It was a great New Year’s Eve…Photos…Happy New Year to all!…

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We all brought along a snack to share. There was plenty that I could eat.

Last night, New Year’s Eve in this part of the world, we attended a small gathering of only nine of us at Dave and Eing’s home up the road. It was one of those evenings that quietly reminds us that numbers don’t matter nearly as much as connection. Though the group was small, the energy was anything but. From the moment we arrived, conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving from story to story, punctuated by laughter that lingered in the room long after each joke or story was told. There was an ease to the evening, a sense that everyone present felt comfortable being exactly who they were, which made the hours slip by unnoticed.

Tom, and our hosts, Dave and Eing. They are such a lovely couple. We appreciate the invitations for Christmas dinner and New Year’s Eve.

The food, as always, was enjoyed slowly and appreciatively, shared plates prepared with enthusiasm and gratitude. There’s something deeply satisfying about a table filled with dishes everyone contributed to, each one carrying a little piece of its maker. The atmosphere was playful and animated, voices rising and falling as stories overlapped, laughter bubbling up without warning. It felt warm and familiar, even though many of these friendships are still new, proof that meaningful bonds don’t require years to form, just openness and shared moments.

We wandered back to our house shortly after 11:00 pm, while the night was still alive with the soft hum of summer insects and a sky that felt vast and calm. Neither of us was tired, so instead of rushing to bed, we settled in and watched the latest Ricky Gervais Netflix special. There’s something oddly perfect about welcoming a new year with humor, laughing together, relaxed and unhurried. Midnight arrived quietly for us, marked with hugs and kisses rather than noise or spectacle. By 1:00 am, content and peaceful, we drifted off to sleep.

Lindsey and Tony, who own a large sheep farm in the area with over 400 animals. They are also a delightful couple.

This morning greeted us with sunshine, the kind that instantly lifts one’s mood and makes even mundane tasks feel lighter. We washed the bedding and some towels, savoring the simple luxury of fresh linens. Tomorrow we’ll tackle our clothes. With the rain coming and going so often, laundry has required patience and timing, another small reminder of how life here asks us to move with the unpredictability of the weather rather than against it.

Tonight’s dinner will be easy peasy and, hopefully, delicious. A New York steak with rice for Tom, and lamb riblets with scrambled eggs for me, simple, nourishing, and comforting. Meals like this feel grounding, especially after weeks of being unwell and slowly finding our footing again.

We are as content as we could be, feeling better, relaxing, and quietly getting through a multitude of travel-related tasks. None of them is complicated or time-consuming, just the gentle maintenance that comes with this nomadic life we’ve chosen. There’s comfort in the ordinary, in knowing we’re precisely where we need to be right now.

This is John (Linda’s husband) and their son, Oscar. I had fun chatting with them.

Happy New Year to all of our family, friends, and readers. May this new year bring you health, peace, and the courage to pursue what truly matters to you. May it be an opportunity to fulfill your dreams, in significant ways and small.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, January 1, 2026:

This tropical flower we spotted in Pacific Harbour, Fiji, was new to us. For more photos, please click here.

Happy New Year’s Eve in this part of the world…

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Tonight feels like a gentle pause before the calendar turns, the kind of evening that asks nothing more of us than to show up with something warm to share and an open heart. We’re heading up the road to our landlord’s and now dear friend’s home for a New Year’s Eve gathering. Dave and Enge have opened their doors once again, and like all the best parties, this one comes with a simple request: everyone brings a dish, everyone contributes to the table, everyone belongs.

In our highly functional kitchen, the air already carries the comforting scent of Italian comfort food. We’re making wagyu beef Italian meatballs, rich and tender, which I’ll pre-cook and simmer slowly in homemade red pasta sauce. It’s the kind of recipe that doesn’t rush, that asks for patience and rewards it generously. Just before serving, we’ll top the meatballs with hand-grated mozzarella cheese, still soft and slightly warm from the block. Tom will bring along his brandy, while I’ll tuck my bottle of white wine in the cooler bag, chilled and ready to pour.

Most of the guests will be familiar faces, people we met at the last party Dave and Enge hosted, the day after we arrived in New Zealand. It feels like a lifetime ago now, especially considering how quickly we fell ill after that evening. There’s something comforting about returning to a place where we were welcomed before we were sidelined by sickness, where laughter and conversation first eased us into this new chapter. Tonight feels a bit like a do-over, a chance to reconnect now that we’re finally ourselves again.

Today itself has been beautiful, one of those days that quietly insists you slow down and notice it. The windows are open wide, no screens to interrupt the breeze, and the sounds of the countryside drift in freely. Of course, that also means the flies will arrive in due time, uninvited and relentless. Flies are a constant nuisance here in New Zealand, just as they are in Australia, including Tasmania, where we’ll be headed in just 43 days. Forty-three days. It hardly seems possible. Time is flying by at a pace that’s both thrilling and a little startling.

Still, we’re savoring every moment in this blissfully quiet and serene location. The stillness here has been healing in ways we didn’t fully appreciate until we slowed enough to feel it. The pace will pick up considerably when we reach Tasmania in February, and we know that energy and activity will have their own rewards. For now, we’re content with gentle days like this one.

Today will remain intentionally quiet. I’ll do my daily exercises, grounding myself in routine and gratitude, and once this post is finished, I’ll sit down to do my nails, a small, almost meditative ritual that feels like self-care in its simplest form. Tom is happily relaxed, absorbed in Ancestry.com, his favorite pastime. He can lose hours tracing family lines and stories, and I love watching him do it, so completely at ease.

As the sun lowers and evening approaches, we’ll gather up our contributions and head up the road, ready to welcome the new year among new friends. From our hearts to yours, we wish every one of our readers a safe and Happy New Year, wherever you may be in the world, in whatever time zone you call home. May the year ahead bring health, peace, and many shared tables.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, December 31, 2015:

Now that it’s summer in Fiji, more and more flowers are blooming. For more photos, please click here.

The storm proved to be wild with consequences…

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The sheep disappeared to their barn during the worst of yesterday’s storm.

Note: WiFi issues are impacting our paragraph spacing today.

Yesterday’s storm didn’t arrive with drama so much as persistence. It simply stayed and deepened, hour by hour, until it wrapped itself around the house and refused to let go. By late morning, the wind had grown bold enough to shake the walls, rattling windows with sudden gusts that made us pause mid-sentence and listen. Outside, the sheep that usually dot the pasture had quietly vanished. The sky never lightened. It remained a heavy, bruised gray, as though the sun had given up trying.

We were hunkered down safely indoors, grateful for the solid walls around us, when just before noon, the inevitable happened. The power went out. At first, it was just a click and a silence, no hum, no background noise, but the implications came rushing in quickly. Without power, the electric pump that moves water from the outdoor Jojo tanks doesn’t work. No pump means no flushing toilet. There’s no swimming pool here to bail water from, either. That realization alone was enough to make us groan out loud.

Immediately, we were transported back to Barcelona, to that unforgettable five-day stretch without a working toilet. What a disaster that was, the kind of experience that permanently rewires your appreciation for plumbing. Standing there in New Zealand, wind howling outside, it felt uncomfortably familiar.

As we mentally ran through our options, more complications surfaced. The stove here is entirely electric. No power meant no cooking. There’s no grill, either, so dinner suddenly became a much bigger question than we’d anticipated. Then the WiFi dropped instantly, cutting off any hope of streaming shows to distract ourselves. We still had some battery power on our laptops, but without internet, they were reduced to little more than glowing rectangles. Within a few hours, our phones began draining quickly as we played games to keep boredom at bay.

As soon as the storm died down, the sheep returned to the pasture.

We searched the house for old-school entertainment, playing cards, books, puzzles, anything,  but came up empty-handed. It was just us, the storm, and dwindling battery percentages. Our biggest immediate concern became dinner. Neither of us wanted to venture out to dinner in the worsening weather, with flooding a real possibility and the wind still whipping relentlessly.

After taking stock of what we had on hand that didn’t require cooking or heating, we landed on a plan. Tom’s leftover pork roast would work, and I could make a batch of tuna salad, minus the usual boiled eggs. Not ideal, but perfectly fine. It was one of those meals born of necessity rather than inspiration, and we were grateful it was even an option.

With darkness falling around 8:30 pm here, we decided we’d go to bed early, entertaining ourselves with whatever charge remained on our phones. We have a fully charged portable battery pack, but it charges painfully slowly, so we treated it like a precious resource. I sent Dave a message to see if he had any insight into when the power might return. In the meantime, using my phone and our T-Mobile account, with a very weak signal, I managed to check the power company’s website. They were aware of the outage here, along with seven others nearby. That knowledge helped, even if it didn’t speed things up.

Then, at about 4:00 pm, the lights flickered back on. Relief washed over us instantly. Power, water, and connectivity were all restored in one quiet moment. Today, the rain has stopped, though the winds remain strong. We’re hopeful we’ll make it through the day and evening without another outage, but we’ll see.

We counted about 50 sheep after the storm died down, only to return today.

Of course, this whole experience reminded us of the frequent power outages, referred to as load shedding, we endured in Marloth Park, South Africa, before Danie installed the inverter system. Once we had that, outages became almost irrelevant. The only thing we couldn’t use was the oven; the burners were gas, so life went on fairly normally.

We’re sincerely grateful for the return of power and the simple comforts it provides. With it back on, we’re once again able to enjoy yet another pleasant day in New Zealand, winds and all.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, December 30, 2015:

New Year’s Eve 2013 in Marloth Park, South Africa at Jabula Lodge. For more photos, please click here.

Stormy day in Kaiwaka…Confusion on our site with the dates…

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The sheep are hiding in today’s storm with the high winds and rain.

Note: Based on the almost 24-hour time difference between our US-based website and New Zealand, our current location, the dates listed on our site will continue to appear to be a day off. Please ignore this; we continue to post each day unless we specify otherwise. Today, in New Zealand, the date is December 29, but in the US and many other parts of the world, it is December 28. We appreciate your understanding.

Living in New Zealand, even temporarily, teaches us very quickly that the weather is not just a background detail here; it is a daily companion, a conversation starter, and often the quiet architect of any potential plans. The country’s year-round weather has a personality of its own: gentle, moody, changeable, and deeply tied to the landscape that surrounds us at every turn.

New Zealand’s seasons follow a familiar pattern but arrive with softer edges than many travelers expect. Summer, stretching from December through February, feels more relaxed than the blistering heat we’ve known in other parts of the world. Days are warm without being oppressive, sunlight lingering late into the evening as if reluctant to leave. The air often carries a salty tang near the coast, while inland areas feel dry and pleasantly warm. Even during summer, evenings can cool quickly, a reminder that a light sweater or jacket is never a bad idea. The sun, though, is intense, sharper than it looks, and it commands respect, especially for those of us who learned the hard way how easily a cloudy day can still burn.

Autumn arrives quietly, from March through May, and may be our favorite season here. The heat lessens, the light becomes gentler, and the landscape seems to exhale. Trees shift into muted golds and rusts, especially in the south, while the days remain comfortable enough for outdoor meals and time on the veranda. Rain becomes more frequent, but it tends to arrive in passing showers rather than long, dreary stretches. There is a calmness to autumn in New Zealand, a sense that the country is slowing down just enough to notice itself.

Winter, from June through August, surprises many people. It is cooler, certainly, but rarely severe. Snow appears mainly in the mountains and ski fields, while coastal and low-lying areas experience crisp mornings, cool days, and chilly nights rather than true cold. Frost is common, especially inland, but it usually melts away by mid-morning. Houses can feel colder than expected, as insulation standards vary, and you become adept at layering even indoors. Winter weather invites a slower pace: warm drinks, early evenings, and an appreciation for small comforts.

Spring, arriving between September and November, is perhaps the most unpredictable season of all. It carries a sense of renewal, but also restlessness. One day may feel like summer, the next like winter, revisiting out of habit. Showers pass quickly, clouds race across the sky, and flowers bloom with enthusiasm that feels almost impatient. Wind is a frequent guest during spring, reshaping plans and reminding you that New Zealand sits exposed in the vastness of the South Pacific.

Throughout the year, rain plays an important role, though it rarely lasts long. It arrives, nourishes the land, and moves on. The result is a country of vivid greens, rolling hills, and landscapes that feel alive rather than manicured. Weather forecasts are best treated as suggestions, and locals are wonderfully pragmatic about it all.

What I’ve come to appreciate most is how the weather encourages presence. You pay attention here. You look at the sky before heading out. You listen to the wind, feel the shift in temperature, and adapt. New Zealand’s year-round weather doesn’t demand endurance; it invites awareness. And in doing so, it gently teaches us to move with the seasons we have an opportunity to experience.

We are continuing to enjoy our renewed health and the luxury of unhurried days here in New Zealand, regardless of what the weather decides to do. Some mornings are wrapped in soft clouds and mist, others open wide with clear skies and bright sun, but it hardly matters anymore. Feeling well again changes everything. Moving about feels refreshing and is savored instead of rushed, and even quiet afternoons indoors carry a sense of peace rather than confinement. The weather becomes part of the experience, a shifting backdrop for rest, for feeling gratitude, along with the simple pleasure of having nowhere urgent to be.

Be well

Photo from ten years ago today, December 29, 2015:

In Pacific Harbour, Fiji, we often encountered unfamiliar flower varieties while walking through the neighborhood. For more photos, please click here.

We’re back!…Getting into the groove in this remote area of New Zealand…

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We welcomed an adorable hare in the garden of our holiday home in Kaiwaka, New Zealand.

Note: Due to the almost 24-hour time difference, this post appears to have been posted on December 27, when in fact I posted it on December 28.

We took the day off from posting, not because there was nothing to say, but because there was finally enough energy to do the things that quietly pile up when life grinds to a halt. The past two weeks since our arrival had been defined by illness and recovery, days blurring together as we moved only when necessary, conserving strength and patience in equal measure. Now, feeling noticeably better, we both sensed it was time to gently reclaim some normalcy and tend to the practical matters we’d neglected while simply trying to get well.

The morning began with our monthly financial routine, a task that has followed us faithfully from country to country, no matter where we land. At the end of each month, I sit down with my laptop and coffee, pulling up balances from multiple credit cards, checking statements line by line, and scheduling payments through our banking app. It’s not glamorous, but it is necessary. Everything gets paid off on the first of the month, or in this case, the second, due to the New Year holiday. There’s something deeply reassuring about closing those digital tabs, knowing we’re organized, current, and free of lingering obligations. It clears mental space in a way few other tasks can.

Once the numbers were handled, we turned our attention to the house. While we’d kept things reasonably tidy during our sick days, a deeper clean was overdue. Tom took charge of vacuuming, washing the floors, and handling the trash, jobs he’s tackled as his own over the years, while I dusted every surface, scrubbed the bathrooms, and gave the kitchen a thorough cleaning. The cleaning felt almost meditative. Cloths wiped away dust, familiar scents of soap and cleaner filled the rooms, and before long, the house felt transformed. By the time we finished, it felt as fresh and clean as it had on December 13, the day we arrived.

Laundry was completed, loads washed, dried outdoors, folded, and neatly put away, restoring a sense of order that only clean clothes, towels, and bedding can provide. These simple domestic rituals might seem mundane, but when you’ve been sidelined by illness, they feel like small victories, proof that energy is returning and routines are once again possible.

Dinner was our reward. I wanted something nourishing but comforting. For Tom, I prepared a lean pork roast with rice and vegetables, simple and satisfying. For myself, I made a lamb patty, paired with homemade ketchup, and a hearty slice of the mushroom, sausage, cheese, and egg casserole I’d made on Christmas Day. We ate slowly, savoring not just the flavors but the fact that cooking no longer felt like a chore or an impossible effort.

As the day settled in, I felt satisfied with another small but meaningful step forward. I started an indoor Tai Chi program I found online, hoping it would help rebuild the strength and stamina that vanished after two weeks of lying around. The movements are gentle and yet stimulating for my weary muscles, requiring balance and focus rather than force, and they feel right for where my body is now. I’d love to begin walking outdoors, but the unpaved, rocky road nearby makes it too risky for now. Tom isn’t a fan of walking anyway, and I’ve learned not to push him into activities he doesn’t enjoy.

This is a common Australian Magpie.

By the end of the day, we felt lighter, physically and mentally. The house was clean, the finances were in order, meals were prepared, and our minds were free to rest. Recovery isn’t just about healing the body; it’s about restoring a sense of control and calm. Today, in these small, ordinary ways, we felt ourselves moving steadily back into balance.

This remote location, hours from any possible tourist attractions, suits our daily living far better than it serves our social media feeds. There are no bustling towns or iconic landmarks, begging to be photographed and shared, anywhere nearby. Instead, there is quiet, beautiful scenery, long stretches of it, broken only by birdsong, shifting clouds, and the soft, familiar sounds of everyday life. While that may limit the variety of new photos we can add to our posts, it offers something far more valuable right now.

After the constant motion, activity, and stimulation of our recent 47-night cruise, followed by injury and then sickness, this stillness feels intentional, almost necessary. Our days unfold without urgency. Mornings ease in slowly, afternoons pass without schedules, and evenings settle gently into rest. There’s comfort in knowing we don’t need to be anywhere or do anything beyond caring for ourselves and each other.

Of course, at some point we’ll venture out, camera in hand, ready to explore and document what lies beyond this quiet pocket of New Zealand. But for now, we’re content to stay exactly where we are. This pause, this calm interlude, feels like a gift, one we’re happy to accept before moving on to whatever comes next.

Plus, when we head to Penguin, Tasmania, on February 12, everything will naturally shift. With a more active social life and everyday activities within easy walking distance from the house, we’ll ease back into a far more energetic pace. There will be people to meet, places to go, and reasons to step outside each day, and with that, our active lifestyle will quietly reassert itself without effort or forcing.

From that point until we return to South Africa in June, life will once again become a near-constant flurry of movement, conversations, outings, and shared experiences. It’s another step in our world travel, we know well and genuinely enjoy, but one that demands energy, resilience, and good health. Right now, we’re rebuilding all three.

This sixty-day reprieve feels perfectly timed. It’s a pause that allows our bodies to recover fully and our minds to settle after months of intensity. There’s no guilt in the stillness, no sense that we’re missing out. Instead, there’s gratitude for this quiet window, for mornings without agendas and days that unfold with ease and simplicity. When the time comes to move again, we’ll be rested, grounded, and appreciative of both the calm we’re enjoying now and the lively chapters still ahead.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, December 28, 2015

We’d been warned against purchasing locally caught fish, since it’s often caught close to the shore, where sewage runoff makes the waters heavily contaminated. As a result, we have not purchased any fish in the past four months.  I’m looking forward to cooking fish once we arrive in New Zealand. For more photos, please click here.

Merry Christmas and Happy Boxing Day to everyone who celebrates today!…

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Last night, we enjoyed Christmas dinner with our wonderful landlords and new friends, Dave and Eing, who live next door, just a short distance from our holiday home. In so many ways, that simple sentence captures one of the greatest gifts of long-term travel: the people you meet along the way, often when you least expect it, who make a foreign place feel instantly warmer and more familiar. When Dave stopped by earlier in the day to invite us, we accepted with genuine gratitude, knowing we were still recovering and might not have the stamina for a long evening, but also knowing how special it is to share a holiday meal with others.

They prepared fall-off-the-bone ribs, tender and rich, along with vegetables and potatoes that appeared comforting and grounding, real food, lovingly made. I brought along a sausage, mushroom, and cheesy egg casserole, something hearty enough for me to enjoy while still being easy to share with everyone else. Sitting around their table, plates full and conversation flowing easily, it was hard not to feel a quiet sense of amazement at how far away we were, yet how at home we felt in that moment. Christmas has a way of softening edges, opening hearts, and reminding us that hospitality transcends borders.

We lingered longer than expected, talking about life, travel, adventures, and the subtle differences between our cultures that somehow felt more charming than dividing. By the time we returned to our place, it was nearly 10:00 pm. The night air was calm, and the area was quiet, as if the entire world had collectively exhaled after the holiday. We were ready for a good night’s rest, or so I thought.

Sleep didn’t come easily for me. I tossed and turned most of the night, my mind restless and my body refusing to fully settle. I suspect the culprit was the two small glasses of red wine I enjoyed with dinner, something that wouldn’t have phased me at another time, but after not drinking alcohol for so long, my body clearly had opinions. Still, even with the broken sleep, there was no regret; some evenings are worth a little discomfort the next day.

This morning, despite lingering weakness from so much rest over the past weeks, we both noticed something important: we are feeling better. Not fully restored, not back to our old energy levels, but better in that subtle, unmistakable way that signals healing is underway. The fog is lifting. The heaviness is easing. It feels like the turning of a corner.

Now comes the gentle work of rebuilding strength. Nothing dramatic, nothing rushed. Soon, I’ll start doing indoor exercises, small movements meant not to conquer but to reconnect, to remind my body that it is capable, resilient, and ready to reawaken. Today, we’re doing laundry. Tomorrow, we’ll clean the house. These are small, ordinary tasks, but right now they feel meaningful. Each load of laundry, each wiped surface, is a step back into a pattern, back into daily life.

Today is Boxing Day, celebrated on December 26 and observed in many countries with historical ties to the United Kingdom. Its origins date back to the Victorian era, when wealthy households would give “Christmas boxes” filled with money, food, or goods to servants, tradespeople, and those in need as a gesture of gratitude after Christmas Day.

Boxing Day is recognized as a public holiday in the United Kingdom, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and South Africa, as well as in several Caribbean nations, including Jamaica, Barbados, and the Bahamas. While the spirit of generosity remains part of its history, modern celebrations vary widely by country.

In the UK, Ireland, Australia, and New Zealand, Boxing Day is strongly associated with sports, particularly football (soccer), rugby, and cricket, with major matches traditionally scheduled on this day. In Canada, it has long been known for large retail sales, similar to Black Friday in the United States. In Australia and New Zealand, the day also marks the start of the famous Boxing Day Test cricket match and the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race.

Although customs differ, Boxing Day continues to symbolize rest, recreation, and generosity, offering a relaxed counterbalance to the celebrations of Christmas Day itself.

We are grateful for the kind neighbors who became friends, for the food shared and the stories exchanged, for bodies slowly recovering, and for the chance to experience Christmas in a place so far from what is familiar to us, yet filled with warmth. This is what travel gives us, again and again: reminders that connection matters, that healing takes time, and that even the smallest steps forward are worth celebrating.

Next party? New Year’s Eve in the neighborhood!

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate today, and Happy Boxing Day to those who do as well.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, December 26, 2015:

The guard at the gate to the Government Building in Suva, the capital of Fiji. For more photos, please click here.

Merry Christmas!…It’s Christmas Day, today in New Zealand!..

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Merry Christmas with much love to all of our family, friends, and readers throughout the world.

Merry Christmas from New Zealand. It feels both familiar and completely different to be writing those words from this side of the world, where Christmas has already arrived, while so many of the people we love are still moving through Christmas Eve. Over the past day or so, we’ve already had a chance to chat with family members and friends scattered across time zones, some in the US, where Christmas Day will dawn tomorrow, and others who, like us, are celebrating today. The conversations overlapped in a gentle blur of “Merry Christmas,” “It’s almost here,” and “Can you believe it already passed for you?” Time feels elastic when you live this way, stretching and compressing depending on who you’re talking to and where they happen to be in the world.

This morning, Dave stopped by, as he often does, with that easygoing Kiwi warmth that makes you feel instantly at home. He and his dear wife, Eing, invited us to dinner tonight, and we delightfully accepted without hesitation. There’s something especially touching about being welcomed into someone’s home on a holiday when you’re far from your own traditions, your own kitchen, and your own familiar table. Over the years, travel has gifted us many things, but the opportunity to connect with locals, really connect, beyond small talk, has been one of the greatest blessings. And here we are again, another Christmas spent not in a place we once called home, but in a place that feels welcoming in its own quiet, unassuming way.

As we’ve continued this lifestyle year after year, we’ve found ourselves celebrating holidays alongside people from all over the world. Each experience adds another layer to our understanding of how others live, gather, and mark special days. In New Zealand, Christmas falls in summer, and even that slight shift changes everything. The light lingers longer, the air feels different, and the pace of the day doesn’t quite match the snowy scenes so deeply ingrained in our memories. Yet the heart of it, the kindness, the togetherness, the sense of pausing, remains.

Tom’s birthday, which sits right next to Christmas, was a gentle reminder of how adaptable life has become. He had a lovely birthday, filled with messages that arrived throughout the day and night via WhatsApp, Facebook, texts, emails, and phone calls. Each message carried a small reminder of our old lives, a reminder that distance doesn’t erase connection. It’s always been an odd time of year to have a birthday, but Tom has long made the best of it, and this year was no different.

In our old lives, I made a point of keeping his birthday separate from Christmas. No presents wrapped in Christmas paper. No holiday-themed cakes or desserts sneaking their way into his celebration. It was important to me that the day belonged solely to him, uninterrupted by ornaments or carols. It was a tradition rooted in care, in making sure he felt celebrated for who he is, not as an add-on to a holiday.

Now, living this unique, nomadic life, things look different. We don’t make a fuss about Christmas in the traditional sense. There are no trees to decorate, no boxes of ornaments pulled from storage, no shopping lists filled with gifts. What remains is the spiritual meaning we carry quietly in our hearts. The commercialism has fallen away, no longer shaping how we experience the season. And honestly, I can’t imagine that changing anytime soon.

This simpler version of Christmas feels truer somehow, less about what we do and more about how we feel. Gratitude, connection, reflection, and an openness to wherever we happen to be. This year, that place is New Zealand, and we are thankful for the people we’ve met, the kindness they’ve shown us, and the gentle reminder that home isn’t always a place. Sometimes, it’s simply the moment you’re in, shared with others, wherever in the world you may be.

Merry Christmas and be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, December 25, 2015:

Yum, baby octopus. We went to a buffet lunch at the Pearl Resort in Pacific Harbour, Fiji, on Christmas Day. Those heads are a bit tricky to chew. I ate four of these, less one head. For more photos, please click here.

It’s Christmas Eve, here in the Southern Hemisphere…A laid back holiday for us…

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This cute little cow has a notched ear along with a speckled face.

Tom thanks our many friends/readers who reached out to him with happy birthday wishes; it was yesterday here on this side of the dateline, but it is today in the US with the 19-hour time difference.

Cows were watching us drive past.

Our trip to the New World Market in Whangārei was, on the surface, relatively uneventful, but in the quiet, practical way that feels deeply satisfying when you’re living far from familiar faces and surroundings while trying to settle into a leisurely pace. The shopping was rewarding in the simplest sense: I found every single item on my carefully prepared list. No substitutions. No settling. That alone felt like a small victory.

Cows are inquisitive.

We spent US $406.92, or NZ $696.90, which still makes me pause when I say it out loud, but the cart was full in a way that promised comfort and ease for the coming weeks. With any luck, this haul will carry us through close to two weeks, saving us another long drive sooner than necessary. Groceries in New Zealand are undeniably expensive, yet the quality is extraordinary. This country knows its food.

The beef, chicken, lamb, pork, and seafood were pristine, beautifully displayed, and clearly treated with care. The produce looked as though it had been picked that morning, vibrant and alive, and the dairy, well, New Zealand dairy truly deserves its reputation. What surprised me most was how many organic and non-GMO options were simply part of the everyday selection, not tucked away on a specialty shelf or priced like a luxury item.

I tried taking photos of the scenery, but the narrow, winding two-lane road made it hard to capture anything without stopping. Thus, more cows.

Despite everything, I actually enjoyed the shopping. There’s something grounding about wandering wide aisles, considering options, imagining meals, and slowly rebuilding a sense of normalcy. The staff were friendly and genuinely helpful, the kind of warmth that doesn’t feel forced or scripted. While I shopped, Tom was only a short distance away, finally getting a much-needed haircut. Or so we thought. As it turned out, his haircut took far longer than my shopping expedition. He texted me about the delay, stuck waiting for his turn at the barbershop, while I continued filling the cart.

About halfway through, my body reminded me, rather firmly, that it’s still recovering. The lingering effects of the virus, combined with my usual walking issues, hit all at once. My legs suddenly felt like jelly, unreliable and weak, and even leaning heavily on the cart didn’t help much. By the time I reached the checkout, I knew I needed to sit down immediately. I made my way to the customer service desk and asked if there was somewhere, anywhere, I could sit down.

These wild purple/blue flowers often line the roads in New Zealand. They are agapanthus.

The woman behind the counter didn’t hesitate. She was kindness itself, immediately escorting me to a sitting area near the exit door. She even offered to check out my groceries and bag them for me. I was tempted, but I knew Tom would be arriving soon with the stash of reusable bags our landlord, Dave, had left for us, including several insulated ones. With the long drive back to Kaiwaka, we felt better knowing our perishables would stay cold.

On the drive to the market, I took a few photos when I could, but the long, winding, narrow roads made stopping difficult, with other vehicles close behind us. It seemed everyone was out shopping for the holidays, and I noticed countless missed photo opportunities along the way. I’m hoping that once the holiday rush passes, we’ll be able to stop more freely and capture the beauty I glimpsed through the window.

Popular coffee shop with quaint decor.

Before long, Tom appeared, freshly coiffed and looking very pleased with himself. He directed me to the car to rest while he took care of the groceries. About an hour later, we were back at the house, unpacking and tucking everything neatly away. That night, we kept dinner simple with chicken leftovers, grateful for an easy evening. Yesterday, I finished making Tom’s birthday pizza, and he enjoyed it immensely.

We are content. We are grateful. And with each passing day, we’re feeling just a little better. This Christmas Eve and Christmas Day will be quiet, spent resting and appreciating the calm of our lovely home in Kaiwaka, New Zealand, and that feels like exactly what we need.

Merry Christmas and be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, December 24, 2015:

We’ve often seen these boats heading to scuba diving and snorkeling on the reefs in Pacific Harbour, Fiji. For more photos, please click here.

Happy birthday, to my dear husband, travel companion and friend…

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Tom, in 2020, while we were on an excursion from the Maharajas Express train.

December 23rd is Tom’s 73rd birthday. Happy birthday, my darling husband. Depending on where you’re standing on the globe, it’s almost his birthday. Back in the US, with the significant time difference, his birthday won’t technically arrive until tomorrow. Here in New Zealand, though, the day has already unfolded, quietly, gently, without fanfare, and that feels oddly fitting this year.

With both of us still recovering from this awful flu, there were never going to be balloons, dinners out, or ambitious plans. No reservations, no cake, no clinking glasses in a crowded restaurant. Instead, the day has been marked in the small, meaningful ways that seem to define this moment of our lives, slow movements, simple comforts, and doing the best we can with the energy we have.

Last night, while seated at the dining table, I chopped and diced mushrooms, olives, and onions for Tom’s favorite dinner: homemade keto pizza. The feel of my big knife against the cutting board felt oddly soothing. Outside, the evening was quiet, the kind of quiet that settles into rural places after dark, when even the birds seem to call it a night early. I worked slowly, pausing often, still not quite back to normal, but determined. This was something I could do for him, even if everything else felt a bit out of reach.

This morning, the kitchen filled with that unmistakable smell of baking cheese as the crusts went into the oven. The cheesy sausages followed soon after, sizzling away, requiring very little attention, mercifully easy on a day when standing too long still feels like a commitment. Soon I’ll slice them and assemble the pizzas, layering the toppings just the way Tom likes them. It’s not fancy, but it’s his favorite, and that feels far more important than any elaborate celebration ever could.

I probably won’t eat pizza myself. It’s simply too fattening for me, and honestly, I don’t mind making something different. There’s a quiet satisfaction in knowing that by skipping it, I’m leaving Tom with more pizza to enjoy, not just tonight, but over Christmas as well. Leftover birthday pizza feels like its own kind of gift, one that keeps on giving long after the actual day.

Yesterday, despite still feeling far from 100%, we made the long drive to the fantastic New World supermarket in Mangawhai. It was one of those necessary outings you brace yourself for when you’re not feeling well, knowing you’ll be glad you did it once it’s over. I did the shopping while Tom took the opportunity to get a much-needed haircut. It felt good to divide and conquer, each of us accomplishing something small but essential.

I took several photos on the drive to the market. The countryside was lush and green, the kind of green that feels almost unreal if you’ve spent enough time in drier places. But on the return drive, the rain came down hard, thick sheets of it, blurring the landscape and limiting my ability to capture much more. Still, the images I did get feel like enough, little visual reminders of a day that was more about practicality than beauty, yet somehow managed to be both.

Tomorrow, we’ll share more details and photos from our trip to Mangawhai. For now, though, today belongs to Tom, 73 years, quietly celebrated, with pizza in the oven, rain on the roof, and the comfort of being exactly where we are, even if we’re still not quite ourselves.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, December 23, 2015:

Tom was in front of the tall Christmas tree at the Pearl Resort in Pacific Harbour, Fiji, on the evening of his 63rd birthday. For more photos, please click here.

Map with our location in New Zealand…Why did we choose the North Island for our second visit in almost ten years?…

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We are located in the top orange section in Northland on this map. A ferry is required to get from the North to the South Island.

When people hear that we’re spending time in New Zealand, the reaction is almost always the same. Their eyes light up, and they say, “Oh, the South Island!” as if there is no other possible answer. In many minds, New Zealand is synonymous with snowcapped mountains, turquoise lakes, dramatic fjords, and cinematic landscapes made famous by films and travel brochures. And yes, the South Island is undeniably beautiful. But beauty, we’ve learned over years of long-term travel, is only one piece of the puzzle. Livability is another. And for us, at this stage of our lives, that quieter consideration matters more than ticking off iconic views.

New Zealand’s two main islands are strikingly different, not only in landscape but in temperament. The South Island feels grand, wild, and often untamed. Distances are long, towns are small and far apart, and much of the land feels designed for short-term awe rather than daily living. It is a place that invites road trips, hiking boots, and a sense of adventure that thrives on motion. The North Island, by contrast, feels softer and more lived-in. It rolls rather than towers. It hums rather than roars. Life here feels less like a spectacle and more like a manageable pace.

The climate alone makes a noticeable difference. The North Island is warmer, more temperate, and generally more forgiving year-round. Winters are milder, especially in coastal and northern regions, and daily life doesn’t grind to a halt with snow or icy roads. The South Island’s colder winters, particularly in inland and southern areas, can be beautiful. Still, they also come with real challenges such as heating costs, damp homes, and limited services in rural regions during the off-season.

Cost of living played an equally important role in our decision. While New Zealand is not overly inexpensive anywhere, the South Island, particularly popular areas like Queenstown, Wanaka, and parts of Christchurch, can be surprisingly costly. Housing prices and short-term rental rates are often inflated by tourism, and many services are priced accordingly. Groceries can be more expensive due to longer supply chains, and dining out often feels like a luxury rather than a casual pleasure. The North Island, especially outside of Auckland, offers more flexibility. There are more towns, more options, more competition, and that translates into slightly lower costs and better availability of everyday essentials.

Healthcare access was another deciding factor, one we no longer take lightly. The North Island has a higher concentration of hospitals, clinics, and specialists. For those living with ongoing health considerations, proximity matters. In the South Island, particularly in remote or scenic regions, medical care can mean long drives or limited availability. While that may be manageable for short stays, it’s less appealing for long-term living, where predictability and access bring peace of mind.

There’s also the matter of community. The North Island feels more populated, more diverse, and more connected. It has a balance of rural charm and urban convenience that suits a slower, steadier lifestyle. Markets, small cafés, local events, and everyday interactions feel woven into daily life rather than existing solely to serve visitors. The South Island often feels oriented toward those passing through, hikers, skiers, and photographers, rather than those settling in for a while, like us.

That doesn’t mean we don’t admire the South Island. We do. Deeply. It’s a place we would happily visit again, explore, and photograph. But living somewhere is different from admiring it. We’ve learned, sometimes the hard way, that the places that look most spectacular in photos are not always the easiest places to live well. Beauty can be demanding. It can require effort, endurance, and constant movement. Right now, we value ease. We value warmth, access, and the ability to settle into ordinary days without friction.

Choosing the North Island wasn’t about settling for less. It was about deciding what fits us best. After years of travel, we’ve become less interested in what’s “most desired” and more attuned to what’s most supportive. The North Island offers us a gentler pace, manageable costs, better access to what we need, and a sense of everyday livability that aligns with where we are now. And in the end, that quiet alignment feels far more luxurious than any even more dramatic view.

We are soon off for Whangarai to the supermarket. We’re both still under the weather and weak from days of much-needed rest, but we will do our best to get everything we need for the next few weeks.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, December 22, 2015:

When we played bingo at the Princeville Senior Center last March, while living in Kauai, Tom always had a great time. For more photos, please click here.