac for our first expedition foray. Today, naturalist Francesca is in charge of the short ride to the landing spot on the fjord's western banks. It's the first 'wet landing' in my full snow-trekking regalia. Sticking to the rules to protect the fragile tundra, I trace the red flags and follow a long line of red parkas in front of me. As I trudge up a steep hill I'm sinking in knee-deep icy sludge. It's a grind. Then a glance back from the top of the rise reveals an incredible patchwork of scenery. Under the muted light of dark grey clouds filtering the Midnight Sun there are rocky outcrops; the Lilliehookbreen glacier and the sharp lines of mountain tops in the distance. The lake below ripples from Zodiacs to-ing and fro-ing from the ship. Further on I meet up with naturalist guide Axel who's keeping watch for polar bears, gun strapped around his right shoulder — the law requires it for safety reasons. I'm intrigued with metal artefacts strewn over a small area around him, including four bullets in a partitioned disc. He tells me the objects are remnants of a weather station camp set up by the Germans during World War II. Further on there are large drums part-buried in snow, most likely in which they stored fuel for the camp, and other buried debris. Signehamna is the first close-up of the rich cultural heritage of Svalbard, despite the absence of an Indigenous population. Another is during a hike at picturesque Gravnesodden the following morning when I come across a timber frame-mounted plaque marking 'graves and blubber cookeries' located in a fenced-off area. The remnants reference Svalbard's prolific role in whaling in the 1600s. The dynamic glacier front is a highlight of the late afternoon Zodiac excursion at Smeerenburgbreen, in the Bjornfjorden — a remote area of sweeping glaciers in Svalbard's north-western corner; where ice calves in quick succession and crashes into the icy-soup water, followed by thunderous cracks. After busy but fun days exploring in the elements it's nice to step back aboard to some home-style comforts. Deck three's main lounge is the ship's re-entry point and where you get spoilt most days by executive chef Sylvain Lecuyer and his galley team. They present a delightful array of gourmet afternoon tea treats — a different theme each day — like today's salmon gravlax tasting plate with five strips of melt-in-the-mouth cured fish. Other afternoons showcase caviar on fresh pancake; and pavlova with fresh fruit. The lounge area also has an all-hours bar and seating by big side windows. Day five starts with a stop at the walrus colony at Moffen Island on the archipelago's northern tip, then a scheduled stop at Narreneset where Capt. Stanislas has declared hiking off limits — earlier reconnaissance has identified bears in the area. During a chat later he tells me: 'Sometimes . . . you have to say 'no'. It's my duty to bring back everybody in port. So you need experience to be able to make a call . . . when you're experienced, the calls are easy.' So, it's back on a Zodiac for a casual tour of foggy Raudfjorden, where we glimpse fresh polar bear tracks (but no bears) on the ice above the striated sedimentary rock as we pass. The next morning's visit to the tiny settlement of Ny-Alesund, is a personal favourite for its trove of historical symbols of human tragedy and triumph. It's also a place you can brag about being in the world's northernmost town, museum or post office. It was originally established as a coal mining community in 1916. But after multiple fatal accidents and 76 deaths, the Kings Bay mines were permanently shut down in 1963. The settlement's heritage is very well preserved in three museums, including its excellent main museum. Wandering its dusted paths the town feels like an open-air museum, frozen in time since I first visited two years ago. As I wind my way around the old red and yellow timber workers quarters and establishments like the Nordpol Hotellet, I pass through a mysterious area housing some of the 20-odd international research institutions based here. My fascination with the exploits of legendary Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen and others who together, form an indelible part of this town's backstory has me heading straight for the century-old relic called Amundsen's mast, on the town's outskirts. The 35m iron tower marks the spot Amundsen's airship Norge N1 was moored before he and his crew took off in May 11, 1926, on their 5300km continuous flight to the North Pole — a successful mission that had never before been accomplished. 'Honouring a glorious achievement of human endeavour', a plaque pinned to the mast reads. I take a moment to reflect, reimagining scenes at this historic time on the very ground I'm standing on, and the brave men who took on the missions. A reindeer wanders past along the lake close by — it's just how it is here. Ny-Alesund today is regarded as the world's most advanced high Arctic research station, involving scientists from 10 countries engaged in and collaborating in environmental monitoring. As we thread the archipelago's maze of waterways, I'm relishing the mix of Zodiac, hiking and walking excursions that are suitable for most ages and affords close-ups of local wildlife. Like at the twin glaciers at Kongsvegen-Kronebreen — about an hour's sailing inland from Ny-Alesund — where a lone seal with a big orange face lies on a flat chunk of ice looking nonchalant at all the attention from the passing parade of Zodiac boats. The 2015-launched Le Lyrial is classic boutique luxury with a dash of French flair. But it's also a well-specced expedition small ship, polar rated to sail in ice less than a year old and up to about 30cm deep. One of four Sisterships in Ponant's fleet, it has a passenger capacity of just 264 plus crew with an easy-to-navigate layout. Stylish interiors are splashed with hues of blue and white throughout, and there's striking artwork like the suspended sculptural piece cascading two decks mid-ship. Among the onboard amenities are a spa with a full range of treatments; a library with board games and computers; and a heated pool on a spacious deck with alfresco dining, when weather permits, of course. The multipurpose theatre has ample seating for a packed program of presentations about local wildlife and its other natural features, and related films. Other public spaces like the lounge areas and restaurants are intimate and invite convivial interactions. The panorama forward of the ship from the Observation Lounge is obstructed by communications equipment, but otherwise it's a lovely spot to sit and chill late afternoon, or socialise after dinner. I am one of 41 English speakers aboard among a passenger cohort that is mostly French-speaking, 55-plus couples and small groups, with a smattering of solo travellers. All presentations and announcements are delivered in both languages. 'Smart casual' is the general feel around the ship and at meal times, apart from two formal Captain's gala dinners. Service is personal, efficient and genuine with top marks to the attentive restaurant staff who went out of their way to satisfy my cafe-grade espresso habit. The mainly Western-Mediterranean cuisine has daily-changing menus and is an excellent standard overall. I particularly enjoy the Bordier cheese buffet which is a regular feature at bistro Le Celeste, and the specialty stations at the more casual La Comete. Alcoholic beverages like the superb Burgundy pinot noir, are included. True to Ponant's heritage there's a wide choice of premium French wines, and an international selection, available to purchase. When the day is done it's a pleasure retreating 'home' to my deck six suite with its warm, neutral tones and pops of blue. And with a butler as caring and attentive as June, I can tell the transition back to 'real life' won't be easy. Fresh water bottles are replenished often and a new arrangement of bite-size treats are there for my return. I also have a desk and electrical plugs from which to work. Complimentary 24-hour room service and free, unlimited wi-fi are standard services across all cabin categories, which range in size from 18sqm to the 55sqm Owner's Suite. The voyage is tailed with exceptional 'warm' sunny weather for our last stop in Skansbukta and a hike up the rocky, tundra-clad mountain overlooking shimmering Billefjorden. As I stop to appreciate the impossible beauty here I'm reminded that whilst seeing a polar bear in the wild is 'mission accomplished', it doesn't define a fulfilling voyage of discovery, learning and new friendships. + Michael Ferrante was a guest of Ponant. They have not influenced this story, or read it before publication. Fjords and Glaciers of Spitsbergen Spitsbergen to Spitsbergen, 7 nights There are multiple departures in June & July 2026-27. Priced from $13,320 per person, which includes the 30 per cent Ponant Bonus. There is a free solo supplement for single use of a double cabin, depending on availability and stateroom category. Excursions, meals, charter flights return Paris, transfers and parka are included in the fare.
Sydney Morning Herald
16-07-2025
- Sydney Morning Herald
Six food events worth travelling for in July and beyond
From winter-warming food festivals and pop-up events to the latest in cruise dining, here's all the events travellers will want to savour around the country and further afield. Former White House chef turns to cruise ships As Ponant's Le Commandant Charcot cruises the icy Baltic Sea in the midst of an Arctic winter next January, retired White House executive chef Cristeta Comerford, along with other esteemed figures in the world of haute cuisine, to give passengers a taste of diplomatic history. They'll be offering dishes once served to heads of state at official dinners, as well as giving first-hand accounts of what goes on behind the scenes at presidential residences, including the White House and France's Elysee Palace. It's all part of a partnership with The Club des Chef des Chefs, considered one of the world's most elite gastronomic societies. See Orange Region Fire Festival's new foodie chapter Fire Festival returns this August, with an expanded program and several festival-first fire-powered food, wine and cider events. Kicking off with Millthorpe Fire Fair on August 1, don't miss out on popular and new collaborations including the annual medieval-inspired Winter Wassail at Small Acres Cider (August 2), the slow-roasted pork Ember Feast at the Orchard held at Hillside Harvest (August 3), and the Food over Fire by Nashdale Lane Wines x Union Bank dinner (August 9). See Ballarat's epic pie pilgrimage taps best-selling cookbook author Victoria's Central Highlands once again transforms into a pie utopia this August as the city's top venues battle for the title of Ballarat's Best Pie. Hear the winners at the pie awards on August 2, this year hosted by Melbourne-based cook, author and presenter Julia Busuttil Nishimura at Itinerant Spirits (2024's winning venue). This year's 36 entries both nostalgic and daring new creations (fancy a Filipino-inspired lechon paksiw pie?). You can plot your own pie trail at the Visit Ballarat website. See
