The last time I remember looking at the clock, it blinked back at me with an unforgiving 4:00 am. Only three hours later, I heard Tom getting up, his careful footsteps and the sound of the shower telling me morning had arrived far too soon. Knowing we had to check in at the main dining room by 9:00 am as consecutive passengers, I dragged myself out of bed as soon as he was done in the bathroom. Those mornings when sleep has barely graced me always feel like wading through molasses—the simple act of showering and getting dressed becomes a slow, deliberate process, each step requiring more focus than it should.
I stuffed my pajamas and a few last-minute odds and ends into my bag, grateful that at least packing was minimal for this short transition day. Usually, anticipation of travel or logistical tasks doesn’t disrupt my sleep—after all these years on the road, constant movement has become second nature. But last night’s inexplicable insomnia threw me entirely off balance.
After checking in with our Indonesian and Australian e-visas in hand, we made our way to the Promenade Cafe, where the aroma of fresh coffee gave me the slightest boost of hope. We settled into our usual corner, hopeful we could get started on today’s post, but quickly discovered the ship’s WiFi had been shut off during the disembarkation and embarkation process. Fortunately, our T-Mobile hotspot came to the rescue. It wasn’t lightning fast, but it worked well enough for us to begin catching up. As soon as the ship’s WiFi comes back online—any minute now—we’ll switch back, since we’ve already paid for the service for this final leg of our back-to-back cruise.
From our seats, we watched the familiar rhythm of turnaround day unfold: departing passengers rolling their suitcases toward the gangway, crew members resetting stations with the quiet efficiency we’ve come to admire, and the early trickle of new passengers boarding. There’s always a comforting predictability to this process, a sort of intermission between chapters of ship life.
While we waited, our dear friends Diana and Peter stopped by the table to say goodbye. In just a few weeks, casual greetings in the R-Bar and main dining room had grown into warm, easy conversation, the kind of connection that feels so natural you forget it’s only been a short time. They’re hoping to visit us in Marloth Park next August, an idea that feels both exciting and surreal. We genuinely hope it works out for them; sharing that extraordinary place with friends is always such a joy.
We also said goodbye to Salli, Barbara, and several others we’ve met along the way. It always amazes me how ships create their own little temporary communities. Each voyage becomes a microcosm of shared routines, passing familiar faces at the Promenade Cafe, seeing the same folks at dinners, and exchanging travel stories at random moments. These friendships, whether brief or long-lasting, become part of the fabric of our journey.
We’re still waiting to hear whether we’ve been moved to a more suitable location on the ship. If not, we’ll have to accept the reality of the distant cabin on Deck 6, tucked so far from the elevators that it feels like a daily pilgrimage, especially with my knee still acting up.
There’s something about cruise days like this, turnover days, full of new faces and rolling suitcases, that makes everything feel temporarily suspended. The crew is busy preparing, the ship hums with anticipation, and we’re simply waiting, caught between hope and resignation. We won’t know anything until the last of the new passengers has boarded and we’re minutes from casting off from Singapore.
Until then, all we can do is sit with the not-knowing, our bags waiting to be unpacked, our minds half-settled, reminding ourselves that after years of living on the move, flexibility isn’t just a skill. It’s our daily practice.
Once the newly arriving passengers board, we’ll see our old friends Michelle and Sheryl, who are boarding here in Singapore. It will be fun to see them again since our last get-together in 2018.
Despite the exhaustion tugging at me today, there’s a soft comfort in knowing that even sleepless nights and groggy mornings still find their way into the larger, ongoing story of our travels. Not every day is seamless or restful, but each one carries its own small mosaic of experiences… goodbyes, quiet frustrations, and tiny triumphs that remind us why we embrace this ever-changing life at sea and also while traveling on land.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, December 1, 2015:
