Crowded beaches in Antarctica: TikTok effect fills the world of penguins with tourists

The scene is disconcerting. Three Spanish soldiers and two EL PAÍS journalists, dressed in bulky waterproof protective suits, arrive by zodiac at Caleta Péndulo , a beach with fumaroles coming from an active volcano that juts out into the Antarctic Ocean and forms the remote Deception Island. The hostile place, at sub-zero temperatures but with hot springs, is full of tourists, as if it were Benidorm. Their mobile phones record vertical videos and visitors adopt the typical poses of Instagram and TikTok. Anchored off the coast is the luxury cruise ship Roald Amundsen — recently bought by a consortium of investment funds from London and New York — with some 500 passengers who have paid around 20,000 euros each. Behind that ship arrives another. And then another. Mass tourism, which is collapsing towns and cities around the world, has also reached the last virgin continent on the planet.

Biologist Antonio Quesada , head of the Spanish Polar Committee, walks another February day among the eerie ruins of a whaling station , built in 1911 by a Norwegian company and abandoned in 1931 after the price of whale oil, which was used as fuel for lighting, fell. The desolate place is a kind of Antarctic Chernobyl. The bay is still littered with enormous whale bones. And on the beach there are the whalers' ramshackle huts, the monumental metal blubber tanks and the remains of a cemetery with 35 graves. The United Kingdom used these empty shelters to establish a scientific base, but a volcanic eruption destroyed the facilities in 1969 and caused the researchers to flee. The unusual Deception Island is now one of the most visited enclaves in Antarctica, and it is here that the Spanish Army base Gabriel de Castilla has been located since 1989. Quesada sighs in relief at the umpteenth cruise ship.

“Tourism is a fairly recent phenomenon. Twenty years ago, less than 20,000 people visited Antarctica each year, but last year there were about 125,000 tourists . That seems like a small amount for an entire continent, 26 times the size of the Iberian Peninsula, but most tourists come to the same places,” says Quesada, while behind him a line of ghostly figures walks under the snow of the whaling station devastated by the volcano. The tourists are surprised by the presence of the Spanish military and scientists, housed during the Antarctic summer on the other side of the bay, at the Gabriel de Castilla base. “Do you live here?” exclaims another day an American woman who has just disembarked from the Silver Cloud cruise ship — flying the Bahamian flag — and is walking among penguins and sea lions.

Australian geographer Anne Hardy is already talking about a TikTok effect , with hundreds of millions of social media users drawn to a multitude of frivolous videos of tourists in Antarctic enclaves: dancing with DJs among icebergs, chipping ice to make drinks, bathing dressed as penguins , walking on the bed of a cruise ship with amazing views. In Antarctica it is already possible to run a marathon , paddle a canoe, climb its highest peak for around 50,000 euros and even participate in erotic parties . And the Starlink satellites of the magnate Elon Musk allow videos to be shared in real time, from a continent previously disconnected from the rest of the planet. Hardy, from the University of Tasmania, maintains that this TikTok effect is boosting tourism and promoting “inappropriate behavior that can introduce invasive species or damage the Antarctic ecosystem.” Visitors have increased by 16% in just one year.

Antarctica is a continent theoretically protected as a nature reserve and dedicated to scientific research. An international agreement, the Antarctic Treaty , only allows two economic activities: fishing, with very strict rules; and tourism, which is not yet regulated. Spain, with two bases, is one of the 29 countries with the right to vote in the Antarctic Treaty. Quesada sits at the table where decisions are made. “Right now we are trying to regulate tourism. One of the options could be for tourists to contribute a small amount of money to conserve Antarctica,” he explains. This hypothetical tax could materialize at the next meeting of the Treaty in June.

Oceanographer Antonio Tovar came across another surreal scene on January 29. He went to collect water samples in front of the abandoned whaling station and found about a hundred people in bathing suits or bikinis, compulsively making vertical videos of themselves among the fumaroles, with the Dutch cruise shipHondius anchored off the coast. “The fact that there are so many tourists bathing and, presumably, releasing a large quantity of sun creams is an obvious risk for the ecosystem,” explains Tovar aboard the Sarmiento de Gamboa , a ship of the Spanish National Research Council (CSIC) that is participating in the Spanish campaign in Antarctica.

The expert is carrying out a simple experiment on the deck of the ship. In about fifteen transparent bags he has seawater with different concentrations of sun creams and krill , a tiny shrimp-like crustacean that is vital for feeding whales, seals and penguins. With the highest doses of the potion, the little animals appear to be dying.

Tovar, from the Institute of Marine Sciences of Andalusia, was a pioneer in the study of the impact of sun creams on nature. More than a decade ago, he and his colleagues warned that the increasing use of skin protectors, justified by the risk of cancer, had toxic effects on microalgae on the beaches of Mallorca. The American state of Hawaii has already banned sun creams with ingredients that kill corals. “In Antarctica everything is so pristine, so sensitive and so little affected that a minimal influence from humans has an impact almost immediately,” warns the researcher.

The Spanish Navy's oceanographic vessel Hespérides set sail from Cartagena on November 20, bound for Antarctica. Its commander, frigate captain Fernando Moliné Juste, was horrified to find a giant graffiti , some seven metres long, painted on the abandoned whaling station complex on Deception Island. The International Association of Antarctic Tour Operators said it was "shocked and disgusted" and said that this "senseless act of vandalism" was not perpetrated by any of its cruise ship passengers. Small ships also visit the area without any controls, and there have been reports of thefts of historical artefacts.

The Miami Beach-based travel agency Antarctica Cruises sells tickets on a variety of cruises, including the Roald Amundsen , which costs up to €50,000 for an 18-day trip in a luxury cabin with a minibar and private balcony, and the more modest Hondius , which starts at around €10,000 . Agency spokesman Jon Parker says the ships follow Antarctica Cruises' association and Antarctic Treaty guidelines , such as avoiding multiple cruises in the same location, limiting the number of passengers to 100 at a time on each beach, and ensuring there is at least one guide for every 20 passengers. Tourists are asked not to come closer than five metres to penguins, seals and sea lions.

Antonio Quesada, who is also the current chairman of the Council of National Antarctic Program Managers, stresses that an investigation is underway into the “huge graffiti” and that a Russian citizen is suspected on board a private sailing boat. Quesada walks among the graves in the whalers’ cemetery, until he reaches an abandoned British hangar. “This is where the graffiti was,” he proclaims. It seems inconceivable that someone would have sailed the most dangerous seas on the planet, carrying brightly coloured spray cans, to spray paint this protected historic site on an active volcano. The UKAHT foundation, which is responsible for preserving the remains of British explorers in Antarctica, organised the complete removal of the graffiti at the beginning of February. Quesada bitterly sounds the alarm: “Tourism is growing out of control. And this is a dramatic example of uncontrolled and misunderstood tourism.”