France’s 29 Best Restaurants – According To Michelin
Ahead of an anticipated summer sojourn – see which made the little red guide’s hallowed list.
Michelin has almost become as emblematic of French fine-dining landscape as the cuisine itself. While today we may think of the guidebook as a comprehensive tastemaker, the Michelin Guide’s goal in 1900 when it launched was much simpler: to drive local tourism.
At a time when there were fewer than 3,000 automobiles in all of France, the Michelin Guide was designed to highlight hotels and restaurants in such a way that would encourage motorists to make the trek—presumably wearing out their tires in the process. In 1926 the guidebook began awarding stars, and by 1936, Michelin had adopted its criteria for the tiered ratings. One star indicates a “very good restaurant in its category,” two stars translate to”excellent cooking, worth a detour,” while the coveted three stars mean a restaurant offers “exceptional cuisine, worth a special journey. Those ratings have been inextricably linked to Gallic gastronomy.
Prior to the pandemic, the hallowed guide experienced upheaval to the old order. In 2019, Auberge de L’ill lost its third star after holding it for 51 years. And last year Paul Bocuse’s L’Auberge du Pont de Collonges was demoted two years after his death, sending shockwaves through the French culinary community. That continues this year as legendary chef Guy Savoy’s two-decade run with Michelin’s highest honour came to an end as his Parisian restaurant was demoted to two. It wasn’t all bad news as La Marine joined the ranks of Michelin three-star restaurants. Chef Alexandre Couillon can now be mentioned in the same breath as culinary legends from Anne-Sophie Pic to Alain Ducasse to Alain Passard. Here are France’s 29 Michelin three-star restaurants for 2023.
Alléno Pavillon Ledoyen, Paris, 8th Arrondissement
Pavillon Ledoyen’s deep Parisian roots date back to 1842, when the restaurant was first erected in the Champs-Elysées’ gardens. While you can catch a glimpse of the original painted mouldings and ceiling in the upstairs dining room, chef Yannick Alléno, who took over in 2014, brings a modern sensibility to the historic site, which earned the spot a third Michelin star just seven months after he started. Alléno’s pet technique for making sauces are “extractions.” This entails first extracting liquids from ingredients and then reducing them using a technique called cryoconcentration, which involves a combination of sub-zero temperatures and centrifugal force. Diners can enjoy the fruits of this methods in dishes like a dessert that features a coffee-flavoured fir-tree extraction jelly.
Am par Alexandre Mazzia, Marseille
Chef Alexandre Mazzia’s eponymous restaurant draws inspiration not just from the produce and seafood available in France’s Cote d’Azur, this 24-seat restaurant boasts influences from beyond its Marseille home. Mazzia spent his first 14 years living in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and before his culinary career, the chef was professional basketball player. His restaurant opened in 2014, earning its first star soon after. He’s become known for unique, globally inspired compositions that have made him beloved in the chefs world, like his scorched mackerel satay with tapioca, wasabi sorbet, red métis; or his marinated egg yolk with lemon panais, combawa mais granité and tarragon.
Arpège, Paris, 7th Arrondissement
Today, there are few chefs quite as influential as Alain Passard, but back in 1986 he was simply trying to fill his mentor Alain Senderens’ big shoes. That’s the year Passard took over Senderens’ restaurant Archestrate. Passard renamed his new venture, Arpège, the French word for arpeggio, a name that like the establishment’s original name (which means orchestra en francais) pays tribute to his second love: music. Before arriving at Arpège, Passard cut his teeth at the Duc d’Enghien at the Casino of Enghien and the Carlton in Brussels, where he was awarded his first Michelin stars. Arpège earned its third in 1996 and has held onto them ever since—even after adopting a plant-centric menu in 2001. Guests can sample the signature dishes that put Passard on the map, such as his famous l’arpège egg—the hot-cold, hard-soft boiled amuse bouche you’ll now find tributes to at fine-dining restaurants around the globe.
Assiette Champenoise, Tinqueux
Chef Arnaud Lallement’s fate as a chef seemed predestined. As a child, he watched his father Jean-Pierre, who ran the family restaurant starting in 1975. Then, after studying under culinary legends, like Roger Vergé and Michel Guérard, Lallement took over at the helm in 1998. There, he won L’Assiete its second Michelin star in 2005 and its third in 2014. The menu boasts classic dishes (such as grated foie gras served over fois gras toast), as well as unique novel ones (milk-fed veal sweetbreads), but always with a focus on bringing out the pure flavours of the ingredients with just the right balance of acidity (Lallement’s mantra is “mangez vrais,” which translates to, “eat true”). And, as you’d expect from the region, there are more than a thousand champagnes in the cellar for you to sip with your meal.
Auberge du Vieux Puits, Fontjoncouse
Chef Gilles Goujon rise to Michelin stardom is the stuff of heartwarming movies. In 1990, he bought L’Auberge de Vieux Puits in the small village of Fontjoncouse for 34,000 euro, after its previous three owners had failed to turn a profit. For five years he struggled to attract diners. But his fortune turned in 1996 when he won the “Best Worker of France,” a prestigious award given out every four years to artisans in different categories. Shortly after, he snagged his first Michelin star in 1997. He won his second star in 2001 and his third in 2010.
Epicure, Paris, 8th Arrondissement
While many Michelin-star-winning chefs could be considered culinary royalty, Epicure’s chef Eric Frechon bears an additional, extra-official-sounding honourarium. He was decorated as a Knight of the Order of the “Légion d’Honneur” by Nicolas Sarkozy in 2008—just a year before he was first awarded three Michelin stars. The self-described “control freak” prides himself on his ability to elevate simple—even cheap—ingredients into Michelin-star-worthy fare. Though, there’s no shortage of decadence on his menu. You’ll find classic French cuisine, such as whole roast chicken cooked in a pig’s bladder (a signature dish) and black truffle, artichoke, and foie-gras stuffed macaroni.
Flocons de Sel, Megève
Nestled in the French Alps, Flocons de Sel offers a taste of the mountains. Chef Emmanuel Renaut scours the hillsides for herbs and mushrooms to adds to his dishes. He also takes a twice-yearly sojourn with award-winning cheesemaker Jacques Dubouloz through local farms and pastures in pursuit of the very best cheese. Just don’t expect to see fussily prepared cheese dishes at Folcons de Sel: When it comes to le fromage, Renaut is a purist. You’ll find all 20 of the menu’s hand-selected cheeses in their natural state. “I don’t like to cook with cheeses. I think it’s a waste,” he once remarked.
Georges Blanc, Vonnas
Going on 38 straight years of three Michelin stars, Georges Blanc—both the chef and the restaurant—is a French culinary fixture. While Blanc sharpened his technique in restaurants in France and abroad (as well as during a stint as a military cook) it’s hard not to think that some of his talent might be hereditary. Three generations of cooks preceded him, including his grandmother, who was once named the “best cook in the world,” by a food writer. Blanc took the reins from his mother in 1968, before turning the family business into a luxury hotel in the ‘70s.
Kei, Paris, 1st Arrondissement
The newest Michelin three-star recipient in the City of Lights is also the first ever Japanese chef to nab the honour in France. Kei Kobayashi was born in Nagano before moving to France to cook. He’s serving dishes like foie gras with green apple jelly; potato gnocchi with truffle, parmesan emulsion and Iberian ham; and salmon with a bitter sorrel cream with raw and cooked vegetables. While his menu has an influence from his Japanese roots, he’s quite taken with modern French cuisine.
La Marine, Ile de Noirmoutier
When La Marine joined the ranks of three-star restaurants in 2023, Michelin’s inspectors said that chef Alexandre Couillon’s ocean-focused cuisine, which spotlights seafood and edible coastal plants, asserted La Marine as one of the very best restaurants in all of France. The guide called his style of cooking both striking and bold, calling out his “braised artisanally fished mackerel, beetroot and parsley foam” and the “crispy buckwheat dessert, caramel mousse, candied citrus fruit and sea lettuce sorbet.”
L’Ambroisie, Paris, 4th Arrondissement
Abandoned by his parents and placed in an orphanage at 13, chef Bernard Pacaud found salvation in the kitchen of Eugénie Braizer’s Col de la Luère. The three-star-winning Lyonnais chef took Pacaud under her wing, providing him with both a roof over his head and a place to learn the craft. First nabbing his own third star in 1988, Pacaud has been holding onto the stellar Michelin rating for longer than any of Paris’s other three-star restaurants. L’Ambroisie lives up to its name which means “food of the gods” with its lavish, stunningly plated dishes like sea bass and artichoke served atop caviar. And even if the gods don’t literally dine there, some pretty powerful mortals do: In 2015 presidents Barack Obama and Francois Hollande enjoyed a working dinner at L’Ambroisie.
L’Oustau de Baumanière, Baux-de-Provence
When the Michelin Guide bestowed its third star on the restaurant at L’Oustau de Baumanière, it said of chef Glenn Viel that “organic vegetables from the garden of Baumanière, along with lamb, chicken and pork, each ingredient of the rich local produce finds its meaning and its true flavours in the hands of the chef.” Viel is merging local ingredients and traditional technique with modern flourishes like serving frog’s leg with puffed rice.
La Vague d’Or, Saint-Tropez
Arnaud Doncklele’s impressive resume includes apprenticeships in the kitchens of Alain Ducasse and Michel Guérard, so it’s hardly a surprise that the young chef achieved three Michelin Stars by the time he turned 35. La Vague D’Or offers three tasting menus, including the seven-course “Balade Epicurienne” for adventurous diners and a five course vegetarian option. There’s also two à la carte menus: one inspired by land and one inspired by the sea—which happens to be within view of restaurant’s umbrella-lined terrace, by the way.
La Villa Madie, Cassis
Joining the ranks of the three-stars in 2022, La Villa Madie has focused on Mediterranean fare under the leadership of Dimitri and Marielle Droisneau since 2013. Tucked in the south of France, overlooking the pristine blue waters, the local seafood and flora take centre stage. When it comes to Dimitri’s cooking, the guide is effusive: “From one dish to another, it makes its presence felt—light, subtle, tasty, fresh and aromatic, punchy when necessary, and always surprising and original.”
Le 1947 at Cheval Blanc, Courchevel
Yannick Alléno has performed the chef’s equivalent of a hat trick, having earned three triple-star Michelin restaurants over the course of his career. Ten years after his three-star win at Le Meurice, and three years after earning three stars at Pavillon Ledoyen, Michelin awarded him stars for Le 1947 at Cheval Blanc in 2017. The Alpine outpost’s sleek, modern surroundings—which include a perforated sphere through which diners can watch the chefs work—set the tone for the nine-course menu that puts a creative spin on French cuisine. Le 1947 is named for Château Cheval Blanc’s most renowned vintage and aims to provide guests with an experience just as covetable.
Le Cinq, Paris, 8th Arrondissement
From within the Four Seasons Hotel George V, chef Christian le Squer combines nostalgic French flavours with ambitious new techniques. “My cooking is like a Chanel suit worn over a pair of jeans,” he once said. You can taste this amalgam in dishes like his Parisian-style gratinated onions or line-fished sea bass served with caviar and buttermilk (a nod to growing up near the Morbihan sea in Brittany). “His signature is all over the superb dishes, mastered to perfection and demonstrating exceptional skills and a deep knowledge of the very best produce,” the former director of the Guide, Michael Ellis, said when the 2016 Michelin Guide was released. “Each of Christian Le Squer’s dishes is a true work of art, a shining example of the best of French gastronomy.” Prior to racking up stars at Le Cinq in 2016, Le Squer enjoyed 12 consecutive years of three-star glory at Pavilion Ledoyen.
Le Clos des Sens, Annecy-le-Vieux
Perched near Lake Annecy in the French Alps not far from the Swiss border, Le Clos des Sens is a manor built back in 1866. Laurent Petit leads the Michelin three-star restaurant inside the inn and he draws heavily on the region around him. His food features the crayfish, arctic char and other seafood from the surrounding lakes, including Annecy. As well as ingredients from the garden he’s built at the manor. His culinary education began early, as Petit grew up the son of a butcher and as a young chef cooked for the legendary Michel Guérard, a founder of nouvelle cuisine.
Le Louis XV—Alain Ducasse à l’Hôtel de Paris, Monte Carlo
The first hotel restaurant to secure three Michelin stars, Alain Ducasse’s Le Louis XV has become as much a fixture in Monte Carlo as any casino. But the Riviera mainstay has undergone changes in recent years. In 2007 Franck Cerutti assumed the role of executive chef and was joined by Ducasse’s protege, Dominique Lory, in 2011. Then, the space underwent a more physical transformation in 2015, trading its opulent, 19th-century-inspired wall hangings and sculptures for a more modern vision of luxury. Along with it, the menu got a little facelift, moving to even lighter, more nuanced fare. “Creating a menu is like writing good music,” Ducasse told The New York Times. “Loud and strong contrasts with soft and gentle. In a world where people zap away from anything they don’t instantly love or understand, gastronomic luxury happens when a dish is so well conceived it wins the time to seduce with subtlety.”
Le Petit Nice, Marseille
Chef Gérald Passédat says he inherited his taste for beauty and appreciation for things well done from his family of artists and chefs, while he honed his technique in the kitchens of the Troisgros brothers and Michel Guérard. It all came together in 2008 when Le Petit Nice first ascended to three stars. Passédat’s cuisine leans heavily on the abundance of fish in the sea the restaurant overlooks. In a year, he estimates at least 65 different Mediterranean species make their way onto his plates. An updated take on classic bouillabaisse, anemone fritters, seafood carpaccio, and a delicately prepared sea bass named for the chef’s opera star grandmother are a few of the signature dishes that grace Passédat’s menu.
Le Pré Catelan, Paris, 16th Arrondissement
In one respect Frédéric Anton, one of France’s most admired chefs, is an utter failure: As a child he aspired to become a cabinetmaker. Alas, his cabinet-making dreams were put on hold when he began his career as a chef in 1983, and further left in the dust when he proceeded to cook under some of fine-dining’s biggest names—including serving as Joël Robuchon’s chef de cuisine. Anton’s impressive pedigree eventually landed him at Le Pré Catelan in 1997, where he earned two Michelin stars by 1999 and was elevated to a third in 2007.
Les Prés d’Eugénie—Michel Guérard, Eugénie des Bains
If one were to erect a Mount Rushmore of French gastronomy, Michel Guérard’s inclusion would be a foregone conclusion. One of the so-called founding fathers of French nouvelle cuisine, Guérard got his first taste of Michelin stardom at Pot-au-Feu, which won its second star in 1971. He opened Le Prés d’Eugénie in 1974, and his cuisine was awarded its first star almost immediately, with a second star arriving in 1975 and a third following in 1977. Today, he’s focused on balancing the hedonistic delights of food with healthy eating.
Maison Lameloise, Chagny
This Burgundian restaurant has been a gastronomic institution since Michelin’s inception. It appeared in Michelin’s very first guide in 1900 and earned its first star in 1926. Maison Lameloise enjoyed its first three-star streak between 1979 and 2004, which picked back up again in 2007. Many of the restaurant’s most successful years occurred under Jacques Lameloise, who took over for his father in 1979. In 2008, Lameloise passed the torch to then up-and-comer Eric Pras, who has kept its three-star rating going strong ever since. Pras has made his mark on the mainstay’s menu with technically precise dishes that put a fresh spin on Burgundian cuisine.
Mirazur, Menton
It was a career-defining year for chef Mauro Colagreco in 2019. Mirazur finally ascended to three stars and five months later it World’s 50 Best crowned it the top restaurant in its annual rankings. The chef has cooked at Mirazur in the South of France since 2006 after working with titans Alain Passard and Alain Ducasse. He incorporates ingredients around the French Riviera and merges them with inspiration from his Argentinian-Italian heritage for dishes like squid with artichokes and bagna cauda.
Pic, Valence
Pic’s Michelin-star-studded history dates back to the early 20th century. Andre Pic opened in Valence in 1935 and earned three Michelin stars by 1939. Later years proved to be rockier, with the restaurant dropping to two stars in 1946 and to one in 1950. Under the leadership Andre’s son Jacques, Pic ascended again to two stars in 1959 and three in 1973, before falling back to two in 1995, just a few years after Jacques’ death. Then, Jacques’s daughter, Anne-Sophie, took over the illustrious dining spot in 1998 with no formal training. Less than a decade later, chef Pic, the only woman in France with three Michelin stars (and just the fourth women ever to receive the honour), restored Pic to three-star glory in 2007. She describes her cuisine as simple, sophisticated and pointedly feminine, which you’ll see reflected in the menu, as well in the decor. “All my emotions are feminine, so I have this feminine way in my cooking. I think some men are able to make very feminine cuisine, but they are perhaps more focused on technique, less on developing the emotional part,” she told CNN in 2012.
Pierre Gagnaire, Paris, 8th Arrondissement
Credited with pioneering the French fusion movement, Pierre Gagnaire’s philosophy in the kitchen is, “tourné vers demain mais soucieux d’hier”—or “facing tomorrow, but respectful of yesterday.” His own culinary past is a mix of formal training and familial connections. Pierre Gagnaire learned the ropes from his Michelin-star-winning chef father, as well as in the kitchens of the highest calibre French chefs of the era, including Paul Bocuse. Gaugnaire took these lessons and started his own restaurant in his hometown of Saint Etienne in 1980, which received three Michelin stars in 1993, but struggled financially. Then, in 1996, Gagnaire opened his eponymous establishment. By 1998 he had his three Michelin stars again.
Plénitude—Cheval Blanc, Paris, 1 Arrondissement
Well, chef Arnauld Donckele wasted no time. For many chefs, bringing their restaurant to the Michelin three-star level can be a career-spanning effort. In Plénitude’s first year of eligibility, the restaurant rocketed to the top of Michelin’s rankings, earning tres etoiles right out of the gate in 2022. Of course, as the chef of three-star La Vague d’Or in Saint-Tropez, Donckele and the guide are quite familiar with each other. Located inside a an LVMH hotel in the heart of Paris, the 26-seat Plénitude connects cuisine from across French regions, drawing inspiration from Normandy, the south of France and Paris. When awarding Plenitude its third star, Michelin called Donckele an “ingenious master creator of sauces,” which is about as high of praise you can give a French toque.
Régis et Jacques Marcon, Saint Bonnet le Froid
Named for the father-son team that runs the restaurant, Régis et Jacques Marcon offers a seasonal taste of the Haute-Loire region—with a special reverence for the local mushrooms (Régis has even written a book on his beloved champignons). Régis took over his family’s inn in 1979, eventually moulding it into the restaurant it is today. He earned his first Michelin star in 1990, his second in 1997, and his third in 2005, just a year after his son, Jacques, joined him in the kitchen.
René et Maxime Meilleur, Saint Martin, Saint Martin de Belleville
René and Maxime Meilleur, the self-taught, father-son chef duo behind their eponymous restaurant, have been cooking together since 1996. The pair’s cuisine pays tribute to the surrounding Savoie region, with ingredients like crozet pasta, raclette, and Saint Martin goat’s milk, and first earned its third star in 2015. “The dishes are precise, generous and remarkably creative. “La bouitte” may mean small house in the local dialect, but the fare offered by René, Maxime and their spouses is of the highest calibre,” Ellis said when awarding La Bouitte its third star.
Troisgros—Le Bois sans Feuilles, Ouches
Holding onto its three-star rating for half a century, La Maison Troisgros—and the family dynasty behind it—has long been a driving force in French cuisine. In 1930 Jean-Baptiste Troisgros opened the restaurant near Lyon. Later, his sons Jean and Pierre took the reins, shaping it into the triple-starred establishment it is today with their nouvelle cuisine. Now Pierre’s son Michel runs the empire, alongside his wife Marie-Pierre and son César. César credits the restaurant’s continued success to his mother’s intuition (she’s pioneered much of Troisgros’s growth) and his father’s culinary sensibilities, which César describes as “tangy, vibrant, fresh, and measured.” Meanwhile, as the youngest Troisgros, César brings youthful perspective, flavours inspired by his travels through Spain and California (he also worked at Thomas Keller’s French Laundry), and “a thing for hot peppers.” The dish he says most encapsulates the restaurant’s ethos today is the cosa croquante: a salad made with shaved carrots that have been lightly fried and seasoned with herbs from the family garden.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Model: Altiplano Ultimate Concept Tourbillon 150th Anniversary
Diameter: 41.5 mm
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Material: M64BC cobalt alloy, blue PVD -treated
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Polar Opposites
A journey north to one of the harshest, remotest spots on Earth couldn’t be more luxurious.
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.”
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