There is no denying that the landscape of the automotive industry is seismically shifting. Advances in autonomous driving, ubiquitous ride-sharing platforms and even new app-driven models for ownership, while convenient, do not seem to be inspiring the younger demographic to become motoring enthusiasts. Well, maybe this will help. As we leave another decade in the dust, here’s a look back at what the last 20 years or so have brought us in the way of memorable supercars—apex models sure to rev-up the next generation of collectors.
McLaren F1
Photo : Seth Wenig/AP/Shutterstock.
Ok, so the first one on this list is technically from the last century, the 1990s to be exact, but it’s here as a benchmark and baseline for the models that follow. A top speed of 371km/h Back in 1992, no other production car had ever gone that fast. It was mind-blowing. But that’s what the McLaren F1 did; blow minds. With its featherweight carbon-fibre chassis, single-minded focus on shaving weight, and a bespoke 6-litre, 467kW BMW V-12 for power, it could sear to 97km/h in just 3.2 seconds.
Costing nearly $1.4 million at launch, it was also mind-blowingly expensive. Today, however, in the rare chance that one of the 106 examples comes to market, expect to pay around $20 million. The ultimate supercar? Some would say there’s no question.
Saleen S7
Photo: Darren Brode/Shutterstock.
An American outlier in a world of European trendsetters, Steve Saleen’s S7 debuted in 2000 at the Monterey Historic Races as a track-focused supercar that was far more extreme than most competitors from the other side of the pond. The heart of the mid-engined predator was an aluminium power plant derived from Ford’s venerable 351 ci V-8, which developed 410kW and shifted through a six-speed manual gearbox.
The subsequent model S7 Twin-Turbo from 2005 made 560kW from a 427 ci big-block V-8, and achieved a claimed top speed of 399km/h, staggering performance then and now. Produced through 2009, the Saleen S7 remains a rare collectible, and while no production figures are officially available, its numbers are estimated to be well below triple digits.
Ferrari Enzo
Photo: Roman Belogorodov/Shutterstock.
Ferrari’s biggest sensation of the 21st century remains the Enzo, a V-12-powered, mid-engined monster named after the founder of the company, a man whose legacy continues to inspire the latest supercars from Maranello. Designed by then head of design at Pininfarina, Ken Okuyama, the car captivated its audience in 2002 at the Paris Motor Show.
All 399 units were presold, with production spanning 2003 through 2004. A 400th production example was built and donated to the Vatican for charity. While the power output of 485kW and as-new price of approx. $900,000 seem quaintly modest by today’s standards, the Enzo was the benchmark of its era and remains one of the most coveted of this century’s supercars.
Porsche Carrera GT
Photo: RomanSt-Photographer/Shutterstock.
With its six-speed manual transmission and wooden cue-ball shift knob, it’s understandable why many call the Carrera GT the last of the analog supercars. Absent the sophisticated safety systems of today’s latest-and-greatest, the mid-engined GT is a thrill-ride offering a taste of what might have been had Porsche set the GT’s sights on the racetrack.
A 5.7-litre V-8 develops 450kW and has a sound like no other Porsche engine ever made. The Carrera GT does not suffer fools, requiring skill when engaging its sensitive clutch and commanding respect when managing the rear-wheel horsepower. Its shape, the handiwork of Porsche’s then head designer Harm Lagaay, seems timeless—and almost understated—today. A total of 1270 units were made between 2004 and 2007.
Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren
Photo: Grzegorz Czapski/Shutterstock.
While never receiving the attention enjoyed by its supercar rivals, the burly SLR was a novel mash-up between Germany’s Mercedes-Benz and Britain’s McLaren, before the latter became a household name. The big GT was co-developed by both companies and manufactured at the McLaren factory in Woking, England.
Its name references Mercedes’ 300 SLR race car from the 1950s. The 2003 coupe, styled by Gordon Wagener, was followed by a roadster in 2007 and, finally, a limited-edition speedster model. The entire run of 2,157 cars came to an end in 2010 when it was superseded by the less rarefied SLS AMG that year. Power came from a 5.4-litre supercharged V-8, developing a then-respectable 460kW, which gave the vehicle a top speed of 338km/h.
Ford GT
Photo: Shawano Cleary/AP/Shutterstock.
In 1966, lightning struck three times when Ford’s GT40 finished 1-2-3 at the daunting 24 Hours of Le Mans. The first consumer grade GT40s came out of homologation rules that dictated equivalent road cars were built alongside the racers. Fast forward to 2004, and Ford produced an homage to its famous competition machines, dubbing the supercharged sports car simply the GT.
Though undeniably sexy, the new creation had no ostensible links to racing. Not until 2016, on the 50th anniversary of the Le Mans photo finish triple victory, did Ford venture down the GT road again, this time building a gorgeous twin-turbocharged game-changer whose race equivalents won their LMGTE Pro class at Le Mans, completing a half-century circle with stunning symmetry.
Maserati MC12
Photo: dimcars/Shutterstock.
A kissing cousin of the Ferrari Enzo, Maserati’s MC12 was built for the express purpose of competing in (and winning) the FIA GT Championship. A total of 25 customer cars were made in 2004, with another 25 in 2005, each priced at around the $900,000 mark, and all were presold. A final dozen were produced for racing only.
Frank Stephenson, then-director of Ferrari-Maserati Concept Design and Development penned the MC12, which was built on the Enzo chassis, but was larger in every dimension. Sharing the Ferrari’s same 6.0-litre V-12 engine, the Maserati was deferential to its prancing horse patriarch, making 463kW and hitting 330km/h, versus 485kW and 349km/h. While not street legal, the MC12 shines as one of the most voluptuous supercars of our century.
Koenigsegg CCX
Koenigsegg Automotive is the brainchild of Christian von Koenigsegg, whose Swedish atelier has been building wildly imaginative hypercars for the last quarter-century. While early iterations were only street legal in limited markets (and built-in extremely limited numbers), 2006’s CCX marked the carmaker’s first attempt to meet global standards for safety and emissions.
Though only 29 examples of the CCX were produced over four years, the 800+ hp cars introduced the boutique brand to the word, stoking an appetite for these wildly innovative, carbon-fibre creations.
Lamborghini Reventón
Photo: Halil Ergenc/Shutterstock.
Debuting at the 2007 Frankfurt Motor Show and built from 2007 through 2009, the Reventón—named after a fighting bull—was not a series-production car, but a limited run of special Lamborghini supercars whose styling was inspired, according to the factory press release, by “the fastest aeroplanes.”
The mechanical underpinnings beneath its carbon-fibre skin were derived from the Italian marque’s then-state-of-the-art Murciélago LP640, which featured a mid-rear-mounted 6.5-litre V-12 developing 477kW and achieving a very respectable top speed of 340km/h. a mere 20 examples were made, with one additional for the factory museum. A roadster version, unveiled at the 2009 Frankfurt Motor Show, followed the stealthy coupe.
Aston Martin One-77
Photo: courtesy of Aston Martin.
Achingly gorgeous. Aston Martin’s super-exclusive ONE-77 hypercar is a true art form. Just 77 of these potent projectiles were built, each costing roughly $2.5 million. At its launch in 2009, this was the fastest, most technically-advanced, most radical Aston ever built. And, arguably, the most beautiful.
With a carbon-fibre chassis and hand-formed aluminium body, it was also light yet extremely rigid. And lightning-quick, courtesy of its 559kW, 7.3-litre V-12. How quick? Think zero to 97km/h in 3.5 seconds and a 320km/h top speed. It’s the car Bond should be driving, but never has.
Bugatti Veyron Super Sport
Photo: Magic Car Pics/Shutterstock.
Bugatti stormed back to the modern age from the pages of automotive history with the 2005 Veyron, which announced its intentions with quad-turbo twin-V8s that made an astonishing 894kW. Fast forward a half-decade, and the Super Sport version of the Veyron promptly claimed the Guinness Book of Records title in 2010 as world’s fastest production car with a 418km/h run at Volkswagen’s Wolfsburg test track.
The Veyron Super Sport has been eclipsed by the 1118kW Bugatti Chiron which, driven by Andy Wallace, recently hit 489km/h in testing. However, nobody is apt to forget the Veyron—the machine that made the modern version of Bugatti what it is today.
Ferrari LaFerrari
Photo: Kailin Huang/Shutterstock.
2013 was an auspicious year for supercars, with no fewer than three major releases debuting from McLaren, Porsche, and Ferrari and earning the “Holy Trinity” nickname. Though fiercely individual, each of the trio claimed a hybrid power-train layout.
Of the three, only the Ferrari LaFerrari boasted a V-12 engine— and a raucous, naturally aspirated one, at that. The LaFerrari also happened to be the most powerful (and, unofficially at least) the most charismatic of the wild bunch. Eponymously named to suggest it was the quintessence of the Ferrari nameplate, the 708kW hypercar may go down in history not only as the pinnacle of its era, but also as one of the greatest prancing horses of all time.
Of the three renowned hybrid hypercars that debuted in 2013, two (the Ferrari LaFerrari and Porsche 918 Spyder) hailed from long-established carmakers, while the other—the McLaren P1—was a relative newbie on the scene. Not that the British manufacturer hadn’t earned itself a spot in the hypercar pantheon with the 1990s-era legendary F1, but the lengthy absence made building this flagship like starting from scratch.
McLaren used advanced carbon-fibre construction based on their lesser, more approachable (relatively) offerings, but the top dog P1 claimed a screaming 673kW and a remarkably lightweight chassis, which made it a more than worthy contender against the supercar establishment of the time.
Porsche 918 Spyder
Photo: auto-data.net/Shutterstock.
The 918 Spyder was a true game-changer, demonstrating the potential of plug-in hybrid technology in the supercar stratosphere. A naturally aspirated, 4.6-litre V-8 with 446kW got added power from two electric motors, for a total output of 653kW and 1280Nm of near instant-on torque.
Penned by Porsche’s chief designer, Michael Mauer, the 918 was first shown at the Geneva Motor Show in 2010 as a concept to gauge market interest, going into production in late 2013 with a base price of near $1,150,000. The entire allocation of—surprise—918 units, sold out by the end of 2014, so eager were VIP Porschephiles to acquire the most powerful street-going Porsche ever made. Production ended by mid-2015, and the 918 remains a highly desirable collector car today.
Bugatti Chiron
Photo: Kaukola Photography/Shutterstock.
The Bugatti Chiron is all about the sum of its glorious parts. Sure, one can marvel at the 1118kW W-16 engine, or coo over the Art Deco inspired exterior, or rave about the jewel-like interior. But to separate out these ingredients is to miss the majesty of the meal.
The Chiron, named after the famed Monegasque driver Louis Chiron, is at once a vehicle from the future and a modern reincarnation of the 1930s Bugatti Type 57 SC Atlantic. To pull up somewhere in a Chiron is the unequivocal calling card that says you’ve arrived—not just to your destination, but in life.
Koenigsegg Regera
Photo : Grzegorz Czapski/Shutterstock.
Sweden may be known largely as the home of proletarian transportation king Volvo, but sports car enthusiasts also know it as the land of Koenigsegg. And one of the mightiest models to leave that factory is the Regera, brainchild of company founder Christian von Koenigsegg who was, reportedly, inspired after a few sprints in a Tesla Model S P95.
The Regera, however, runs on hybrid power combining three electric motors with a 5-litre V-8. The power-train configuration, in total, produces a staggering 1268kW —all of which completely and wonderfully upends the image of Swedes being models of self-restraint.
Lamborghini Huracán Performante
Photo : Grzegorz Czapski/Shutterstock.
Lamborghini’s Huracán was no slouch, a flying wedge of a car powered by a 10-cylinder engine producing a touch over 447kW. But four years after the model’s debuted in 2014 debut, it was decided that this Italian raging bull needed a track-focused makeover. Carbon-fibre bumpers, skirts and an adjustable wing removed weight and added downforce, while an engine massage bumped horsepower up 5 per cent and took the coupe’s zero-to-97km/h time down to just less than 3 seconds.
The interior was just as race oriented, with sports seats and digital speedometer off the Aventador. All that added up to a brief but celebrated 2016 track record at Germany’s haloed Nürburgring, not bad at all for a company whose roots were in tractors.
Pagani Huayra Roadster
Photo: Shutterstock.
Follow-ups to massive debuts are tough nuts to crack. But Argentine engineer Horatio Pagani did just that with the Huayra, the successor to his stop-the-presses Zonda. Back in the engine bay is a monstrous AMG-tuned power plant, this time a 6-litre twin-turbo V-12 producing 550kW.
Wrapped around the driver and passenger of this roofless wonder is a tub made from a combination of carbon fibre and titanium for greater stiffness and lighter weight. But those are just the raw specs for a vehicle perhaps best known for being as meticulously refined as a Swiss watch, a true tastemaker’s triumph.
McLaren 720S
Photo: courtesy of McLaren Automotive
McLaren’s reentry into the supercar game launched in 2011 with the MP4-12C, an awkwardly named but impressive debut whose angry twin-turbocharged V-8 put the establishment on alert. But it wasn’t until 2017 that McLaren’s threat became imminent with the 720S.
Taking everything the brand had become known for—carbon-fibre construction and an ambitiously complex hydraulic suspension system—the 720S stunned the competition with its breathtaking speed and incredible breadth of abilities. Tomorrow’s top supercars may be anyone’s guess, but the McLaren 720S maintains its positions as one of the finest offerings of the decade.
Ruf CTR 30th Anniversary Edition
Photo: Cyril Zingaro/EPA/Shutterstock.
Ruf’s 340km/h Yellowbird may have looked like a slightly tweaked Porsche 911, but the heavily modified creation was nothing short of groundbreaking, vanquishing titans like the Ferrari F40 and Lamborghini Countach in a 1987 Road & Track magazine cover story. Its legend became cemented with a Nürburgring-shredding session in the “Faszination” video.
The latest CTR, marking its 30th anniversary, once again appears approachable at first glance, but this time around it boasts an entirely bespoke carbon-fibre chassis hiding a cornucopia of exotic hardware, from inboard suspension to a quick-revving 522kW power plant. At once classic and futuristic, the CTR marks a momentous milestone against the original Yellowbird, offering a wildly capable supercar that hides in a discreetly familiar body.
Bentley Continental Supersports
Photo: courtesy of Bentley Motors Limited.
To make a 2450kg, big-bodied two-door coupe go fast, really fast, you need a big engine. Which is what made Bentley’s last-generation Continental Supersports arguably the greatest production Bentley ever.
Technical wizardry managed to up the horsepower of the Supersports’ turbine-smooth 6-litre twin-turbo W-12 to a nice, round 520kW. The result: zero-to-97km/h acceleration in a hard-to-comprehend 3.4 seconds, and a top speed boosted to a blistering 336km/h. It was simply the fastest four-seater you could buy. Just 710 examples were built during 2017 making them a collector’s dream.
Lamborghini Aventador SVJ
Photo: courtesy of Automobili Lamborghini.
The Miura, Countach, Diablo, Espada and Veneno. All great Lamborghinis. But the greatest Lamborghini of all? To us, that accolade goes to the raging, snorting bull that’s the Aventador SuperVeloce Jota, SVJ for short.
With a 6.5-litre naturally aspirated V-12 channelling 566kW to all four wheels, it can catapult this blunt instrument from Sant’Agata to 100km/h in a mere 2.5 seconds. Around the Nürburgring, there’s no production car that’s faster. And it comes with all the theatre and howling soundtrack you expect of any modern-day Lamborghini—only with the volume turned up to 11.
SSC Tuatara
Photo: courtesy of SSC North America.
To exceed 480km/h. That’s the target that Washington State-based SSC North America has for its new SSC Tuatara hypercar. To hit that mark, the carbon-fibre–bodied Tuatara—named after a spiny lizard found in New Zealand—carries a 5.9-litre twin-turbo V-8 packing a massive 1287kW.
Production has already kicked off with the goal to build 100 examples, each priced at $2.2 million. SSC isn’t new to the high-speed business. In 2007, its Ultimate Aero clocked 412km/h. The record stood for three years before Bugatti’s Veyron Super Sports came along.
Aston Martin Valkyrie
Photo: courtesy of Aston Martin.
Supercar greatness is on its way. When Aston Martin’s Valkyrie hypercar comes off the line early next year, it will set a towering new benchmark for street-legal production car performance. It’s what happens when you bolt a 745kW, 6.5-litre V-12, along with a 112kW Rimac-developed hybrid-electric system, into a lightweight, super-strong carbon monocoque.
And if that wasn’t impressive enough, remember the car has been designed by Adrian Newey, Formula 1 design rock star and current chief technical officer for Red Bull Racing. Production will be limited to 150 examples, each costing $4.4 million.
Ferrari SF90 Stradale
Photo: courtesy of Ferrari.
While the days of Maranello’s 12-cylinder halo rockets may be fading in today’s eco-climate, the eight-cylinder SF90 Stradale more than delivers. Billed as a street car tribute to Ferrari’s SF90 Formula 1 machine, the SF90 Stradale is an unabashed hypercar boasting 745kW from three electric motors and a twin-turbo V-8.
Its combination of exceptional hybrid power-train performance and dramatic looks pull from the best of existing aft-engined models. Note the nod to the 488’s flank scoops as well as to the marque’s racing pedigree—the nose simply screams motorsport, which this car salutes by name: Scuderia Ferrari, 90 years.
The starters are on the blocks, and with less than 100 days to go until the Paris 2024 Olympics, luxury Swiss watchmaker Omega was bound to release something spectacular to mark its bragging rights as the official timekeeper for the Summer Games. Enter the new 43mm Speedmaster Chronoscope, available in new colourways—gold, black, and white—in line with the colour theme of the Olympic Games in Paris this July.
So, what do we get in this nicely-wrapped, Olympics-inspired package? Technically, four new podium-worthy iterations of the iconic Speedmaster.
The new versions present handsomely in stainless steel or 18K Moonshine Gold—the brand’s proprietary yellow gold known for its enduring shine. The steel version comes with an anodised aluminium bezel and a stainless steel bracelet or vintage-inspired perforated leather strap. The Moonshine Gold iteration boasts a ceramic bezel, and will most likely appease Speedy collectors, particularly those with an affinity for Omega’s long-standing role as stewards of the Olympic Games, since 1932.
Notably, each watch bears an attractive white opaline dial; the background to three dark grey timing scales in a 1940s “snail” design. Of course, this Speedmaster Chronoscope is special in its own right. For the most part, the overall look of the Speedmaster has remained true to its 1957 origins. This Speedmaster, however, adopts Omega’s Chronoscope design from 2021, including the storied tachymeter scale, along with a telemeter, and pulsometer scale—essentially, three different measurements on the wrist.
While the technical nature of this timepiece won’t interest some, others will revel in its theatrics; turn over each timepiece and instead of finding a transparent crystal caseback, there is a stamped medallion featuring a mirror-polished Paris 2024 logo, along with “Paris 2024” and the Olympic Rings—a subtle nod to this year’s games.
Powering this Olympiad offering—and ensuring the greatest level of accuracy—is the Co-Axial Master Chronometer Calibre 9908 and 9909, certified by METAS.
A Speedmaster to commemorate the Olympic Games was as sure a bet as Mondo Deplatntis winning gold in the men’s pole vault—especially after Omega revealed its Olympic-edition Seamaster Diver 300m “Paris 2024” last year—but they have delivered a great addition to the legacy collection, without gimmickry.
However, at the top end of the scale, you’re looking at 85K for the all-gold Speedmaster, which is a lot of money for a watch of this stature. In comparison, the immaculate Speedmaster Moonshine gold with a sun-brushed green PVD “step” dial is 15K cheaper, albeit without the Chronoscope complications.
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The Omega Speedmaster Chronoscope in stainless steel with a leather strap is priced at $15,725; stainless steel with steel bracelet at $16,275; 18k Moonshine Gold on leather strap $54,325; and 18k Moonshine Gold with matching gold bracelet $85,350, available at Omega boutiques now.
In our quest to locate the most exclusive and exciting wines for our readers, we usually ask the question, “How many bottles of this were made?” Often, we get a general response based on an annual average, although many Champagne houses simply respond, “We do not wish to communicate our quantities.” As far as we’re concerned, that’s pretty much like pleading the Fifth on the witness stand; yes, you’re not incriminating yourself, but anyone paying attention knows you’re probably guilty of something. In the case of some Champagne houses, that something is making a whole lot of bottles—millions of them—while creating an illusion of rarity.
We received the exact opposite reply regarding Armand de Brignac Blanc de Noirs Assemblage No. 4. Yasmin Allen, the company’s president and CEO, told us only 7,328 bottles would be released of this Pinot Noir offering. It’s good to know that with a sticker price of around $1,800, it’s highly limited, but it still makes one wonder what’s so exceptional about it.
Known by its nickname, Ace of Spades, for its distinctive and decorative metallic packaging, Armand de Brignac is owned by Louis Vuitton Moët Hennessy and Jay-Z and is produced by Champagne Cattier. Each bottle of Assemblage No. 4 is numbered; a small plate on the back reads “Assemblage Four, [X,XXX]/7,328, Disgorged: 20 April, 2023.” Prior to disgorgement, it spent seven years in the bottle on lees after primary fermentation mostly in stainless steel with a small amount in concrete. That’s the longest of the house’s Champagnes spent on the lees, but Allen says the winemaking team tasted along the way and would have disgorged earlier than planned if they’d felt the time was right.
Chef de cave, Alexandre Cattier, says the wine is sourced from some of the best Premier and Grand Cru Pinot Noir–producing villages in the Champagne region, including Chigny-les-Roses, Verzenay, Rilly-la-Montagne, Verzy, Ludes, Mailly-Champagne, and Ville-sur-Arce in the Aube département. This is considered a multi-vintage expression, using wine from a consecutive trio of vintages—2013, 2014, and 2015—to create an “intense and rich” blend. Seventy percent of the offering is from 2015 (hailed as one of the finest vintages in recent memory), with 15 percent each from the other two years.
This precisely crafted Champagne uses only the tête de cuvée juice, a highly selective extraction process. As Allen points out, “the winemakers solely take the first and freshest portion of the gentle cuvée grape press,” which assures that the finished wine will be the highest quality. Armand de Brignac used grapes from various sites and three different vintages so the final product would reflect the house signature style. This is the fourth release in a series that began with Assemblage No. 1. “Testing different levels of intensity of aromas with the balance of red and dark fruits has been a guiding principle between the Blanc de Noirs that followed,” Allen explains.
The CEO recommends allowing the Assemblage No. 4 to linger in your glass for a while, telling us, “Your palette will go on a journey, evolving from one incredible aroma to the next as the wine warms in your glass where it will open up to an extraordinary length.” We found it to have a gorgeous bouquet of raspberry and Mission fig with hints of river rock; as it opened, notes of toasted almond and just-baked brioche became noticeable. With striking acidity and a vein of minerality, it has luscious nectarine, passion fruit, candied orange peel, and red plum flavors with touches of beeswax and a whiff of baking spices on the enduring finish. We enjoyed our bottle with a roast chicken rubbed with butter and herbes de Provence and savored the final, extremely rare sip with a bit of Stilton. Unfortunately, the pairing possibilities are not infinite with this release; there are only 7,327 more ways to enjoy yours.
Bill Henson is one of Australia’s best-known contemporary photographers. When a show by this calibre of artist opens here, the art world waits with bated breath to see what he will unveil.
This time, he presents a historically important landscape series that chronicles a time in New York City that no longer exists. It’s a nostalgic trip back in time, a nocturnal odyssey through the frenetic, neon-lit streets of a long-lost America.
Known for his chiaroscuro style, Henson’s cinematic photographs often transform his subject into ambiguous objects of beauty. This time round, the show presents a mysterious walk through the streets of Manhattan, evoking a seedy, yet beautiful vision of the city.
Relying on generative gaps, these landscapes result from Henson mining his archive of negatives and manipulating them to produce a finished print. Sometimes, they are composed by a principle of magnification, with Henson honing in on details, and sometimes, they are created through areas of black being expanded to make the scene more cinematic and foreboding. Like silence in a film or the pause in a pulse, the black suggests the things you can’t see.
Henson’s illustrious career has spanned four decades and was memorably marred by controversy over a series of nude adolescent photographs shown in 2008, which made him front-page news for weeks. This series of portraits made Henson the subject of a police investigation during which no offence was found.
In recent years, Henson has been a sharp critic of cancel culture, encouraging artists to contribute something that will have lasting value and add to the conversation, rather than tearing down the past.
His work deals with the liminal space between the mystical and the real, the seen and unseen, the boundary between youth and adulthood.
His famous Paris Opera Project, 1990-91, pictured above, is similarly intense as the current show, dwelling on the border between the painterly and the cinematic.
Bill Henson’s ‘The Liquid Night’ runs until 11 May 2024 at Roslyn Oxley9 Gallery.
A century ago, an expedition to the North Pole involved dog sleds and explorers in heavy, fur-lined clothes, windburned 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, 150-metre ice-breaking 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 July 14 couldn’t be more different from explorer Robert Peary’s on April 6, 1909. On that date, he reported, he staked a small American flag—sewed 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 skepticism.)
Our 300-plus party’s landing, on Bastille Day, features the captain of the French ship driving around in an all-terrain vehicle with massive wheels and an enormous tricolour flag on the back, guests dressed in stylish orange parkas celebrating on the ice, and La Marseillaise, France’s national anthem, blaring from loudspeakers. After an hour of taking selfies and building snow igloos in the icescape, with temperatures in the relatively balmy low 30s, we head back into our heated sanctuary for mulled wine and freshly baked croissants. Mission accomplished. Flags planted. Now, lunch.
As a kid, I was fascinated by stories of adventurers trying to reach the North Pole without any means of rescue. In the 19th century, most of their attempts ended in disaster—ships getting trapped in the ice, a hydrogen balloon crashing, even cannibalism. It wasn’t until Cook and Peary reportedly set foot there that the race to the North Pole was really on. Norwegian Roald Amundsen, the first to reach the South Pole, in 1911, is credited with being the first to document a trip over the North Pole, which he did in 1926 in the airship Norge. In 1977, the nuclear-powered icebreaker Arktika became the first surface vessel to make it to the North Pole. Since then, only 18 other ships have completed the voyage.
Visiting the North Pole seemed about as likely for me as walking on the Moon. It wasn’t even on my bucket list. Then came Le Commandant Charcot, which was named after France’s most beloved polar explorer and reportedly cost about US$430 million (around $655 million) to build. The irony of visiting one of the planet’s most remote and inhospitable points while travelling in the lap of luxury doesn’t escape me or anyone else I speak with on the voyage. Danie Ferreira, from Cape Town, South Africa, describes it as “an ensemble of contradictions bordering on the absurd”. Ferreira, who is on board with his wife, Suzette, is a veteran of early-explorer-style high-Arctic journeys, months-long treks involving dog sleds and real toil and suffering. He booked this trip to obtain an official North Pole stamp for an upcoming two-volume collection of his photographs, Out in the Cold, documenting his polar adventures. “Reserving the cabin felt like a betrayal of my expeditionary philosophy,” he says with a laugh.
Then, like the rest of us, he embraces the contradictions. “This is like the first time I saw the raw artistry of Cirque du Soleil,” he explains. “Everything is beyond my wildest expectations, unrelatable to anything I’ve experienced.”
The 17-day itinerary launches from the Norwegian settlement of Longyearbyen, Svalbard, the northernmost town in the Arctic Circle, and heads 1,186 nautical miles to the North Pole, then back again. As a floating hotel, the vessel is exceptional: 123 balconied staterooms and suites, the most expensive among them duplexes with butler service (prices range from around $58,000 to $136,000 per person, double occupancy); a spa with a sauna, massage therapists, and aestheticians; a gym and heated indoor pool. The boat weighs more than 35,000 tons, enabling it to break ice floes like “a chocolate bar into little pieces, rather than slice through them”, according to Captain Patrick Marchesseau. Six-metre-wide stainless-steel propellers, he adds, were designed to “chew ice like a blender”.
Marchesseau, a tall, lanky, 40-ish mariner from Brittany, impeccable in his navy uniform but rocking royal-blue boat shoes, proves to be a charming host. Never short of a good quip, he’s one of three experienced ice captains who alternate at the helm of Charcot throughout the year. He began piloting Ponant ships through drifting ice floes in Antarctica in 2009, when he took the helm of Le Diamant, Ponant’s first expedition vessel. “An epic introduction,” Marchesseau calls those early voyages, but the isolated, icebound North Pole aboard a larger, more complicated vessel is potentially an even thornier challenge. “We’ll first sail east where the ice is less concentrated and then enter the pack at 81 degrees,” he tells a lecture hall filled with passengers on day one. “We don’t plan to stop until we get to the North Pole.”
Around us, the majority of the other 101 guests are older French couples; there are also a few extended families, some other Europeans, mostly German and Dutch, as well as 10 Americans. Among the supporting cast are six research scientists and 221 staff, including 18 naturalist guides from a variety of countries.
The first six days are more about the journey than the destination. Cathy and I settle into our comfortable stateroom, enjoy the ocean views from our balcony, make friends with other guests and naturalists, frequent the spa, and indulge in the contemporary French cuisine at Nuna, which is often jarred by ice passing under the hull, as well as at the more casual Sila (Inuit for “sky”). There are the usual cruise events: the officers’ gala, wine pairings, daily French pastries, Broadway-style shows, opera singers and concert pianists. Initially, I worry about “Groundhog Day” setting in, but once we hit patchy ice floes on day two, it’s clear that the polar party is on. The next day, we’re ensconced in the ice pack.
Veterans of Arctic journeys immediately feel at home. Ferreira, often found on the observation deck 15 metres above the ice with his long-lensed cameras, is in his element snapping different patterns and colours of the frozen landscape. “It feels like combining low-level flying with an out-of-body experience,” he says. “Whenever the hull shudders against the ice, I have a reality check.”
“I came back because I love this ice,” adds American Gin Millsap, who with her husband, Jim, visited the North Pole in 2015 aboard the Russian nuclear icebreaker Fifty Years of Victory, which for obvious reasons is no longer a viable option for Americans and many Europeans. “I love the peace, beauty and calmness.”
It is easy to bliss out on the endless barren vistas, constantly morphing into new shapes, contours and shades of white as the weather moves from bright sunshine to howling snowstorms—sometimes within the course of a few hours. I spend a lot of time on the cold, windswept bow, looking at the snow patterns, ridges and rivers flowing within the pale landscape as the boat crunches through the ice. It feels like being in a black-and-white movie, with no colours except the turquoise bottoms of ice blocks overturned by the boat. Beautiful, lonely, mesmerising.
Rather than a solid landmass, the Arctic ice pack is actually millions of square kilometres of ice floes, slowly pushed around by wind and currents. The size varies according to season: this past winter, the ice was at its fifth-lowest level on record, encompassing 14.6 million square kilometres, while during our cruise it was 4.7 million square kilometres, the 10th-lowest summer number on record. There are myriad ice types—young ice, pancake ice, ice cake, brash ice, fast ice—but the two that our ice pilot, Geir-Martin Leinebø, cares about are first-year ice and old ice. The thinness of the former provides the ideal route to the Pole, while the denseness of the aged variety can result in three-to-eight-metre-high ridges that are potentially impassable. Leinebø is no novice: in his day job, he’s the captain of Norway’s naval icebreaker, KV Svalbard, the first Norwegian vessel to reach the North Pole, in 2019.
It’s not a matter of just pointing the boat due north and firing up the engine. Leinebø zigzags through the floes. A morning satellite feed and special software aid in determining the best route; the ship’s helicopter sometimes scouts 65 or so kilometres ahead, and there’s a sonar called the Sea Ice Monitoring System (SIMS). But mostly Leinebø uses his eyes. “You look for the weakest parts of the ice—you avoid the ridges because that means thickness and instead look for water,” he says. “If the ‘water sky’ in the distance is dark, it’s reflecting water like a mirror, so you head in that direction.”
Everyone on the bridge is surprised by the lack of multi-year ice, but with more than a hint of disquietude. Though we don’t have to ram our way through frozen ridges, the advance of climate change couldn’t be more apparent. Environmentalists call the Arctic ice sheet the canary in the coal mine of the planet’s climate change for good reason: it is happening here first. “It’s not right,” mutters Leinebø. “There’s just too much open water for July. Really scary.”
The Arctic ice sheet has shrunk to about half its 1985 size, and as both mariners and scientists on board note, the quality of the ice is deteriorating. “It’s happening faster than our models predicted,” says Marisol Maddox, senior arctic analyst at the Polar Institute of the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars. “We’re seeing major events like Greenland’s ice sheet melting and sliding into the ocean—that wasn’t forecasted until 2070.” The consensus had been that the Arctic would be ice-free by 2050, but many scientists now expect that day to come in the 2030s.
That deterioration, it turns out, is why the three teams of scientists are on the voyage—two studying the ice and the other assessing climate change’s impact on plankton. As part of its commitment to sustainability, Ponant has designed two research labs—one wet and one dry—on a lower deck. “We took the advice of many scientists for equipping these labs,” says Hugues Decamus, Charcot’s chief engineer, clearly proud of the nearly US$12 million facilities.
The combined size of the labs, along with a sonar room, a dedicated server for the scientists, and a meteorological station on the vessel’s top deck, totals 130 square metres—space that could have been used for revenue generation. Ponant also has two staterooms reserved for scientists on each voyage and provides grants for travel expenses. The line doesn’t cherrypick researchers but instead asks the independent Arctic Research Icebreaker Consortium (ARICE) to choose participants based on submissions.
The idea, says the vessel’s science officer on this voyage, Daphné Buiron, is to make the process transparent and minimise the appearance of greenwashing. “Yes, this alliance may deliver a positive public image for the company, but this ship shows we do real science on board,” she says. The labs will improve over time, adds Decamus, as the ship amasses more sophisticated equipment.
Research scientists and tourist vessels don’t typically mix. The former, wary of becoming mascots for the cruise lines’ sustainability marketing efforts, and cognisant of the less-than-pristine footprint of many vessels, tend to be wary. The cruise lines, for their part, see scientists as potentially high maintenance when paying customers should be the priority. But there seemed to be a meeting of the minds, or at least a détente, on Le Commandant Charcot.
“We discuss this a lot and are aware of the downsides, but also the positives,” says Franz von Bock und Polach, head of the institute for ship structural design and analysis at Hamburg University of Technology, specialising in the physics of sea ice. Not only does Charcot grant free access to these remote areas, but the ship will also collect data on the same route multiple times a year with equipment his team leaves on board, offering what scientists prize most: repeatability. “One transit doesn’t have much value,” he says. “But when you measure different seasons, regions and years, you build up a more complex picture.” So, more than just a research paper: forecasts of ice conditions for long-term planning by governments as the Arctic transforms.
Nils Haëntjens, from the University of Maine, is analysing five-millilitre drops of water on a high-tech McLane IFCB microscope. “The instrument captures more than 250,000 images of phytoplankton along the latitudinal transect,” he says. Charcot has doors in the wet lab that allow the scientists to take water samples, and in the bow, inlets take in water without contaminating it. Two freezers can preserve samples for further research back in university labs.
Even though the boat won’t stop, the captain and chief engineer clearly want to make the science missions work. Marchesseau dispatches the helicopter with the researchers and their gear 100 kilometres ahead, where they take core samples and measurements. I spot them in their red snowsuits, pulling sleds on an ice floe, as the boat passes. Startled to see living-colour humans on the ice after days of monochrome, I feel a pang of jealousy as I head for a caviar tasting.
The only other humans we encounter on the journey north are aboard Fifty Years of Victory, the Russian icebreaker. The 160-metre orange- and-black leviathan reached the North Pole a day earlier—its 59th visit—and is on its way back to Murmansk. It’s a classic East meets West moment: the icebreaker, launched just after the collapse of the Soviet Union, meeting the new standard of polar luxury.
The evening before Bastille Day, Le Commandant Charcot arrives at the North Pole. Because of the pinpoint precision of the GPS, Marchesseau has to navigate back and forth for about 20 minutes—with a bridge full of passengers hushing each other so as not to distract him—until he finds 90 degrees north. That final chaotic approach to the top of the world in the grey, windswept landscape looks like a kid’s Etch A Sketch on the chartplotter, but it is met with rousing cheers. The next morning, with good visibility and light winds, we spill out onto the ice for the celebration, followed by a polar plunge.
As guests pose in front of flags and mile markers for major cities, the naturalist guides, armed with rifles, establish a wide perimeter to guard against polar bears. The fearless creatures are highly intelligent, with razor-sharp teeth, hooked claws and the ability to sprint at 40 km/h. Males average about three metres tall and weigh around 700 kilos. They are loners that will kill anything—including other bears and even their own cubs. Cathy and I walk around the far edges of the perimeter to enjoy some solitude. Looking out over the white landscape, I know this is a milestone. But it feels odd that getting here didn’t involve any sweat or even a modicum of discomfort.
The rest of the week is an entirely different trip. On the return south, we see a huge male polar bear ambling on the ice, looking over his shoulder at us. It is our first sighting of the Arctic’s apex predator, and everyone crowds the observation lounge with long-lensed cameras. The next day, we see another male, this one smaller, running away from the ship. “They have many personalities,” says Steiner Aksnes, head of the expedition team, who has led scientists and film crews in the Arctic for 25 years. We see a dozen on the return to Svalbard, where 3,000 are scattered across the archipelago, outnumbering human residents.
The last five days we make six stops on different islands, travelling by Zodiac from Charcot to various beaches. On Lomfjorden, as we look on a hundred yards from shore, a mother polar bear protects her two cubs while a young male hovers in the background. On a Zodiac ride off Alkefjellet, the air is alive with birds, including tens of thousands of Brünnich’s guillemots as well as glaucous gulls and kittiwakes, which nest in that island’s cliffs, while a young male polar bear munches on a ring seal, chin glistening red.
On this part of the trip, the expedition team, mostly 30-something, free-spirited scientists whose areas of expertise range from botany to alpine trekking to whales, lead hikes across different landscapes. The jam-packed schedule sometimes involves three activities per day and includes following the reindeer on Palanderbukta, seeing a colony of 200 walruses on Kapp Lee, hiking the black tundra of Burgerbukta (boasting 3.8-cm-tall willows—said to be the smallest trees in the world and the largest on Svalbard—plus mosquitoes!), watching multiple species of whales breaching offshore, and kayaking the ice floes of Ekmanfjorden. Svalbard is a protected wilderness area, and the cruise lines tailor their schedules so vessels don’t overlap, giving visitors the impression they are setting foot on virgin land.
Chances to experience that sense of discovery and wonder, even slightly stage-managed ones, are dwindling along with the ice sheet and endangered wildlife. If a stunning trip to a frozen North Pole is on your bucket list, the time to go is now.
PARADIGM SHIP
For those studying polar ice, a berth aboard Le Commandant Charcot is like a winning lottery ticket. “This cruise ship is one of the few resources scientists can use, because nothing else can get there,” says G. Mark Miller, CEO of research-vessel builder Greenwater Marine Sciences Offshore (GMSO) and a former ship captain for the US National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA). “Then factor in 80 percent of scientists who want to go to sea, can’t, because of the shortage of research vessels.”
Both Ponant and Viking have designed research labs aboard new expedition vessels as part of their sustainability initiatives. “Remote areas like Antarctica need more data—the typical research is just single data points,” says Damon Stanwell-Smith, Ph.D., head of science and sustainability at Viking. “Every scientist says more information is needed.”The twin sisterships Viking Octantis and Viking Polaris, which travel to Antarctica, Patagonia, the Great Lakes and Canada, have identical 35-square-metre labs, separated into wet and dry areas and fitted out with research equipment. In hangars below are military-grade rigid-hulled inflatables and two six-person yellow submersibles (the pair on Octantis are named John and Paul, while Polaris’s are George and Ringo). Unlike Ponant, Viking doesn’t have an independent association choose scientists for each voyage. Instead, it partners with the University of Cambridge, the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, and NOAA, which send their researchers to work with Viking’s onboard science officers.
“Some people think marine research is sticking some kids on a ship to take measurements,” says Stanwell-Smith. “But we know we can do first-rate science—not spin.”Other cruise lines are also embracing sustainability initiatives, with coral-reef-restoration projects and water-quality measurements, usually in partnership with universities. Just about every vessel has “citizen-scientist” research programs allowing guests the opportunity to count birds or pick up discarded plastic on beaches. So far, Ponant and Viking are the only lines with serious research labs. Ponant is adding science officers to other vessels in its fleet. As part of the initiatives, scientists deliver onboard lectures and sometimes invite passengers to assist in their research.
Given the shortage of research vessels, Stanwell-Smith thinks this passenger-funded system will coexist nicely with current NGO- and government-owned ships. “This could be a new paradigm for exploring the sea,” he says. “Maybe the next generation of research vessels will look like ours.”
Piaget, the watchmaker’s watchmaker, has once again redefined the meaning of “ultra-thin” thanks to its newest masterpiece, the Altiplano Ultimate Concept Tourbillon—the world’s thinnest tourbillon watch.
In the world of high-watchmaking where thin is never thin enough—look at the ongoing battle between Piaget, Bulgari, and Richard Mille for the honours—Piaget caused a furore at Watches & Wonders in Geneva when it unveiled its latest feat to coincide with the Maison’s 150th year anniversary.
Piaget claims that the new Altiplano is “shaped by a quest for elegance and driven by inventiveness”, and while this might be true, it’s clear that the Maison’s high-watchmaking divisions in La Côte-aux-Fées and Geneva are also looking to end the conversation around who owns the ultra-thin watchmaking category.
The new Altiplano pushes the boundaries of horological ingenuity 67 years after Piaget invented its first ultra-thin calibre—the revered 9P—and six years after it presented the world’s then-thinnest watch, the Altiplano Ultimate Concept. Now, with the release of this unrivalled timepiece at just 2mm thick—the same as its predecessor, yet now housing the beat of a flying tourbillon, prized by watchmaking connoisseurs—you can’t help but marvel at its ultra-thin mastery, whether the timepiece is to your liking or not.
In comparison, the Bulgari Octo Finissimo Tourbillon was 3.95mm thick when unveiled in 2020, which seems huge on paper compared to what Piaget has been able to produce. But to craft a watch as thin and groundbreaking as its predecessor, now with an added flying tourbillon complication, the whole watchmaking process had to be revalued and reinvented.
“We did far more than merely add a tourbillon,” says Benjamin Comar, Piaget CEO. “We reinvented everything.”
After three years of R&D, trial and error—and a redesign of 90 percent of the original Altiplano Ultimate Concept components—the 2024 version needs to be held and seen to be believed. The end product certainly isn’t a watch for the everyday watch wearer—although Piaget will tell you otherwise—but in many ways, the company didn’t conjure a timepiece like the Altiplano as a profit-seeking exercise. Instead, overcoming such an arduous and technical watchmaking feat proves that Piaget can master the flying tourbillon in such a whimsical fashion and, in the process, subvert the current state-of-the-art technical principles by making an impactful visual—and technical—statement.
The only question left to ask is, what’s next, Piaget?
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Model: Altiplano Ultimate Concept Tourbillon 150th Anniversary Diameter: 41.5 mm Thickness: 2 mm (crystal included) Material: M64BC cobalt alloy, blue PVD -treated Dial: Monobloc dial; polished round and baton indices, Bâton-shaped hand for the minutes Monobloc disc with a hand for the hours Water resistance:20m
Movement: Calibre 970P-UC, one-minute peripheral tourbillon Winding: Hand-wound Functions: hours, minutes, and small seconds (time-only) Power reserve: 40 hours
Availability: Limited production, not numbered Price: Price on request