Day 10…Transpacific Cruise…Out to sea…Making new friends and seeing old friends while sailing…

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Our dear friends, Kathy and Don, host a tremendous number of guests in their Marloth Park home and always do so with aplomb and ease. We will see them at their home on Oahu, Hawaii, in five days, and then head out to lunch. We will spend time with them again in Marloth Park in the coming months.

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.

Peter and Di will visit us in Marloth Park in August! As mentioned in a prior post, Salli visited us in Penguin about a month ago.

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.

Our new friends Pauline and Cameron, whom we met in Penguin, are now on the cruise.

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.

Our dear friends, Rita and Gerhard, with whom we met up in many parts of the world over the years, whom we most recently saw in Bali. We will be with them in Vancouver, Washington, for four days at the end of this cruise.

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:

Last night’s sunset from yet another cruise ship on our way to Darwin, Australia. For more photos, please click here.

Day 9…Transpacific Cruise…Moorea, Society Islands, French Polynesia…

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Moorea is a breathtaking, heart-shaped volcanic island in French Polynesia, located just 10 nautical miles from Tahiti. Known for its lush, jagged peaks, dramatic bays (Cook’s and Opunohu), and crystal-clear turquoise lagoons, it is a premier destination for snorkeling, diving, hiking, and romantic getaways.

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.

This is the interior of the lifeboat that tendered us to the pier in Moorea.

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

The pier where passengers exited the tender boats to go ashore.

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.

Most of the homes in Moorea are located along the water, although some appear to be located on the mountainside.

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.

Huts above the water.

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 greenery in the hills reminded us of Kauai, Hawaii.

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.

More bungalows on the hillside.

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.

Moorea, like most islands, were created by volcanic activity.

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…

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Cascades de Faarumai in 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.

Footbridge in a local park.

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.

Pebble foot path in a park.

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.

Papeete has many scenic areas to explore.

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.

Cruise til Papeete, Tahiti | Royal Caribbean Cruises
Not our photo. Black sand beach in Papeete.

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.

Beautiful entrance to a tunnel on our tour.

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.

Lush, jungle greenery.

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.

Notice the plants inside the painted old tires. We noticed these in several spots along the highway in Tahiti.

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:

Tom’s cruise ship dinner was tender steak, broccoli, and fried potatoes. In addition, he ordered a starter and a dessert. For more photos, please click here.

Day 6…Transpacific Cruise…How, who and when was the International Date Line decided?…

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Our current balcony cabin layout aboard Royal Caribbean Voyager of the Seas.

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.

We met our new friends aboard this cruise ship in October 2025. Front: Peter and Di, who will visit us in South Africa, and Salli, who visited us in Penguin, Tasmania, weeks ago. How fortunate we are to make good friends as we travel the world.

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:

A wall hanging in the casino. For more photos, please click here.

Day 5b, Transpacific cruise…What is Day 5B????…Crossing the International Dateline…Yesterday was Saturday…Today is also Saturday!!!…

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Tom rarely wipes the smile off his face. He loves cruising, even more than I do.

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.

International date line: Where is it? | news.com.au — Australia's leading news site for latest headlines
The imaginary line of the Internation Dateline.

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.

These look tempting at the Promenade Cafe, but we don’t eat any of them.

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.

This is the Crown Lounge for Diamond, Diamond Plus, and Pinnacle members only during the day. We are Diamond Plus. At happy hour, only Diamond Plus and Pinnacle are allowed to enter. If it’s too crowded, we head to the R Bar at happy hour.

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.

Life is easy aboard ship. No cooking. No cleaning. Just writing to all of you!

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:

Tour boat under the Harbour Bridge in Sydney, Australia. For more photos, please click here.

Day 5, Transpacific cruise…We are out to sea!…What are we doing about photos?…

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An MG on display in the Promenade Cafe on Deck 5.

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.

Complimentary treats in the Promenade Cafe. We do not partake.

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.

Surprisingly, this time security didn’t confiscate our huge kitchen knife, but they did hold on to all of our power strips. Go figure, which we’ll collect on the last day of this cruise.

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.

An elephant towel origami.

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:

Luna Park in Sydney, Australia, during the daylight. For more photos, please click here.

Day 4, Transpacific cruise…We are out to sea!…Still no photos…

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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…

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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:

The aft of Royal Caribbean Voyager of the Seas. Soon, we’ll be boarding this ship for a 14-day cruise. For more photos, please click here.

Day 2, Transpacific cruise…We are out to sea!…

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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…

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So far, we’ve enjoyed this airline.

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

This cria, whose birth we were able to attend when we first arrived on the farm in New Zealand, was born only 30 minutes earlier. For more photos, please click here.