The light of the arctic summer is unique. The sky shimmers with mother-of-pearl shades of baby-blue, light turquoise and just a hint of bronze. It is the same light we sometimes see just after dawn, but it had turned 10 pm.

We were floating among magical sculptures of ice. Ahead, the Sydney Opera House came into view.

I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to do this trip on acid.

But however magical our surroundings, the weather hadn’t improved. I kept the lens of my camera covered as best as I could, but there was no way anybody could light a cigarette in this rain. So I thought shelter in a niche away from the driving wind on deck.

“Sure is real shit-cancer weather!” A teenage girl said, likewise struggling with a fag.

“Yes, this is belief.”

My Danish was still at the ‘listen, but don’t talk’ stage. But I grinned broadly anyway. Icebergs which looked like piped cream and spun-sugar castles were literally the icing on the cake after at least six humpback whale sightings plus dozens of seals.