An iceside chat with the legendary expeditioner Christian kempf

Few people have done more to bring the polar world within reach of adventurous travellers than Christian Kempf. Explorer, scientist, author and founder of the boutique French expedition cruise operator Grands Espaces, Kempf has spent decades guiding people into some of the planet’s most remote and fragile landscapes.

So it was a privilege not only to interview him, but to explore alongside him in Svalbard aboard Grand Explorer, his intimate 12-guest expedition ship.

We spoke about glaciology in the shadow of roaring, calving glaciers. We discussed Arctic birdlife beneath the towering cliffs of Alkefjellet, where thousands of seabirds nested in the dark basalt walls. We drank chilled champagne while drifting on shifting sea ice under the endless light of the High Arctic summer.

Kempf launched the first French expedition cruise to Antarctica in 1987 with the support of legendary explorer Paul-Émile Victor. In the decades since, he has become one of the defining figures in polar exploration, leading award-winning expeditions across the Arctic and Antarctica, publishing 26 books on the polar regions, and founding the Arctic Ecology Research Group (GREA).

At the heart of Kempf’s work is a philosophy that has shaped his entire career: people protect what they truly experience. It is a sentiment often repeated in modern travel marketing, but hearing it from Kempf while travelling through the ice fields of Svalbard gave it a different weight.

Sitting in a Zodiac beneath a glacier, listening to Christian explain that the ice wall before us had once stretched nearly ten times further into the fjord, transformed climate change from abstraction into reality. The retreat of Arctic ice is not simply about disappearing landscapes. It reshapes entire ecosystems. As sea ice vanishes, polar bears lose the frozen platforms they rely on to hunt seals, forcing them inland and altering behaviours that have existed for millennia. Cause and effect unfold here in real time.

Then the glacier calves. A crack echoes across the fjord like a rifle shot before ice collapses into the sea, sending another iceberg drifting into the still, mirror-like water. It is a moment that no scientific paper or headline can fully prepare you for. To understand what is happening in the polar regions, you have to witness it firsthand.

There is endless debate in the expedition cruise world about the best order to experience the polar regions. Should you start with Antarctica’s wildlife spectacle, Greenland’s immense scale, or the raw Arctic wilderness of Svalbard?

I put the question to Christian Kempf while we watched slabs of sea ice drift silently past the observation lounge aboard Grand Explorer. His answer came instantly.

“Svalbard first, then Antarctica, and finally Greenland.”

It is the kind of question that often prompts a diplomatic or unclear answer from expedition operators and agents, but Kempf’s response was immediate and decisive. More importantly, it made complete sense once he explained it.

For him, Svalbard is the ideal introduction to expedition cruising because it delivers the full polar experience in a highly accessible way, particularly for European travellers. Longyearbyen, the archipelago’s small frontier capital and the world’s northernmost town, is less than three hours by air from mainland Europe. From the airport, it is barely five minutes to the harbour. Within hours of arriving, you are already immersed in the Arctic wilderness. Last summer, I actually saw a pod of beluga whales, a walrus and countless seabirds, including the much-loved puffin, within an hour of embarking on a ship. 

Unlike Antarctica, there are no long ocean crossings before the expedition truly begins. You do not spend two days traversing the Drake Passage before reaching your first landing site. In Svalbard, the action starts immediately. Distances between locations are relatively short, allowing expedition ships to experience several dramatically different environments in a single day. Ships also tend to be relatively well protected from adverse weather and swell, hugging the shoreline as they traverse the archipelago, always a fjord nearby for shelter and scenic cruising. 

Kempf pointed to the itinerary we had experienced only the day before. We had visited a walrus colony in the morning, cruised through a glacial fjord by Zodiac before lunch, stepped ashore at a historic trapping site in the afternoon, and ended the evening in Ny-Ålesund, the world’s northernmost scientific settlement and key staging post for climate research.

“It gives you everything,” he explained. “Wildlife, glaciers, history, sea ice, exploration. It is the perfect first expedition.”

Antarctica, he said, should come next. Not because it is less impressive, but because it is bigger, more demanding, and more logistically complex. By the time travellers reach Antarctica, they already understand the rhythm of expedition cruising, life aboard a small ship, and how to remain comfortable during longer crossings and more unpredictable conditions.

Then comes Greenland.

Kempf described Greenland as a place of “madness”, not in chaos, but in scale. The vastness of the landscape defies comparison. Greenland is home to some of the world’s largest icebergs and ice cliffs, towering mountain ranges, immense fjord systems, and the largest national park on Earth. Yet alongside that scale comes something equally compelling: culture. Inuit communities, ancient traditions, and isolated settlements add a human dimension distinct from both Svalbard and Antarctica.

As our conversation drifted beyond individual destinations, Kempf made a point that perfectly captured the complexity of the Arctic itself.

“People talk about the Arctic as if it is one place,” he said. “But travelling from Svalbard to Alaska across the Arctic is like travelling from Sweden to Italy in Europe. The diversity is extraordinary. One word cannot describe it because every region is entirely different. Even in Greenland itself, the East is entirely different to the West.”

When I asked Christian Kempf what truly sets a small expedition ship like the 12-guest Grand Explorer apart from larger polar vessels, he struggled to offer a single example. Not because there was not one, but because there were too many.

“Look at today,” he said. “This morning we visited the engine room. Then we went for a Zodiac cruise and a hike. Later, we’ll sail to Ny-Ålesund to visit the science station there, and this evening we’ll cruise beneath Kronebreen.” 

He gestures towards the map on the wall. Kronebreen is an immense tidewater glacier and one of the largest in Svalbard, draining nearly 700 square kilometres of ice into the fjord. It moves at an astonishing speed for a glacier, advancing by roughly two metres every day, its fractured blue face constantly calving into the Arctic waters below. It was also to become one of the most beautiful places I have ever been 

 “ All the while we are watching for polar bears.” He adds with a grin.

That flexibility is the defining difference. On larger expedition ships, itineraries often have to be planned with greater precision. Landing schedules, passenger rotations, and operational logistics become increasingly complex as guest numbers rise. On a 12-guest ship, the expedition feels fluid and deeply personal. Plans can evolve with the wildlife, the weather, or simply the group's mood. There is also the commercial question. Sites like Ny-Ålesund charge per-passenger landing fees, making them less likely to serve ships with much higher passenger numbers. 

Kempf believes 12 guests is an ideal number for true expedition travel. It creates a sense of intimacy impossible to replicate on larger vessels, while also opening the door to highly specialised journeys. Some guests charter the entire ship privately, while others join niche expeditions built around photography, wildlife observation, hiking, or ski touring.

We had already heard about a recent ski expedition in Svalbard that perfectly illustrated the freedom a small ship allows. The group spent days searching for untouched slopes in remote corners of the archipelago, skiing slopes that may never have been skied before. At one location, conditions were so exceptional that the ship simply remained there for two days, allowing the group to continue exploring terrain they loved.

“That would be almost impossible with a larger vessel,” Kempf explained.

The advantages are not only logistical, but geographical. Small ships can navigate narrow fjords and shallow channels inaccessible to larger expedition vessels with deeper drafts, making for improved coastal views and wildlife opportunities during the ship's sailing time. They can push farther into intricate Arctic waterways, closer to glaciers and wildlife for viewing from the deck or observation lounges. The experience becomes less about observing the polar regions from afar and more about fully immersing yourself within them.

Life aboard a small expedition ship feels closer to a private exploration than a cruise. Guests quickly get to know every other guest, crew, and member of the expedition team. Conversations continue long after excursions end. Plans are adapted in real time around weather windows, wildlife sightings, and opportunities that simply cannot be predicted in the polar regions.

And perhaps most importantly, small ships allow time. Time to linger in beautiful places. Time to wait for perfect light on a glacier face. Time to watch a polar bear moving slowly across the ice instead of returning to a strict departure schedule. It can be hours, it can be days and in the Arctic, that freedom can completely transform the experience.