The Soul of the Sea: Exploring Passion in French Polynesia and the Poles

French Polynesia is often admired for its beauty: turquoise lagoons, coral reefs, and steep volcanic ridges rising abruptly from the sea. Believe it or not, beneath this visual splendor lies a dynamic ocean system that is inseparable from the frozen extremes of the planet. The poles and the tropics are far apart, yet they are intimately connected by the same currents, the same physics, the same accelerating imbalance. What happens in the high latitudes does not stay there. It reshapes sea level, storm intensity, and reef health thousands of miles away. For me, exploring warm Polynesian waters after months on polar ice has made the connection impossible to ignore: different expressions of the same ocean, responding in real time to a rapidly changing climate.

Understanding the system requires more than satellite data or models alone. It demands physical proximity. This philosophy increasingly shapes modern expedition cruising, where ships now serve not only as vessels of transport but also as platforms for observation, research, and learning, through onboard lectures, activities, and workshops that span history, culture, and science. As research expands beyond the high latitudes, ships like Ponant's Paul Gauguin offer a valuable opportunity to extend polar-style science into tropical reef and lagoon environments, complementing work conducted aboard Le Commandant Charcot, their signature luxury icebreaker. Having now sailed on both ships, as passenger, guest scientist and guest speaker, I have seen firsthand how these platforms support a shared approach to learning, rooted in proximity, curiosity and exchange. At the center of this approach, where command, immersion, and scientific support intersect, are the captains who make it possible. Few embody that connection as clearly as Patrick Marchesseau. A captain for decades, his career spans polar and tropical oceans alike, shaped by exploration, responsibility, and an enduring drive to discover new places.

“It’s more a passion than a job,” he says.

His relationship with Paul Gauguin reaches back to the vessel’s very beginning. He followed her construction in 1997 and sailed aboard her early in his career as an officer. Today, he moves between roles, serving as interim captain of Paul Gauguin every few years, while holding a primary post as one of two senior commanders on Le Commandant Charcot. In doing so, Marchesseau moves between extremes: the precision of polar ice navigation and the careful, reef-threaded manoeuvring required in French Polynesia. He reveals,

“The main danger is entering the lagoons, especially the passes. The reefs are extremely shallow.” Safe passage depends on local knowledge, beacons, buoys, and strong regional support, skills distinct from ice navigation, but equally demanding.

That contrast points to a larger truth: good command is inseparable from careful observation. That way of knowing, through proximity rather than abstraction, applies ashore as much as at sea. In French Polynesia, that immersion took on a different texture for me. As a scientist who works primarily in polar regions, I arrived with a growing interest in a place now directly affected by melting ice through sea-level rise. Physical engagement became an essential part of that understanding. As an athlete, climbing steep volcanic ridges on Bora Bora and Moorea sharpened my sense of scale and process, revealing how quickly conditions change in the tropics and how rainfall, heat, and vegetation shape terrain in ways very different from those in cold, high-altitude environments.

Moving slowly uphill, feeling the weight of humidity, and adjusting constantly to slick rock and sudden downpours made the landscape legible in a way maps and elevation profiles cannot. Time in the water offered a complementary perspective. Snorkeling and underwater walking safaris brought reef systems into close focus: evidence of coral bleaching was widespread, yet pockets of vibrant reef persisted, hanging on by a thread. It was a way of learning shaped by presence, by slowing down, paying attention, and allowing the place to reveal itself.

It is an approach Marchesseau knows well. Beyond the bridge, his connection to the sea has long been both physical and professional. Diving remains a current passion, while hiking played a similar role earlier in his career.

“Most ideas come when I’m doing sport,” he says. Movement, for him, is a source of clarity, a way to process complexity rather than escape it. That clarity has been tested. During the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami, Marchesseau was anchored off the Seychelles with guests ashore when the wave struck, a moment that reinforced the primacy of human safety over all else. A piracy hostage crisis in 2008 later demanded a different kind of vigilance: constant risk assessment, intuition, and restraint. Together, these experiences sharpened his judgment and reinforced a calm, values-driven approach to command, where trust is earned through decisions made under pressure and where people come first. As someone who has sailed under his command, these are the qualities that make you want him on the bridge.

When asked what the sea gives him, Marchesseau answers without hesitation: discovery.

“The feeling of being an explorer,” he says. “Especially in the polar regions: it’s more intense. New routes, new places. The soul, the spirit of the explorer, is woven into my being and drives me.” And it is a feeling he recognizes not only on the bridge, but among the scientists working aboard and the passengers drawn to these voyages, people who come not simply to see remote places, but to understand them, sharing in the same instinct to explore and to learn by experience. For me, that instinct surfaced quietly in French Polynesia: in the rhythm of climbing, in the weightless moments underwater, and in moving through a landscape that felt vast and alive.

From polar ice to tropical reefs, the horizon remains open, and so does the work of understanding the planet. Le Commandant Charcot and Paul Gauguin, operating in starkly different environments, offer complementary perspectives on the same Earth system for passengers to experience: one shaped by ice and extremes, the other by reefs and heat, each deepening understanding of the other. That movement between extremes echoes the path of Paul-Émile Victor, the famed French polar scientist who worked alongside Charcot in Greenland and later chose to spend his final years in the quiet warmth of Bora Bora. With characteristic modesty, Marchesseau draws no direct comparison, yet recognizes a shared arc: an enduring passion for the polar regions, paired with an appreciation for the gentler rhythms of French Polynesia.

Having worked closely with Inuit communities, bringing representatives aboard Le Commandant Charcot and ensuring benefits flowed back to their communities, Marchesseau carries that same commitment now into French Polynesia on Paul Gauguin, where he is working to build similarly reciprocal relationships. In doing so, local voices are brought into the experience itself, while passengers gain a deeper, more grounded understanding of the places they move through. Through this approach, discovery is shaped less by geography than by attention, by those willing to observe closely, cross boundaries, and remain present long enough, and quietly enough, to understand.