In April 2017, during one of those long, dreamy repositioning cruises, which was aboard Royal Caribbean’s Explorer of the Seas, sailing from Sydney all the way to Seattle, we met a lovely couple who instantly felt like old friends. Ulla and her husband, Ray, had that rare combination of openness and warmth that made conversation effortless from the start. Over the 24 nights we shared on that voyage, we often found ourselves lingering in lounges, lingering anywhere the ship’s gentle hum encouraged stories to spill out. Little did we know at the time that this serendipitous meeting would blossom into an eight-year friendship.

Since then, Facebook has been our bridge across continents and oceans. We’ve celebrated their travels, they’ve celebrated ours, and despite the miles, the connection never dimmed. So when we discovered they’d be joining us again on this current sailing, it felt like one of those full-circle travel blessings that only long-term nomads, like us, truly understand, life looping back with familiar faces in faraway ports.

But as travel often reminds us, plans can shift in a heartbeat. Just before departure, Ray fell ill with pneumonia in Australia and wasn’t able to travel. Our hearts sank for him. After eight years of looking forward to crossing paths again, the timing felt almost cruel. Still, in true traveler spirit, Ulla made the journey anyway, accompanied by her delightful friend Julia, boarding the ship in Cape Town and planning to stay aboard until Brisbane, Australia, on December 13. Seeing Ulla step onboard, smiling, resilient, and excited despite the circumstances, was a reminder of how friendships forged at sea have a kind of buoyancy all their own.

Last night, the four of us reunited as if no time had passed at all. There’s something about cruise ship evenings that brings out the best in these moments: the soft lighting, the gentle sway beneath our feet, the feeling that time is stretching just enough for connections to breathe. We shared stories, laughter, and updates, catching up on the years as though flipping through a well-loved scrapbook.

Later, when they headed off to the nightly show, we gravitated to the Star Lounge for a singing game show that turned out to be hysterical. Neither of us has any desire to get up on stage—our comfort zone is firmly in the enthusiastic-but-anonymous audience category—but we laughed harder than we had in days. The energy was infectious, reminding us of all the quirky little joys that make cruise life so endearing.

When the game wrapped up, we wandered back to the R-Bar, where we ended up deep in conversation with George, an American man we’d briefly met before. He was genuinely stunned—almost wide-eyed—when he heard how long we’ve been traveling the world full-time. His fascination mirrored the reactions we often get: a mix of admiration, curiosity, and disbelief that anyone could live out of a suitcase for so many years and still love it.

As we chatted, I felt that familiar wave of gratitude wash over me. Nights like this—old friends rediscovered, new acquaintances made, laughter drifting through lounge floors—remind me why this nomadic life continues to fill us up after all these years. It’s not just the places or the ports. It’s the people who drift in and out like tides, each leaving a gentle imprint on our ever-changing journey.

Today, our ship is docked in Port Elizabeth, a place many cruisers look forward to exploring, but for us, it’s a quiet pause in the journey rather than a day of adventure. The options are straightforward enough: the shuttle ferries passengers to a nearby shopping mall or off to a safari experience. For many, spotting wildlife in South Africa is the highlight of a trip like this. And truly, we understand the appeal. It’s magical to see those first giraffes grazing on treetops or elephants ambling across the savanna.

But after almost 300 game drives and safaris over the past thirteen years, our hearts no longer chase the novelty of a single day out in the bush. Instead, we’ve come to relish the deeper rhythm of returning to Marloth Park, where we can slip back into our own private version of the wild. There, we settle into a routine we know well: the early mornings when the world is still hushed, the familiar rumble of distant lions, the comfort of waiting in our rental car, engine humming softly, as we slowly make our way through Kruger National Park.

The wildlife seen in this region, whether here in the Eastern Cape or up north near the Mozambique border, tells the same story. The same iconic species roam, the same dramas unfold under the African sun, and the same sense of wonder lingers in the air. The difference, for us, is the feeling of home that Marloth and Kruger have come to represent. We aren’t rushed on those visits, nor are we part of a tour group being guided along a predetermined route. Instead, we have the luxury of time, freedom, and the deeply personal experience of choosing our own path through the bush.

So today, while others line up eagerly for shuttles and excursions, we’re content to stay aboard the ship, enjoying the peaceful hum of life at sea. Some ports call to us with irresistible energy, urging us to explore. Port Elizabeth, however, whispers permission to rest. And in this season of our lives, after so many days on the road, so many game drives, so many breathtaking encounters, we’ve learned to honor those quieter impulses too.

We’ll save the safaris for June, when we return to Marloth Park and ease back into the wilderness we know and love. There’s no need to rush. Africa will be waiting.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, November 16, 2015:

In Savusavu, Fiji, this boat navigates to the pearl beds. For more photos, please click here.