Day 6…Transpacific Cruise…How, who and when was the International Date Line decided?…
Somewhere out here on this vast stretch of ocean, where the horizon feels endless and time itself seems to blur into sunrises and sunsets, it’s almost poetic to think that an invisible line divides one day from the next. The International Date Line isn’t something you can see or touch. There’s no buoy floating in the water, no flashing beacon to signal its presence. And yet, it mysteriously holds the power to give you back a day or take one away.
The idea of such a line didn’t emerge overnight. It grew out of necessity, shaped by centuries of exploration, trade, and the simple human need to make sense of time as we moved across the globe. In the early days of long sea voyages, sailors began to notice something peculiar. As they traveled westward, days seemed to stretch. Traveling eastward, they seemed to shrink. Without a standardized system, calendars became inconsistent, and confusion followed travelers from port to port.
The turning point came in the 19th century, during a period when the world was becoming more connected than ever before. Railroads were expanding, telegraph lines were shrinking communication times, and international trade was booming. Suddenly, the lack of a unified timekeeping system wasn’t just inconvenient. It was a real problem.
In 1884, representatives from 25 nations gathered in Washington, D.C., for what became known as the International Meridian Conference. Their goal was to establish a common reference point for time and longitude. After much discussion, they agreed that the prime meridian, or zero degrees longitude, would pass through Greenwich, England. This decision laid the foundation for the system of time zones we still use today.
But what about the other side of the world? If Greenwich marked the starting point, there had to be a place where the calendar would reset, where one day would officially become the next. That’s where the concept of the International Date Line came into play.
Unlike the prime meridian, the Date Line wasn’t formally established by a single treaty or exact legal definition. Instead, it evolved as a practical solution. It generally follows the 180th meridian, roughly halfway around the world from Greenwich. However, it doesn’t run straight. It zigzags to accommodate political boundaries and island nations, ensuring that entire countries remain on the same calendar day.
Imagine the chaos if a single island nation were split into two different days. Life, as we know it, would feel disjointed and confusing. So the line bends and curves, respecting geography and human life more than strict mathematical precision.
What fascinates me most is how something so abstract can feel so real when you experience it. Crossing the International Date Line isn’t just a technicality. It’s a moment. One day, you go to bed, and the next morning, you wake up and realize you’ve either skipped a day entirely or lived the same date twice.
It’s a reminder of how we, as humans, have tried to impose order on something as fluid and intangible as time. Out here at sea, where the days gently roll into one another, and the clocks feel almost secondary to the movement of the sun, the idea of a line deciding what day it is feels both strange and strangely comforting.
Because in the end, the International Date Line isn’t just about calendars and clocks. It’s about connection. It’s about a shared agreement across the world that helps us stay in sync, even as we wander far from home, crossing oceans and, every now and then, stepping quietly from one day into another.
Thus, yesterday and the day before were both Saturday, April 18, a curious gift of time that felt both unusual and oddly delightful. Overnight, as we crossed the International Date Line on the first Saturday, everything shifted without fanfare. This morning, we woke to find ourselves realigned with the rest of the world. Now, we share the same date as the United States and other countries in the Western Hemisphere, April 19. It feels as though we’ve rejoined a familiar timeline, stepping back into sync after briefly wandering just outside of it, carried forward across the ocean by nothing more than distance and time.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 19, 2016:
Day 5b, Transpacific cruise…What is Day 5B????…Crossing the International Dateline…Yesterday was Saturday…Today is also Saturday!!!…
There is something almost magical about being out here in the middle of the ocean, where the horizon stretches endlessly in every direction and time itself begins to feel a little less fixed, a little more fluid. On most days of this transpacific journey, we measure our lives in simple, comforting ways. Meals shared with new friends, laughter echoing in the lounges, the gentle rocking of the ship as it carries us steadily forward. But then comes a moment on a voyage like this that reminds us just how vast our world really is.
Crossing the International Date Line is one of those moments.
Somewhere out here in the Pacific Ocean, far from land and far from the routines we’ve always known, an invisible line slices through the water. No buoys are marking it, no dramatic change in the color of the sea, no grand announcement from the sky. And yet, when we cross it, which we did last night, something remarkable happens. We step, quite literally, from one day into another in a way that feels almost impossible to grasp fully.
As we sail from Australia toward Seattle, we are traveling east across this imaginary boundary. And when you cross the International Date Line heading east, you move the calendar back by one day. Not the clock by a few hours, but the actual date itself.
That’s how we ended up with two Saturdays on April 18.
At first, it sounds like a mistake. A glitch. As if someone forgot to turn the page on the calendar. But in truth, it’s a carefully designed system that keeps the entire world in sync. Without the International Date Line, time zones alone wouldn’t be enough to keep our days aligned. At some point, there has to be a place where the calendar resets, where today becomes yesterday or tomorrow, depending on which direction you’re traveling.
For us, it meant that after enjoying our first Saturday, April 18, the ship’s clocks didn’t simply roll forward into Sunday. Instead, sometime during the night, the captain made the quiet adjustment. We crossed that invisible line, and just like that, it was Saturday, April 18, all over again.
Two Saturdays. The same date lived twice.
There is something deeply surreal about that. You wake up, glance at the daily schedule, and for a brief moment, you wonder if you’ve lost track of time. But no, it’s all very real. The ship’s captain refers to it as Day 5A and Day 5B. We’ve been given a small, unexpected gif—ann extra day of our lives.
Of course, the practical side of it is simple enough. It keeps the days consistent between continents. When we finally arrive in Seattle, everything will line up exactly as it should. Flights, calendars, appointments, the steady ticking of life back on land. All of it depends on this invisible adjustment happening out here at sea.
But from where we’re sitting, it feels like something more than practicality.
It feels like a pause.
A chance to linger just a little longer in a moment we’re enjoying. Another opportunity to have that extra cup of coffee, to sit a bit longer in conversation, to watch the sun rise and set again on what is, technically, the very same day.
There’s also something poetic about experiencing time this way. We spend so much of our lives feeling like time is slipping through our fingers, moving faster than we’d like, especially as the years go by. And yet here we are, in the middle of the Pacific, being handed a rare opportunity to step backward, if only for a day.
It doesn’t make us younger. It doesn’t change anything significant in the grand scheme of life. But it does shift our perspective, even if only slightly.
It reminds us that time, as rigid as it often feels, is still something we’ve created to make sense of a very big world.
And out here, that world feels especially big.
So we embrace our second Saturday. We smile at the novelty of it, share a few jokes with fellow passengers, and settle into the simple joy of knowing that, just for now, we’ve been given a little extra time.
Tomorrow, the calendar will move forward again. Everything will return to normal, at least as normal as life on a ship in the middle of the ocean can be. But this experience, this quiet crossing of an invisible line, will stay with us.
Because how often in life do you get the chance to live the same day twice?
In tomorrow’s post, we’ll share: How, who, and when the International Date Line was decided.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 18, 2016:
Day 5, Transpacific cruise…We are out to sea!…What are we doing about photos?…
Update on posting photos…
Since we are out here, surrounded by nothing but endless ocean for most of these 25 nights, I’ve had to make peace with a small but surprisingly frustrating reality. I cannot upload new photos to WordPress. At first, I resisted that truth, trying again and again, convinced that maybe this time the connection would cooperate. But eventually, after enough spinning wheels and failed uploads, I let go of the expectation and shifted my thinking.
Instead, I’ve decided to reach back just a few months, to the last time we were on this very same ship, about four and a half months ago. It feels almost poetic, in a way, to revisit those moments as we create new ones in the same setting. We took so many photos back then, far more than we ever shared, and now they feel like little hidden treasures waiting for their turn. As I scroll through them, I’m reminded of how quickly time folds in on itself. What feels recent is already part of the past, yet still vivid and full of life.
Of course, this is only a temporary solution. There is a sense of anticipation for those upcoming ports of call, where stronger WiFi signals promise a return to the present moment. When we finally dock, I imagine sitting somewhere with a decent connection, perhaps even using our T-Mobile plan if necessary, and finally being able to upload fresh photos that match the stories as they unfold. Until then, this patchwork approach will have to do.
Yesterday, in a moment of lingering hope, I spoke with the onboard tech guy. I approached the conversation thinking maybe there was some trick, some hidden setting, or workaround that I hadn’t discovered yet. But as it turns out, his role is far more limited than I had imagined. He helps with basic connection issues, getting people online, resetting devices, that sort of thing. Bandwidth limitations are an entirely different story, and anything related to WordPress or uploading content falls well outside his scope. It was one of those conversations that starts with optimism and ends with a polite but definitive dead end.
It’s funny how something like this can become such a focal point of the day. Out here, where life is both simple and abundant, filled with conversations, meals, and the gentle sway of the ship, it’s this small inability to share photos that lingers in the background. It reminds me how much of our routine has become intertwined with staying connected, not just for ourselves, but for all of you who follow along.
One of our readers kindly mentioned that a friend on this same ship was able to post photos on Facebook. I appreciated the suggestion, truly. It’s comforting to know that others are finding ways to share their experiences in real time. But for us, Facebook has never been our storytelling platform. It’s more of a private corner where we keep in touch with family and a few close friends, a place for connection rather than narration.
So, we return to what works for us. We write, we reflect, and for now, we pair these words with photos from a recent past that still feels very much alive. Something is grounding in accepting the limitations of where we are while still finding a way forward. The ocean stretches endlessly in every direction, and in its own way, it reminds me that not everything has to happen instantly. Some things can wait until the next port, the next signal, the next opportunity.
And when that moment comes, when the connection is finally strong enough, and the uploads go through without a struggle, I suspect it will feel like a small but meaningful victory. Until then, we carry on, making memories, sharing what we can, and trusting that the rest will fall into place when the time is right.
So, in the interim, we are thoroughly enjoying every single moment of this cruise, embracing it for what it is rather than what it isn’t. It’s funny how quickly a small frustration, like unreliable WiFi, fades into the background when the bigger picture comes into focus. The gentle sway of the ship, the endless horizon, and the easy pace of conversation and connection with others on board all seem to take precedence.
Our top priority right now is simple and unwavering: stay healthy. Nothing matters more to us on this journey. We’ve both been on enough trips to know how quickly things can change if one of us comes down with a cold or something more persistent. So we remain mindful, observant of those around us, and grateful each day that we continue to feel well. So far, so good, and we don’t take that for granted for a single moment.
There’s a certain awareness that settles in when you’re in close quarters with so many people for an extended period. Every shared space, every conversation, every meal carries with it a subtle balance between enjoyment and caution. But instead of letting that create worry, it simply makes us more appreciative. Appreciative of feeling good, of having the energy to engage, to laugh, to linger a little longer in those lively evening conversations that seem to stretch effortlessly into the night.
In many ways, this time at sea feels like a pause from the outside world, a chance to be fully present without the usual distractions. Even the limitations, like not being able to post photos in real time, have gently nudged us toward a deeper experience. We are here, fully immersed, collecting moments rather than rushing to share them.
And so, we carry on, grateful, cautious, and completely engaged in this unique chapter of the journey, trusting that as long as we continue to feel well, everything else will fall into place just as it should.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 18, 2016:
Day 4, Transpacific cruise…We are out to sea!…Still no photos…
Sorry, still no chance of uploading photos with the weak WiFi bandwidth on this cruise. At this point, I’ve all but surrendered to the idea that it simply isn’t going to happen on this transpacific cruise. I tried a few more times, holding onto that small thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, the connection would cooperate long enough to let a few images slip through. No such luck. It’s funny how something so simple can become such a persistent little frustration. But then again, when we step back and look around at everything else unfolding around us, we can’t let it hamper the quality of this experience.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 17, 2016:
No photos were posted on this date.
Day 3, Transpacific cruise…We are out to sea!…Still no photos…
So sorry, once again, that we are still unable to post photos. It feels strange to be sharing our days without the visual pieces that usually bring these moments to life, but for now, words will have to carry the story. And as it turns out, there is something meaningful about that.
We are thoroughly enjoying this cruise, perhaps even more so because it has become such a social experience, as always. At every turn, there is someone to chat with, a familiar face from a previous sailing, or a new acquaintance who quickly feels like an old friend. It is one of those environments where conversations begin easily and linger longer than expected, often stretching into the next activity or meal without a second thought.
Of course, with all this socializing comes one of the biggest challenges of cruising, the food. Before we boarded, I had lost 25 pounds over the past five months, and I will admit I had some quiet concerns about how I would manage once surrounded by endless options and constant temptation. It is one thing to stay disciplined at home, and quite another when every corner offers something delicious, beautifully presented, and readily available.
I have been doing my best to stick with my way of eating, but it is not always easy. At our two recent holiday homes, I had settled into OMAD, one meal a day, which worked wonderfully for me. It simplified everything and helped me stay focused. But here, on the ship, that approach simply does not fit. Meals are not just about nourishment; they are part of the experience, a time to gather, to laugh, and to connect. Skipping them would mean missing out on so much of what makes this journey special.
So, I have adapted. We have found a balance that feels both realistic and sustainable. We skip breakfast entirely and enjoy lunch and dinner, making those meals count without turning them into an all-day grazing event. We both avoid snacking, which is no small feat given the constant availability of treats, and I pay attention to portions, even when everything looks tempting.
One small but surprisingly powerful tool we brought along is our bathroom scale. It may sound a bit excessive to some, but for me, it provides a sense of accountability. Each morning, I step on it, not with dread, but with curiosity and awareness. It helps me stay grounded and mindful of the choices I am making. So far, it has been reassuring, and that alone makes it worthwhile.
I feel so much better after losing the weight, lighter not just physically, but in energy and outlook as well. It is not something I want to lose sight of, even as I fully embrace this experience. There is a way to enjoy it all without undoing the progress, and I am determined to find that balance.
The dining room chef has been absolutely wonderful. Each evening, he makes a point to check in with me to ensure I am happy with my meals. That level of care and attention does not go unnoticed, and it makes this whole process feel supported rather than restrictive. It is those thoughtful touches that make such a difference.
Between meals, we are far from sedentary. Our cabin is quite a distance away on Deck 10, and we walk a lot. What might seem inconvenient at first has turned into a blessing in disguise, as we easily get in plenty of steps throughout the day without even trying.
Today, I am returning to my regular exercise routine while Tom takes a nap. Getting back into that familiar pattern feels good, like reconnecting with a part of myself that keeps everything else in balance.
As for photos, they will have to wait for now. Being at sea most days, and having taken countless ship photos over the years, I find I am less inclined to capture the same scenes again. Once we are back on land, that will change, and we will do everything we can to upload and share those moments.
Until then, we will continue to savor these days, one conversation, one meal, and one step at a time.
Be well,
Photo from ten years ago today, April 16, 2016:
Day 2, Transpacific cruise…We are out to sea!…
After boarding, we had one of those unexpected moments that make this lifestyle feel even more meaningful. We made our way toward the Windjammer Cafe for a quick bite, planning to take lots of sanitation precautions, not expecting anything more than a casual lunch to settle into the day. But as we stepped toward the buffet, we spotted our dear friends, Lea Ann and Chuck, smiling and waving as if no time had passed at all. They knew we’d all be in this cruise a year ago, but never let us know when they wanted to surprise us.
We first met them on a cruise back in 2017, one of those chance encounters that somehow turned into something lasting. The last time we saw them was in 2023 when we were staying in The Villages, Florida. They had come to visit us just before we set off on yet another cruise. And now, here we were again, reunited on a ship in the middle of a new adventure. It felt easy, familiar, and joyful all at once. We sat together, talking and laughing as though we had seen each other just weeks ago instead of years.
I had every intention of posting a photo of the four of us, capturing that moment of reconnection. But much to our disappointment, uploading photos has proven impossible so far. At least for the next 24 nights of this Royal Caribbean Voyager of the Seas, Transpacific cruise, it appears we are at the mercy of limited bandwidth. With a fully booked ship and thousands of passengers trying to stay connected, the system simply cannot keep up. I tried everything I could think of, different times of day, smaller file sizes, even a bit of patience mixed with persistence. Nothing worked.
So instead, I will save every photo into a folder. Knowing that the photos will be saved, waiting to be uploaded gives me peace of mind. When we finally have a stronger signal, either in port or once we are off the ship, I will put together a proper photo page to share all of these moments. For now, the memories will have to live in words.
As for yesterday’s embarkation day, it could not have been easier. From the moment we arrived at the cruise terminal in Brisbane to the moment we stepped onboard, no more than thirty minutes had passed. Everything had been completed online in advance, so it was simply a matter of verification. Passports checked, documents confirmed, and we moved steadily through each queue without delay. It felt organized, efficient, and surprisingly calm.
Our bags, however, took their time finding us. They did not arrive in our cabin until later in the evening, around five. By then, we had already gone out and enjoyed a delightful dinner in the main dining room. When we returned, neither of us had the energy to start unpacking. Thankfully, I had thought ahead and packed a few essentials into the duffel bag, enough to get us through the night and into the next morning without having to dig through everything.
We woke early today, both of us still a little tired. Tom started unpacking first, methodically getting things in place, and I followed once he was finished. There is something about settling into a cabin that makes it feel more like home, even if only temporarily.
Now, as I sit here at the Promenade Cafe with a few cups of coffee behind me, I find myself reflecting on how quickly it all began. It is 11:30 am now, and already it feels like we have lived through a full day. I tried once again to upload a few sailaway photos, hoping maybe the connection had improved. Still no luck.
It is disappointing, yes, but also a reminder of life at sea. Even now, in a world where we expect instant connection, there are still moments when we have to wait. We have to let go of immediacy and simply be present.
Neither of us slept particularly well last night, despite losing only an hour with the time change. The last time I remember checking the clock, it was 12:30 in the morning, just before everything shifted forward. A nap is sounding more and more appealing as the day goes on. After a light lunch in the dining room, we may just give in to that idea.
And somehow, that feels just right.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 15, 2016:
No post was published on this date due to a travel day, and I doubt I would have been able to upload a photo anyway.
We are at our gate at Hobart Airport…Heading to hotel in Brisbane…Boarding cruise tomorrow…
Yesterday’s drive from Penguin to our hotel at Hobart Airport was relatively uneventful, which is often exactly what we hope for on a travel day. The roads were easy to follow, the scenery familiar yet still beautiful, and there was a pleasant sense of moving forward without complication. After weeks in Penguin, there was a subtle shift in leaving, a feeling that comes each time we close one chapter to begin another.
We did lose the WiFi signal for about ninety minutes as we made our way through a more remote stretch. It is interesting how quickly that absence is noticed, even when you expect it. Still, we managed to find our way easily. The route had been reviewed ahead of time, and the signage was clear enough that we never felt uncertain. In a way, those disconnected stretches remind us that we are capable of navigating without constant updates and alerts.
It wasn’t until we were near the airport that we finally regained a signal. By then, it felt almost unnecessary, as we had already reached our destination. There is always a sense of relief when the connection returns, even if it serves no immediate purpose.
The hotel’s location near the airport was certainly convenient, especially for our departure. However, convenience sometimes comes with trade-offs. We learned that the hotel charged AUD $15, about US $10.54, for the shuttle this morning. It is one of those small details that catches you off guard, not unreasonable, but still something you would prefer to know in advance.
As the evening unfolded, we realized this would not be one of our more comfortable stays. The WiFi never worked in our room or even in the lobby, which left us surprisingly limited in how we could spend the evening. After dinner, we had nothing to watch, nothing to stream, and no easy way to pass the time other than playing games on our phones. Even the television was of little use, with shows refusing to load due to the poor connection.
In hindsight, I wish I had downloaded a movie or two before we left Penguin. It is such a simple step, yet one that makes a big difference on nights like this. Travel has a way of teaching these small lessons, often at the exact moment you wish you had thought ahead.
The discomfort continued with the air conditioner/heater, which was not working properly. The room felt cold, and the thin covers did little to keep us warm. With the outdoor temperature in the mid forties Fahrenheit, about 4.44 degrees Celsius, it made for a long night. There is something about being cold that makes everything else feel just a bit more difficult.
I went down to reception to ask about the WiFi, hoping there might be a simple solution. Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do. To their credit, they offered us a fifty percent discount on our dinner and drinks, which we appreciated. It did not fix the issues, but it was a kind gesture.
For dinner, I ordered the salmon, a modest portion of about four ounces, while Tom chose the seven-ounce steak. The meal itself was mediocre, not something we would remember beyond this moment. After the discount, our bill came to US $46.73, or AUD $66.41. Paying full price would have been frustrating, so in that sense, the discount softened the experience.
This morning brought another small surprise. The shuttle took us to the airport, but due to ongoing construction and the airport’s design, we were dropped off farther away than preferred. We remember this issue from our time at this airport in February.
Undeterred, we each grabbed a trolley and made our way toward the Virgin Australia check-in counters. I pushed one, while Tom handled the heavier one, and together we navigated the path without much trouble. These are the moments that rarely stand out, yet they are part of the fabric of travel.
We had carefully weighed our bags ahead of time and paid US $163.92, or AUD $232.78, a few days ago, as excess baggage fees. It is one of those details that requires attention, as even a small oversight can lead to additional costs if one waits to pay at the airport. It always appears to cost less for extra bags when paid online in advance of travel day.
The nuances of travel are always present. We have come to accept them as a routine part of this unusual life we have chosen. Not every experience is seamless. Some are simply inconvenient, like a cold room or unreliable WiFi. Others can, at times, be far more significant.
We share these moments openly with you, our readers, not as complaints but as a way to present an honest picture. It would be easy to highlight only the beautiful views and memorable experiences, creating the impression that everything unfolds perfectly. But life, whether at home or on the road, does not work that way.
There are always ups and downs, small irritations and, occasionally, more meaningful challenges. They are part of the journey, just as much as the highlights. In many ways, they keep us grounded, reminding us that this lifestyle, while rewarding, is still real life.
As we move forward, we are looking ahead to a better hotel experience in Brisbane tonight and, most exciting of all, smooth sailing as we prepare to board Royal Caribbean Voyager of the Seas for tomorrow’s 25-night cruise. Oops, we just noticed on the departures overhead screen that our flight is being delayed by 20-minutes. At least it wasn’t canceled. No complaints here. As long as we have our health and each other, life is good.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 13, 2016
Thanks to our wonderful landlords!…One day and counting…
Today, as we spend our last full day in Penguin, Tasmania, we find ourselves reflecting with deep appreciation and a full heart. This stay has been more than simply a place to rest our heads. It has been an experience shaped by kindness, generosity, and a level of care that is increasingly rare.
We wanted to take a moment to express our special thanks to our landlord and friends, Fran and Terry, for making our six weeks at Sunrise in Penguin truly exceptional. From the moment we arrived, there was a sense that this would be something different, something more personal than a typical holiday rental. That feeling never faded. If anything, it only grew stronger with each passing week.
Their beautiful home, perched with its calming views over Bass Strait, offered us not only comfort but a sense of peace that settled in quickly. We often found ourselves gazing out at the water, watching the changing skies, feeling grateful for the opportunity to live, even briefly, in such a special place. But as lovely as the property itself is, it was Fran and Terry’s thoughtful attention that elevated this stay to something we will not soon forget.
Each week, without fail, they went above and beyond in ways that made daily life feel effortless. Fresh bedding appeared as if by magic. Clean towels were always at the ready. There was fruit, restocked household supplies, and those little extras that made us feel not like temporary guests, but genuinely cared for. Walking into a freshly cleaned space, knowing someone had taken the time to ensure everything was just right, never became something we took for granted.
Terry, in particular, checked in with us several times a week, always in a warm, easygoing manner that made it clear his offers were sincere. It was never intrusive, always thoughtful. What struck us most was how attentive he and Fran were to even the smallest, offhand comments. If we casually mentioned needing or looking for something, we would often find that within a few days, it had somehow made its way to us. That kind of attentiveness is not something you can manufacture. It comes from a genuine desire to make others feel comfortable and cared for.
This level of service reminded us of Louise in Marloth Park, someone who similarly leaves no detail unattended in creating an impeccable experience. It is a rare quality, and when you encounter it, you recognize just how meaningful it is.
As we sit here today, surrounded by the now-familiar comforts of this home, we feel a sense of gratitude that is difficult to fully put into words. Over time, the space has become more than just a rental. It has been a retreat, a place where we could settle into our routines while still embracing the ever-changing nature of our lifestyle.
Penguin itself has added another layer to this experience. The charm of this coastal town, combined with the friendliness of the locals, has made our time here all the more memorable. There is an ease to life here that quietly works its way into your days, encouraging you to slow down and appreciate what is right in front of you.
For anyone considering a stay in Tasmania, we would wholeheartedly recommend Penguin, and in particular, this remarkable property. Booking well in advance is essential, and it is easy to understand why. Places like this, and people like Fran and Terry, are in high demand for a reason.
As much as we are looking forward to what lies ahead, there is no denying a touch of sadness as we prepare to leave. We have grown comfortable here, not just in the physical sense, but in the way this place has made us feel. It has been easy to settle in, easy to feel at home, and never easy to say goodbye.
One thing is certain. We will carry this experience with us, and I have a strong feeling it will not be another ten years before we find ourselves returning once again.
Please click here to see the fine details about Sunrise at Penguin.
On the road trip tomorrow, flying to Brisbane the next day, and boarding the ship the following day, we may not have time to upload new posts until we’re on the ship on the 14th. But, please check back and see if we may surprise you.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 11, 2016:
Two days and counting…The packing is underway…New travel advisory for adventurers…
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“The U.S. Just Updated Its Travel Advisory for This Outdoor Adventure Destination After Civil Unrest—What Travelers Should Know
The gateway to Mount Everest is now under an updated travel advisory. By Michael Cappetta, published on April 8, 2026
The U.S. Department of State recently downgraded its travel advisory for the gateway to Mount Everest.
The State Department reclassified Nepal under its second-lowest Level 2 travel warning on March 31, recommending that Americans going there “exercise increased caution.” The warning was issued due to potential civil unrest in the country, but the State Department added: “Nationwide demonstrations that began in September 2025 have stopped, and the security situation is stable.”
The department added, however, “demonstrations and local unrest can still happen, particularly in cities,” and “may quickly turn violent. Stay away from large crowds and follow the instructions of local authorities.”
In addition, the State Department warned American travelers that medical services may be limited in Nepal and recommended travelers pack any medications they may need and purchase travel insurance with medical evacuation coverage.
“Hospitals in Kathmandu are usually better than in other areas, but they can be crowded, may lack some equipment or medicines, and often ask that you pay before treatment,” the advisory stated. “Medical treatment of foreigners is not paid for by the Government of Nepal.”
Beyond safety concerns, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) encouraged travelers to get vaccinated against several diseases, including cholera, noting that “active cholera transmission is widespread in Nepal.” However, the agency did note that cases were rare among travelers.
Nepal has become a major destination for outdoor and hiking enthusiasts, especially for travelers looking to master Mount Everest, the highest point on Earth, with a height of more than 29,000 feet, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA).
Nepal is also home to a growing luxury hotel scene, such as the Shinta Mani Mustang, a 29-suite lodge with sweeping mountain views, complemented by locally sourced stone, slate, and wood, and boasting opportunities for trekking or relaxation through a personalized spa and wellness program.
Travelers choosing to summit Mount Everest should be aware of new rules put in place this year that require climbers to have prior experience and certain health certifications, according to the Asia edition of Travel + Leisure. The new rules also require a $4,000 fee that goes to the Environment Protection and Mountaineers’ Welfare Fund.
Whether traveling to Nepal or any other foreign country, the State Department encourages all international travelers to enroll in its free Smart Traveler Enrollment Program (STEP). The service provides current advisory and alert information, and can provide life-saving information in the event of an emergency.”
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, April 10, 2016:
