Even asleep, your body knows. The shape of the water, the way the ship moves. It’s a different, quieter dance – we’ve entered another world. Outside, once you’ve thrown on pants, boots and something to cut the wind, the sea is glass. Stark white mountains rise and disappear into the mists to either side; we’re pacing down the aisle of a cathedral of ice. Petrels swoop out of nowhere, bank in great effortless arcs, touching a wingtip to the crest of our bow wave and rise away again. Fur seals watch us indifferently from broken floes as we pass. Kim sees the penguins first, and we all crowd the rail to watch half a dozen Adelies porpoise through the water away from us.

We’re still most of a day away from Palmer Station, but this, undeniably, is Antarctica – we’ve made it.