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Bipolar DisorderThe magnetic appeal of the poles.

By Tim WuPosted Tuesday, May 5, 2009, at 12:43 PM ET

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True, the search for Eden can be the unspoken motivation for a lot of extreme travel, particularly to places like the inner Amazon or outer Mongolia. But even those places, whatever their attractions, are inhabited in a way the North and South poles are not. If you really want to get back to Adam and Eve, you must seek the poles.

The signs of Eden are everywhere in Antarctica. The penguins and seals don't seem to have learned, as most animals have, that humans are fallen creatures, best avoided. In the far south, the penguins spring out of the sea and waddle over to meet you, acting more like kindergarten children than wild birds. You feel you're at a reunion with lost friends and wonder why we have such bad relations with most animals.

Every so often, an iceberg floats by that is grander and more beautiful than any cathedral, though it lacks any history or even a name. What's almost as shocking as its appearance is its anonymity: beauty untainted by fame. Most of these perfect objects will never be seen by human eyes. They float around and slowly melt by themselves, unappreciated and utterly indifferent to that fact.

Unnamed, plentiful beauty feels unearthly and almost decadent, like Sinbad the Sailor's cave. It is alien to the typical human experience of finding everything we really desire to be scarce, expensive, or behind some temple curtain. It has always struck me that no one bothers to build museums in places of extreme natural beauty, and in Antarctica the effect is magnified. If an iceberg the size of Manhattan showed up outside town one day, why would you bother going to an art exhibit?

No one, finally, can deny that the lure of the far north and south is enhanced by a proximity to death, the forbidden salt that makes travel more tasty. It is not so clear that humans are meant to go far north or south, as most of Jack London's stories confirm. The story of English explorer Robert Falcon Scott sets the theme for all polar travel: Scott drove himself and his men to their deaths in a failed, meaningless race to be the first to reach the South Pole.

Scott provides a lesson in the common relationship between polar travel and a certain suicidal instinct. While polar travel isn't necessarily dangerous, death surrounds you as a possibility, especially in the sea, which is perfect, beautiful, and deadly.

Last year, one of the passengers on an icebreaker to the North Pole walked out of her cabin, climbed up on the railing of her balcony, and leapt into the Arctic Sea. Someone saw her jump, and the captain dutifully turned the ship around to retrieve the body before proceeding to the North Pole.

I took a very brief swim in the polar waters myself, aware that organ damage begins after just a few minutes. The cold is so absolute it wipes your mind clear of thought and forces you into a meditative state. Recovery is a little like being born again, a sort of polar baptism. One passenger, Lisa, felt so drawn to the polar waters that she insisted on plunging into the waters three times in a row.

After the swim, Lisa and I had a brief chat that seemed to capture something. She asked me, "If aliens came to take you away, would you go?"

"Hmm," I said, "maybe." I thought for a moment. "Sure, it might be interesting."

"OK, but what if you don't get to come back?"

"Oh," I said, biting my bottom lip. I thought about family and friends. "No, I don't think so."

She eyed me, and paused. "Oh," she said in a whisper. "I'd go."