Day 16…Transpacific cruise…Port of Oahu…We can load photos, today!..Fantastic day with dear friends Kathy and Don!…
Note about photos: There is a sense of relief when, at last, the ship’s WiFi cooperated, and we could upload photos while the ship was docked in Oahu, Hawaii. After days of trying at sea, it felt like reconnecting with a small but meaningful part of our daily routine. Yesterday, after we disembarked the ship, we spent a delightful day with our dear friends Kathy and Don, capturing moments we did not want to forget. Now that everything has finally been downloaded, we look forward to sharing these images over the next several days.
We couldn’t have imagined a more fulfilling day than the one we spent yesterday with our dear friends Kathy and Don. From the moment our Uber pulled up to their lovely oceanfront home in Koko Isle, on an “island within an island” tucked into the peaceful beauty of Hawaii Kai on the island of Oahu, we felt that familiar sense of comfort that only comes from being with people who know you well. We arrived at about 10:30 in the morning and were greeted with warm smiles, heartfelt hugs, and the kind of easy laughter that picks up right where it left off, no matter how much time has passed.
Their home sits along the water in a way that invites you to slow down. The gentle motion of the ocean, the soft breeze drifting through open spaces, and the elegance of their surroundings made it feel as if time had paused just for us. We settled in quickly, as if we had been there countless times before, which in many ways reflects the depth of our friendship. Though we have only known each other for about thirteen years, it feels like a lifetime, filled with shared experiences and meaningful moments.
Our conversations flowed effortlessly throughout the day. We found ourselves reminiscing about Marloth Park, that magical place where our friendship began on Christmas Eve in 2013, and truly deepened over the years, often through trials and tribulations. There is something about Marloth Park that leaves an imprint on the heart, and as we spoke of the wildlife and the camaraderie we shared there, it was as if we were transported back in time. Each story sparked another, and before long, we were weaving together memories from across continents and years of travel.
At some point, we ventured out for lunch, taking a scenic drive that turned out to be just as memorable as the destination itself. The route offered stunning views of the island’s natural beauty. The vibrant greens, the dramatic coastline, and the ever-present ocean created a visual tapestry that felt almost unreal. We paused more than once to take photos, trying to capture even a fraction of what we were seeing, knowing full well that some experiences are better felt than photographed.
Our destination was Buzz’s Steakhouse, a popular spot that was bustling with energy when we arrived. There was something wonderfully nostalgic about sitting outdoors, surrounded by the hum of happy diners and the gentle presence of the nearby water. It brought us back to earlier times in our lives, reminiscent of lakeside dining in Minnesota, where the view of the water somehow made every meal taste just a little bit better.
Lunch was delicious, but it was more than just the food. It was the atmosphere, the shared stories, and the simple joy of being together. There is a certain kind of enthusiasm that exists near the water, a lightness that seems to lift everyone’s spirits. We felt it there, just as we have in so many places over the years. It is a feeling that stays with you long after the meal is over.
After lunch, we returned to their home, continuing our conversations as if there had been no pause at all. The hours slipped by quietly, marked not by any schedule but by the natural rhythm of connection. We spoke of future plans, including our upcoming reunion in Marloth Park this September, where we will once again gather with many of the friends we have made along this incredible journey of life. The thought of being together again, in a place that holds so many cherished memories, filled us with anticipation.
Before we knew it, the afternoon had turned into early evening. Around 5:30, it was time to make our way back to the ship. Saying goodbye is never easy, but there was comfort in knowing it was not a farewell, only a pause until the next chapter we will share together. As we left, we carried with us the warmth of the day, the laughter, and the quiet understanding that friendships like this are among life’s greatest treasures.
Those seven hours felt both fleeting and expansive. In that time, we were reminded of how fortunate we are to have people like Kathy and Don in our lives. The day was not filled with grand events or elaborate plans, yet it was deeply satisfying in every way that matters. It was a day of connection, reflection, and gratitude, set against the beautiful backdrop of Hawaii.
As we returned to the ship, we found ourselves already replaying the moments in our minds, holding onto them in that gentle way we have learned through years of travel. These are the days that stay with us, long after the journey moves on.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 29, 2016:
Day 14…Transpacific Cruise…Out to sea…Tomorrow, Oahu, Hawaii!…
This has been a fantastic journey so far aboard Royal Caribbean Voyager of the Seas, and we find ourselves feeling both grateful and a little cautious as we look ahead to the remaining eleven days. So much of our enjoyment has come from the people we have met along the way, those easy conversations that begin as small talk and somehow turn into shared stories, laughter, and the comfort of familiarity. In a setting like this, connections seem to form quickly, perhaps because we are all floating through the same vast stretch of ocean together, removed from the usual distractions of everyday life.
Equally important has been the fact that we have managed to stay healthy. That alone feels like a major victory. We have been diligent, perhaps more so than ever before, with our sanitation habits. Washing hands frequently, using sanitizer without hesitation, and being mindful of what we touch have become second nature. We cannot say for certain that these efforts are the sole reason we have avoided getting sick, but it certainly feels like they have played a role. There is a sense of reassurance in knowing we are doing everything we can.
One of the more noticeable changes in our routine has been skipping a second daily meal in the Windjammer Cafe. We do miss it at times, especially the variety and the casual ease of wandering through the buffet, but there is also a trade-off that feels worthwhile. Continuing with our one-meal-a-day approach has helped us maintain our weight, which can be challenging on a cruise where indulgence is always within reach. At the same time, avoiding the buffet may reduce our exposure to germs. Whether or not that is truly the case, it gives us peace of mind, and that is reason enough to continue this approach on future cruises.
Our evenings have settled into a pattern that feels both comfortable and enjoyable. Around 4:30 each afternoon, we make our way to the Crown Lounge, where a small spread of food is set out. We take a few bites, nothing excessive, and pair it with a large glass of water. It is just enough to prepare our stomachs before that first adult beverage. Starting the evening this way feels balanced and sensible, allowing us to enjoy our drinks without overdoing it.
From there, we often find ourselves at the R Bar, where a familiar group has naturally formed. Some nights, the conversations pick up right where they left off the evening before, while other nights bring new faces into the mix. By 7:00, we are seated at a shared table in the main dining room. Sometimes we dine with people we already know, and other times we meet passengers who are entirely new to us. There is something special about those moments, sitting down with strangers who quickly become acquaintances, and occasionally even friends.
By the time 11:30 arrives, we are usually ready to retreat to our cabin. There is a comforting simplicity in winding down after a full day, reflecting quietly before sleep. Last night, however, sleep did not come easily, and I found myself restless for much of the night. It happens, even in the most peaceful surroundings. I am hoping to make up for it with a short nap this afternoon before we attend the 3:00 pm seminar we have been following. The series on past US presidents and their wives has proven to be unexpectedly engaging, offering glimpses into lives shaped by history and circumstance.
For now, we sit in the Promenade Cafe, our usual spot on the banquet, watching the steady flow of passengers passing by. It is a lively place, filled with small interactions and passing conversations. We often pause to chat with others, sharing a few words, a smile, or a story. These simple exchanges have become one of the highlights of our days, a reminder that travel is not only about the places we go, but also about the people we meet along the way.
Tomorrow, we will not be posting as we disembark around 10:00 am and make our way to our dear friends Kathy and Don’s home in Kailua, Oahu, Hawaii, before we all head out to lunch. It will be a lovely change of pace to spend time on land with them. We plan to post the following day and resume sharing our journey. Thank you for traveling along with us!
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago, today, April 27, 2016:
Day 13…Transpacific Cruise…Out to sea…So far, so good…
Cruise day #13 has arrived, and we find ourselves celebrating something that feels significant. We are still healthy. No scratchy throats, no lingering coughs, no unexpected fatigue that makes you wonder what might be coming next. On a ship filled with so many people sharing the same spaces, the same railings, the same air, it feels like a bit of a miracle, or at the very least, the result of a conscious effort.
From the very beginning of this journey, we decided to approach things differently than we have on past cruises. It was not rooted in fear, but rather in awareness. We have sailed enough to understand how easily illness can make its way through a ship, passing from one person to another. This time, we wanted to be more mindful, more deliberate in the choices we made each day.
One of the most noticeable changes has been our avoidance of the buffet in the Windjammer Cafe. On past cruises, it often felt like the heart of casual daytime dining, bustling with activity and filled with endless options. This time, however, we have chosen to step away from that environment. The only exception was on the very first day, when we shared a brief meal there with dear friends Lea Ann and Chuck. It felt special to sit together at the start of the voyage, catching up and settling into the days ahead. Since then, we have not returned.
It also helps that we are eating just one meal a day, with a few small bites in the Crown Lounge around 4:30 in anticipation of our first adult beverage. It keeps us from drinking on an empty stomach, helps us avoid extra weight gain, and gives us another reason to stay away from the buffet.
Tom believes that it is the accumulation of small decisions that has made the difference. The things we touch, or more importantly, the things we choose not to touch. Handrails, serving utensils, elevator buttons. Each interaction carries a certain level of risk, and while it is impossible to avoid everything, being aware of these moments has changed how we move through the ship. It is not about being overly cautious, but about being thoughtful.
Perhaps one of the most impactful steps we have taken has been with our cabin. Early on, we made a simple request to our cabin steward, Pende. We asked that he wear clean gloves each time he enters our cabin. It felt like a small and reasonable measure, one that could help limit the possibility of germs being transferred from one cabin to another. Pende has been gracious and accommodating, always greeting us with a smile and honoring our request without hesitation. That consistency has brought a quiet sense of reassurance each time we return to our cabin.
There is also something we have noticed that feels different from our previous long voyage just months ago. On that 47-night cruise, coughing and sneezing seemed to echo through hallways and dining rooms, a constant reminder of how quickly things can spread in close quarters. This time, those sounds are far less frequent. It creates a subtle but meaningful shift in the atmosphere, one that makes the ship feel just a little lighter, a little more at ease.
Of course, we know that there is always an element of chance involved. No amount of precaution can guarantee complete protection. Still, there is comfort in knowing that we have done what we can. Each careful choice, each mindful habit, feels like an investment in our well-being.
As we look ahead to the remaining twelve days of this transpacific journey, we carry both gratitude and intention with us. Gratitude for the good health we continue to enjoy, and intention to remain diligent in the days to come. It is a balance we hope to maintain, allowing us to fully appreciate this experience while still honoring the lessons we have learned along the way.
In just two days, we will disembark the cruise at the port of call in Oahu, Hawaii, with full hearts and hopeful anticipation of seeing our dear friends Kathy and Don. We agreed early on that if we felt unwell, we would cancel. Thankfully, we are still healthy, and that long-awaited visit is within reach.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 26, 2016:
Day 12…Transpacific Cruise…Out to sea..Anzac Day aboard ship…
Note about photos: We’ve come to learn we’re not alone in this frustration. In conversations over dinner and chats at other venues, many fellow passengers have shared the same challenge: an inability to post photos while we’re out to sea or in port. It’s a bit disappointing. Once we arrive in Oahu, Hawaii, in three days, we’re hopeful our phones’ hotspot will cooperate. Until then, we appreciate your patience and truly apologize for the inconvenience.
There is something uniquely moving about ANZAC Day when it unfolds far from land, carried across the open sea instead. At 5:00 am aboard the Royal Caribbean Voyager of the Seas, the day began not with the familiar stillness of an Australian town but with the quiet, steady pace of the ocean.
We didn’t attend the dawn service. With mostly Australians on board, we preferred not to take up two spaces on the poolside deck, nor did we want to expose ourselves to such tight quarters poolside in an attempt to avoid getting sick.
And yet, even in our absence, the significance of the moment was impossible to ignore.
The ship itself seemed to understand what the morning represented. There was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere, subtle but undeniable. Hallways that are typically silent at that hour carried the soft sounds of movement. Doors opening and closing gently. Footsteps, purposeful but unhurried. Voices kept low out of instinct rather than instruction.
Most of the passengers aboard are Australian, and for them, this was not just another early morning at sea. This was a ritual, a tradition, a deeply personal act of remembrance that they carried with them wherever in the world they happened to be.
From our cabin, we could sense it unfolding. People gathering on the outer decks, likely wrapped in jackets against the cool ocean air. The darkness still intact, the horizon barely visible. There would have been a quiet clustering of bodies, strangers standing side by side, united not by familiarity, but by shared meaning.
It is easy to picture, even without being there.
The service itself, we imagine, was simple. Perhaps a small lectern, a microphone catching the sound of the wind as much as the speaker’s voice. Words spoken clearly into the open air are carried over the water. Reflections on Gallipoli, on sacrifice, on courage. Not grand or embellished, but steady and sincere.
What makes ANZAC Day so powerful is its restraint. It does not demand attention. It invites it.
And then, the silence.
Out on the ocean, that silence must have felt even more profound. No distant traffic, no city waking up in the background. Only the sound of the sea, stretching endlessly in every direction. A silence that doesn’t feel empty, but full. Full of memory, of gratitude, of reflection.
Even from where we were, removed from the gathering, we felt a trace of that stillness. It settled in quietly, a reminder that something meaningful was taking place just beyond our immediate experience.
As the first light would have begun to break across the horizon, the mood on deck likely shifted. The darkness softening, the outlines of faces becoming clearer, the ocean revealing its endless texture. There is something symbolic in that transition, from night into day, from reflection into a gentle return to the present.
By the time the service ended, there would have been no rush to leave. These moments tend to linger. Conversations begin softly, almost reluctantly, as if people are careful not to disturb what has just been shared.
Later, as we moved through the ship, the impact of the morning became more visible. There was a different tone among many of the Australians aboard. Not somber, but thoughtful. Grounded. You could sense that they had participated in something meaningful, something that connected them not only to each other, but to home.
It is a powerful thing to carry a national day of remembrance across oceans.
Life on the ship gradually returned to its usual pace. Breakfast service resumed, coffee cups clinked, and conversations picked up in volume. Activities for the day were announced, and the familiar patterns of cruise life reestablished themselves. But underneath it all, there was a quiet thread that remained.
For those who attended, the morning would not simply fade into the rest of the day. It would stay with them, in small ways. In conversations, in reflections, in the occasional pause.
For us, not attending offered a different perspective. It allowed us to observe the significance of ANZAC Day not through direct participation, but through its impact on others. And in some ways, that made it just as meaningful.
We were reminded that remembrance is not confined to a single place or a single way of observing. It exists in intention, in respect, in the willingness to pause and acknowledge something greater than ourselves.
Out here, surrounded by nothing but ocean, that idea felt even more expansive.
And as the day unfolded, somewhere between the quiet of that early morning and the liveliness of the hours that followed, it became clear that ANZAC Day had been fully present on this ship. Not just on the deck at dawn, but carried within the people who rose to honor it, wherever they happened to be in the world.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 25, 2016:
Day 11…Transpacific Cruise…Out to sea..Crossing the equator…Unique situation in Kiribati…
We took today’s photos from our post when we crossed the Equator while cruising on May 29, 2915, which can be found here.
There are moments in travel when the map becomes more than lines and names, when a place feels almost mythical simply because of where it sits in the world. Today is one of those days. As we sail across the equator, we pass the scattered islands of Kiribati, a country so uniquely positioned on the planet that it seems to stretch time and geography in ways that are difficult to grasp until you are here, watching it unfold in full.
Kiribati is not a single landmass but a vast collection of low-lying coral atolls spread across an enormous expanse of the central Pacific Ocean. It consists of 33 islands divided into three main groups: the Gilbert Islands, the Phoenix Islands, and the Line Islands. From afar, it may appear insignificant on a map, little dots lost in a sea of blue, but standing here today, knowing we are passing alongside it, the scale feels immense. The ocean dominates everything, and these islands exist as resilient outposts in a world ruled by water.
What makes Kiribati especially fascinating today is its relationship with the equator and the way its islands are scattered across four hemispheres. As we cross this invisible line, we are aware that we are moving between worlds, from north to south, from one half of the planet to the other. There is no marker in the water, no signpost to confirm the moment, yet it carries a sense of significance that is hard to ignore.
Kiribati is the only country in the world that spans all four hemispheres. It extends across the equator, from the Northern Hemisphere into the Southern Hemisphere, and stretches so far east that it once straddled the International Date Line before the line was adjusted to keep the country on the same calendar day. This unusual geography gives Kiribati four touch points in a symbolic sense. The Northern, Southern, Eastern, and Western Hemispheres all meet within its borders, making it a place where the divisions we often take for granted become blurred.
As we pass by today, I find myself imagining those four touchpoints not as exact coordinates but as moments of connection. Somewhere to our north lie islands that sit just above the equator. In contrast, others stretch below us into the southern waters. Far to the west, the Gilbert Islands form the cultural and population heart of the country, including the capital at South Tarawa. To the east, the Line Islands extend deep into the Pacific, including remote and rarely visited places like Kiritimati, one of the largest coral atolls in the world.
It is remarkable to think that these islands, so widely dispersed, belong to a single nation. Life here is shaped by isolation, by the rhythm of tides, by the endless horizon. The people of Kiribati have built their lives in harmony with the ocean, relying on fishing, coconut cultivation, and a deep understanding of their environment. That existence is simple, but it is also a strength that comes from living in such a delicate balance with nature.
And yet, there is also a certain vulnerability. Kiribati is often mentioned in conversations about rising sea levels, as its islands sit only a few meters above sea level, making them among the most at-risk places in the world. As we glide past, the beauty of these islands is undeniable, but so too is the awareness that their future is uncertain. It adds a layer of poignancy to this moment, knowing that places like this may change dramatically within our lifetime.
Still, today is not a day for worry. It is a day for witnessing. The ocean stretches endlessly around us, the sky feels wider somehow, and the idea that we are crossing both the equator and passing a country that touches all four hemispheres gives the day a sense of quiet wonder. There is no ceremony, no announcement beyond perhaps a casual mention from the bridge, yet for those who think about it, this is a rare and meaningful passage.
Travel often brings us to famous landmarks and well-known destinations, but sometimes it is these unseen crossings that leave the deepest impression. Kiribati may remain just beyond our view today, its islands low and distant against the horizon, but its presence is felt in the story of where we are and what we are experiencing.
As we continue onward, leaving the equator behind us, there is a subtle shift, not in the sea or the sky, but in our awareness. Once again, we have crossed an invisible boundary and passed by a country that defies our understanding of geography. And somehow, that feels like enough to make this day one we will not soon forget.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 24, 2016:
Day 10…Transpacific Cruise…Out to sea…Making new friends and seeing old friends while sailing…
We are so fortunate to meet so many wonderful people as we travel the world. There’s something about life at sea that seems to fast-track connection in a way that rarely happens on land. Perhaps it’s the shared sense of adventure, or the gentle rhythm of the ocean that softens barriers and invites conversation. Whatever the reason, friendships here seem to bloom almost effortlessly, nurtured by proximity, time, and a mutual openness to the experience.
Even more so, in the intimate surroundings of a ship, our friendship-building seems to take on an accelerated pace. It doesn’t take weeks or months to feel a sense of familiarity with someone—it can happen over the course of a single evening, a shared laugh, or a meaningful exchange over a cocktail. The ship, in many ways, becomes its own little world, where routines form quickly, and faces become familiar almost overnight.
We’ve found ourselves settling into a comforting ritual each evening at the R Bar, which we visit both before and after dinner in the main dining room. It’s become our social hub, a place where conversations flow as easily as the drinks, and where we reconnect with those we’ve met along the way. For us, socialization holds far more appeal than attending shows or scheduled entertainment. While those offerings are certainly plentiful and well-produced, we find deeper joy in the spontaneity of human connection, the stories, the laughter, and the shared moments that can’t be scripted.
Lately, we’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Cynthia and Charlie. What started as a casual conversation has quickly grown into something more meaningful, and now we find ourselves discussing plans together. There’s even talk of them visiting us in South Africa, which feels both surreal and wonderful. It’s amazing how quickly people can go from strangers to potential houseguests, bound by a shared experience at sea. Once we’re able to post photos again, I look forward to sharing a glimpse of these special moments and the faces behind them.
Of course, it’s been especially meaningful to spend time with dear friends Lea Ann and Chuck, who happen to be on this cruise as well. We first met them back in April 2017 on another sailing, and somehow, over the years, we’ve managed to stay in close touch despite the miles and the passing of time. Reuniting onboard feels like picking up right where we left off, as if no time has passed at all. There’s something deeply comforting about those kinds of friendships…the ones that endure, no matter where life takes you.
Last night, brought another lovely reunion when we spent time with Pauline and Cameron, whom we’d only just shared lunch in Penguin, Tasmania, a month ago. Knowing they would be on this ship made the anticipation all the more special. It felt easy and familiar to reconnect, as if no time had passed at all, reminding us once again how small and wonderfully connected this traveling world can be.
When we pause to think about how many friendships we’ve formed through our travels, particularly while cruising, we can’t help but smile with gratitude and appreciation. Many of these connections have extended far beyond the voyage itself, evolving into lasting relationships that enrich our lives in unexpected ways. It’s a reminder that while destinations are wonderful, it’s often the people we meet along the way who leave the most lasting impression.
Thank goodness, and I truly hope I’m not speaking too soon, we’ve managed to stay healthy so far. We haven’t noticed much coughing or sneezing among passengers, which is always a reassuring sign, especially in such close quarters. Still, we remain cautiously optimistic, aware that it’s still early in the journey. We’ve made a conscious effort to maintain heightened sanitation practices, washing hands frequently, and being mindful of what we touch. It may seem excessive to some, but for us, it’s a small price to pay for peace of mind.
This diligence feels especially important as we look ahead to our upcoming stop in Oahu, where we plan to have lunch with dear friends Kathy and Don on the 28th. The thought of seeing them again adds another layer of excitement to the journey, and we’re doing everything we can to ensure we arrive feeling our best.
Then, of course, at the end of this cruise, we’ll spend four days with our dear friends in Vancouver, Washington, Rita and Gerhard, with whom we have shared many exceptional travel experiences over the years.
In that same spirit, we made a decision early on to avoid the buffet for most of the cruise. Aside from visiting it on the first day after boarding, we’ve chosen to steer clear for the remaining 15 days. While the variety and convenience are tempting, we feel more comfortable opting for alternatives that involve less shared contact. It’s just one of those small adjustments that helps us feel more in control of our well-being.
As the days pass and the ocean stretches endlessly before us, we find ourselves settling more deeply into this unique pace of life at sea, one filled with connection, gratitude, and a special awareness of how fortunate we are to be here, surrounded by both new friends and old.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 23, 2016:
Day 9…Transpacific Cruise…Moorea, Society Islands, French Polynesia…
Overwater bungalows in Moorea are a true splurge, with prices typically ranging from about $800 to $1,600 USD per night, depending on the resort, season, and room category. During peak travel periods, rates can climb, often reaching $1,000 to $2,000 per night for premium panoramic or luxury units with better views and added amenities. More budget-friendly options occasionally appear below $700 in the low season, but these are limited. Overall, Moorea offers slightly lower prices than Bora Bora, yet still delivers the same iconic experience of staying in a private hut perched above a turquoise lagoon.
We aren’t getting off the ship today while docked in Moorea, in the Society Islands. The island sits before us with its lush peaks and brilliant shades of blue, a scene that feels both vivid and familiar. Our memories here go back to 2015, when we spent almost an entire day on a boat tour circling the island, taking in its beauty from every angle.
That day remains clear in our minds. We remember the gentle sway of the boat as we crossed the lagoon, the way the water shifted from pale aqua to deep sapphire, and the towering mountains that seemed to rise straight out of the sea. We stopped in quiet coves, watched rays glide beneath the surface, and listened as our guide shared stories of the island’s culture and history. It was immersive, rich, and complete
Today feels different, not in what we see, but in how we experience it. From the comfort of the ship, Moorea reveals itself in a different way. The early morning light casts a soft glow over the island, highlighting its jagged ridgelines and dense greenery. There is no rush, no schedule, no need to move from one place to another. Instead, we take it all in slowly, allowing the scenery to come to us.
With many passengers heading ashore, the ship takes on a calmer energy. Spaces that are often filled with activity feel open and unhurried. We wander without purpose, pausing wherever the view feels just right. A cup of coffee lasts longer, conversations stretch out, and the hours seem to pass without notice.
From the deck, we watch the steady rhythm of tenders moving back and forth, carrying guests eager to explore. There is a sense of anticipation in their departures, a shared excitement that we recognize from our own past travels. We remember that feeling well, the desire to see everything, to capture each moment. Now, we simply observe, content with our past experiences.
The island remains stunning, its presence constant throughout the day. Clouds drift across the peaks, occasionally revealing new contours and shadows. The lagoon sparkles under the midday sun, and later softens into deeper hues as the afternoon unfolds. It is a scene that doesn’t demand attention but gently holds it.
We find ourselves returning often to the railing, drawn by the changing light and the quiet beauty of the surroundings. There is something about viewing Moorea this way that feels complete in its own sense. Not every experience requires movement. Sometimes, it is enough to stand still and let the world unfold in front of you.
As the day winds down, the island takes on a softer tone as we linger aboard the ship, content with our day.
For us, Moorea remains just as memorable today as it was years ago. The difference lies in the perspective. Then, it was a day of exploration. Today, it is a day of appreciation, with the island never out of sight, always present, and just as beautiful as we remembered.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 22, 2016:
No photos were posted on this date, ten years ago.
Day 8…Transpacific Cruise…Port of call: Papeete, Tahiti, Society Islands…
Note: Today’s photos of Papeete, Tahiti, are from our previous visits. The poor WiFi connection aboard this ship has prevented us from posting new photos; we can only post those from past visits that are already in the system.
Today, our ship gently eased into the familiar harbor of Papeete, the bustling heart of Tahiti in the Society Islands. There’s something comforting about returning to a place you’ve already explored. The first time feels like a discovery. The second is a deeper understanding. By the fourth visit, like today, it becomes more of a reunion than an adventure.
We’ve walked these streets before, browsed the markets, taken in the views, and felt the warm island air settle into our bones. And so, instead of rushing off the ship, we find ourselves content to reflect. Sometimes, the greatest luxury in travel is knowing you don’t have to do anything at all.
Still, Tahiti remains a remarkable place, whether we choose to explore it again or admire it from afar. For those arriving here for the first time, these may be the top ten features that make this island so memorable.
First, there’s the vibrant waterfront of Papeete itself. The promenade, lined with palm trees and food trucks, comes alive when passengers and tourists visit. It’s casual, lively, and full of local flavor.
Second, the public market, often called Le Marché. Even after previous visits, it’s hard to forget the colorful displays of tropical fruit, handmade crafts, vanilla beans, and fragrant oils. It’s a feast for the senses.
Third, the black sand beaches. Unlike the white sands many expect in the South Pacific, Tahiti’s volcanic origins create dramatic, dark shores that are striking in their own unique way.
Fourth, the lush interior of the island. Towering green mountains, hidden waterfalls, and winding roads make the landscape feel almost untouched. It’s a reminder that Tahiti is far more than just a coastal destination.
Fifth, the waterfalls themselves. Places like Faarumai Falls cascade down moss-covered cliffs, offering a serene and almost mystical experience.
Sixth, the lagoons. The water here is every shade of blue imaginable, calm and inviting, perfect for snorkeling or simply drifting without a care.
Seventh, the local culture. Polynesian traditions are alive and well, from dance to music to storytelling. There’s a deep sense of heritage that you can feel even in brief encounters.
Eighth, the food. Fresh fish, tropical fruits, and French-inspired cuisine blend in a way that feels both exotic and familiar. A simple meal here often becomes a lasting memory.
Ninth, the pace of life. Everything seems to slow down in Tahiti. Time stretches, priorities shift, and the urgency of everyday life fades into the background.
And finally, the warmth of the people. There’s a genuine friendliness here that lingers long after you leave, a kindness that doesn’t feel forced or transactional.
As for us, we’re perfectly content staying on board today. We’ve seen these sights, walked these paths, and tucked those memories safely into our collection of stories. There’s something peaceful about watching others head off to explore while we sip our coffee and gaze out at the island we’ve come to know.
Travel isn’t always about doing more. Sometimes, it’s about appreciating what you’ve already done and allowing yourself to enjoy the memories. And today, in beautiful Tahiti, that feels like more than enough.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 21, 2016:
