For those who haven’t checked in lately…Those annoying ads on our website are gone!…

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Agapanthus flowers in New Zealand are classified as weeds and considered invasive, although they are beautiful, as they grow along roads and highways.

After a grueling month spent untangling maintenance issues on our website, I finally feel comfortable placing this chapter gently behind me, at least for a little while. It has been one of those stretches where the work is invisible to everyone else but consumes an extraordinary amount of mental space. The kind of work that follows you into your sleep and reappears first thing in the morning with a new question or concern.

With Hostinger, our excellent hosting company, and its network of technicians worldwide, most major issues have now been resolved. These technicians step in when needed for a reasonable fee, and their expertise has been invaluable. At this point, only a few minor issues remain, nothing urgent enough to demand immediate attention or disrupt our daily posts. For now, the site is running more efficiently than it has in quite some time. However, we are experiencing paragraph spacing issues, which we reported today to our new tech guy. This should be resolved within a day or two.

That said, technology never stands still. Given the current style and design of our site, along with ongoing WordPress changes, I know a redesign will eventually be necessary to ensure compatibility and stability. Rather than rushing into that process while we are constantly on the move, I have decided to postpone the redesign until we reach Marloth Park. There, we will be staying on and off for nine months, providing the stability and focus that such a project truly requires.

When that time comes, I will be sure to notify our readers in advance. There may be a brief period when the site is inaccessible, but it should be no more than a few days. If we do not take this step at some point, the risk is that the site could eventually crash altogether. While I am hopeful it will hold until then, I also want to be transparent. Even if the site were to crash unexpectedly before our planned redesign, we would not be down for long. We monitor things closely and will immediately launch the new version.

In practical terms, the most you would experience is a brief pause in access to our daily posts. There will be nothing for you to do and nothing you need to fix or adjust on your end. We will handle it and keep you informed every step of the way.

I truly appreciate the patience you have shown during this recent maintenance period. It means more than you might realize. I am also relieved and genuinely happy to say that we are now up and running more smoothly in the interim. For those who haven’t checked in lately, you will notice a very welcome change. All of those annoying ads are gone.

We deliberately chose to forgo any potential revenue from that intrusive advertising style. Instead, we chose to focus only on the advertisers displayed on the right side of the page when viewed on a computer and at the bottom of the page when reading on a smartphone. This felt more respectful of your experience and more aligned with the spirit of why we started this site in the first place.

If you are able, please help support us by using those links when they are relevant to you. The small amount of revenue they generate helps offset some of the costs of maintaining this free site. The prices and services are exactly the same as if you visited those websites directly through your browser.

Thank you, as always, for your patience, understanding, and continued presence here with us.
On another note, yesterday turned out to be the hottest day we have experienced since arriving in Kaiwaka in mid December. On paper, it hardly sounded dramatic at all, just 80F or 27C. In reality, the humidity told a very different story. At 95 percent, the air felt thick and unrelenting, with a dew point of 78 degrees creating an oppressive, nearly saturated atmosphere. Everything felt sticky and heavy, even indoors. For the first time, in the late afternoon, we switched on the air conditioner in the lounge room and let it run until bedtime. Thankfully, today feels calm, cooler, and wonderfully comfortable again.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, February 3, 2016:

A horse, shown in New Plymouth, New Zealand, wore a blanket to regulate body temperature and protect it from the elements. For more photos, please click here.

Ten years ago…Have we changed much in ten years?…

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The main thoroughfare, Eliot St., in downtown New Plymouth heads out to the ocean.

The following is a slightly revised (I corrected numerous errors) copy of a post from ten years ago, found here.

“When we arrived in New Plymouth 15 days ago, we expected WiFi to be available. This wasn’t the case, and we had no choice but to head to a local phone store, buy a device, and load up on expensive data.

To date, we’ve spent NZ 593 and US $388 on Internet access fees, an expense we hadn’t anticipated. Don’t get me wrong… the owners are very kind and caring people, and we’ve greatly appreciated their efforts and attention to detail.

They had no idea it would take so long to get service, assuming only a day or two. They’d tried to arrange it over the holidays but couldn’t pin down a date. We have no doubt they tried. But, as in many parts of the world, not everything happens according to a schedule one would prefer.

Ornate house on a corner.

Actually, we feel bad about how much pressure we’ve placed on them as the WiFi bill continues to rack up expenses day after day. Yesterday, I paid the bill after Spark set up an account for us to be paid monthly, without requiring a 12-month contract.

Yesterday, Trish stopped by with an extra fan (without our asking) since we’ve been hauling the one fan we had up and down the stairs every day. Although the air is relatively cool here in summer, the metal roof makes the house very hot on sunny days.

St. Andrews Presbyterian Church in downtown New Plymouth is another historic building.

We’ve decided to keep the doors open, welcoming the cool breezes most days, and deal with the flies. They aren’t biting flies and seem fairly easy to swat with the flyswatter we purchased. They are considerably less prevalent on cooler, windy days. By dinner time, we close the doors, kill the flies, and have dinner, preferring that no flies buzz over our food. This plan seems to be working.

After handing me the fan, Trish explained she’d heard from Vodafone, who are to arrive today. We had an appointment with June for today and had planned to grocery shop after we were done. We immediately contacted June, apologizing and kindly asking that we change the date. She was happy to make a change.

Contemporary houses overlooking the ocean.

In the process, we decided to postpone the grocery shopping until Thursday, after Tom’s 10:15 dentist appointment. We have enough food on hand for Wednesday’s meals. Goodness, we haven’t had “appointments” to speak of other than our medical exams while in Australia.

We’ve loved having a simple life, avoiding planning and instead waiting until we “feel like” doing something. Now, we have three dinner reservations looming: for Valentine’s Day, my birthday, and our anniversary; Tom’s dental appointments; and the meeting with June.

Has our free-spirited lifestyle taken a break while we’re here in convenient New Zealand with everything we could need or want at our fingertips? There’s even a movie theatre here showing current US movies at NZ 10, US $6.55 for seniors. Perhaps, we’ll give it a try on a rainy day.

Modern-style houses and apartments.

The last time Tom and I attended a movie together was in the theatres on cruise ships or watching on the huge screen out by the beach, but attending an actual movie theatre?

The last time I attended a movie, Interstellar, was with my son Greg in December 2014 in Hawaii, when the family visited us on the Big Island. Both my sons and I always enjoyed attending movies together, especially back in my days of eating popcorn, long since passed.

Seldom do we have access to an English-speaking movie theatre. Seldom do we make appointments, locking ourselves into specific dates and times for events, except on travel days.

As much as parts of our lives may require extensive planning and preparation for the next leg of the journey, the next year, and, oftentimes, two years out, our daily lives are simple and uncomplicated. Somehow, it all works.

When all is said and done, we’re blissfully happy. Having accomplished that single feat in life is more than either of us ever expected during these “golden years” of our lives.

On Valentine’s night, we have a dinner reservation at Table Restaurant, as shown on the right of this photo.

Isn’t that our ultimate desire… happiness, seemingly elusive, yet once a decision is made to become happy? We often find the opportunities to do so right at our fingertips. We’re truly blessed and grateful to have found it, and we’ll continue to hang on tight for as long as we can.

May your day bring you happiness.”

After reading this ten-year-old post, I don’t see that we’ve changed that much. We may have become more tolerant, resilient, and perhaps even more resourceful after a plethora of unexpected experiences. We are still the same individuals and the same couple who thrive on life on the road and being together. Who knows what the future holds, or whether we’ll still be traveling in years to come? We live one day at a time, grateful for every opportunity, for every moment, of precious life on the move in this vast world.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, February 2, 2016:

Colorful apartment building in New Plymouth, New Zealand. For more photos, please click here.

Is AI going to replace your job?…An eye-opening article for those who still work but would like to travel the world…

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Do you dream of this type of job?

I’m not certain of our readers’ demographics, but it’s likely that at least half are still working, still committed to routines and responsibilities, while quietly daydreaming about what it might feel like to travel the world with fewer constraints. That space between obligation and imagination is familiar. This morning, while sipping coffee and watching another new day unfold, I stumbled across an article I felt compelled to share. It lingered with me longer than expected, tapping into conversations we’ve heard more and more often, especially among friends and acquaintances who are still firmly planted in the workforce.

Many people are understandably concerned that artificial intelligence may one day take over their current jobs, or at least reshape them beyond recognition. It’s a heavy thought, and one that can stir anxiety if left unchecked. But what struck me most was the article’s underlying message. Rather than reacting with fear, it suggested responding with intention. What better way to face that possibility than to have a plan in place, a thoughtful alternative path, should a human job suddenly disappear?

For those still working, still saving, still imagining a different type of life, this perspective feels especially relevant. Planning isn’t pessimism. It’s empowerment. And sometimes, it’s the first quiet step toward a life you’ve only dared to imagine so far. Here’s the article from Travel and Leisure online magazine:

“13 Jobs That Pay You to Travel the World
Here’s proof you can turn a passion for travel into a full-fledged career. By Lydia Mansel
Published on January 29, 2026

As a freelance travel journalist, I’m frequently told I have the “dream job.” Multiple times a month, I fly to a new city, new state, or new country, searching for adventures and stories. Like all careers, there are definitely downsides, but there’s not a day that goes by that I’m not grateful for the experiences this type of career has afforded me. After all, if it wasn’t for this job, I may never have seen the famous bears in Katmai National Park and Preserve or ridden in a truck rounding up one of the largest bison herds in the U.S.

But becoming a travel writer or editor isn’t the only way to get paid to explore the world. There are dozens of other jobs you can choose that will inevitably take you to new places. Below, we rounded up 13 of them, along with firsthand advice from people who have made travel a core part of their work.

English Teacher
If you want to move abroad for a period of time, teaching English as a second language is an effective way to make that happen—but you’ll typically need to get your Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL) certification, a process that takes about 120 hours. The effort is worth it, though, as Shayna Stewart, a Rosetta Stone English tutor, attests. “Through teaching English, I have been able to explore what life looks like in the highlands of Mexico and get glimpses into the lives of students in Ethiopia, Vietnam, Turkey, and so many other countries,” she tells Travel + Leisure.

As far as advice for those interested in this type of career, she suggests taking the time to “truly learn English” and “have an idea of what is actually happening linguistically.” “Learning a language is one of the hardest things many people will ever do. Making sure to be prepared to guide others through that process requires more than fluency; it requires awareness, intention, and an understanding of how language works,” she says. “That preparation, organization, and critical thinking not only make you a better teacher but also position you more competitively in the eyes of employers.”

Travel Advisor
Travel advisors (or travel agents) are experts in travel planning; it’s their job to know the ins and outs of destinations, airlines, and on-the-ground experiences so they can plan the perfect trip for clients. “In my role, I design highly personalized, luxury travel experiences for clients—everything from milestone family trips to once-in-a-lifetime honeymoons and multi-week international itineraries,” says McLean Robbins, founder and lead designer at Lily Pond Luxury. “I earn commissions from hotels and partners I book on behalf of my clients, as well as planning fees for complex itineraries. The travel itself is research, essential to doing my job well.”

If you’re interested in becoming a travel advisor, she recommends treating the work “as a business, not a hobby.” “The most successful travel advisors aren’t just well-traveled—they’re excellent listeners, strong operators, and deeply curious. Learn how hotels actually work, understand contracts and margins, and build genuine relationships across the industry,” she says. “And most importantly, develop a point of view. Clients don’t need more options—they need confidence in a recommendation.”

Can you imagine this job?

Publicist
You can be a publicist or a public relations specialist and get paid to travel, even without working directly in the travel industry. In this field, you’ll be responsible for managing a client’s (or multiple clients’) media presence and public image, which can often result in flying around the world for events or meetings. “As a publicist working across industries, I get paid to travel for clients for many different reasons,” shares Tracy Lamourie, listing speaking engagements, film festivals, launch parties, and industry events.

Unsurprisingly, a PR role requires lots of face-to-face contact. “My best advice for someone wanting to do what I do is be very social in real life, not just on platforms,” she says. “Essentially, PR is presentation, understanding human nature, and being the person people come to when things go wrong. Excellent communication, stability, being unflappable in crisis, and being unimpressed by fame are all essential job tools.”

Consultant
There are all types of consultants, from HR and marketing to legal and financial. Their role is typically to advise clients on specific issues under a short-term contract. Depending on the exact type of consulting you go into (and the company you work for), you could find yourself traveling on a monthly, weekly, or even daily basis to client sites. Many consultants, for example, spend long stretches in the air and staying in hotels—the ideal role for someone who wants to rack up airline miles and hotel points.

Flight Crew
As a flight attendant or a pilot, you’ll spend your days in the air, flying from city to city. Both roles require training; to fly a commercial plane, you’ll need 1,500 hours of experience, and flight attendant training typically takes between six and eight weeks. Once you’ve officially landed your role, though, expect long days (and nights) and relatively rough schedules. Don’t let that dissuade you, though; there are a handful of travel benefits, including free flights, that come with the territory.

Ship Crew
Maybe you’re more interested in traveling by sea than by air. If that’s the case, you may want to consider a maritime career. Ships come in all sizes—luxury yachts, holiday cruises, mega-ships, etc.—and they all require a crew of hardworking people to properly (and safely) operate them. Some roles are more front-facing, such as entertainers or servers on a cruise ship. Others are more behind-the-scenes; stewards and engineers may have less interaction with customers or clients. No matter which direction you choose, plan on signing weeks- or months-long contracts.

Photographer
Creativity and freedom go hand in hand in the life of a professional photographer, whether they specialize in weddings, landscapes, or wildlife. Lisa Michele Burns, a photographer and the founder of The Wandering Lens, for example, focuses on “luxury lodges, remote regions, and outdoor adventures.” But, she says, “As a travel photographer, the projects and client requirements are always so varied, which keeps things exciting, creatively inspiring, and unpredictable. One project could be to photograph an image library that showcases the activities, scenery, design, and decor of a beautiful hotel, while another job could see me underwater photographing marine life and coral restoration projects.”

It’s definitely a competitive business, but there are a few things you can do to find success and make sure your work stands out. “Diversity is key as a travel photographer, and you don’t want to rely on a single income stream, so it’s essential to build a network of clients in your chosen industry, in addition to creating additional avenues like selling prints or licensing your work,” says Burns. “I’d also recommend avoiding the comparison trap, particularly in a world of social media and endless content. Stay curious, creative, and explore a career on your own terms by following the locations and subjects you’re drawn to photograph, then finding the clients that align with this direction.”

Videographer
Like a photographer, a videographer can be flown around the world to capture dynamic, beautiful content—everything from nature to weddings. Kaitlyn Holeman, a videographer and photographer at Skyewater Photo + Film, specializes in “adventure elopement and small weddings.”

“The packages I create for each couple are fully customizable, and I wrap all my own travel costs into the price upfront, which potential clients really appreciate,” she says. “Having traveled to a variety of places including the Pacific Northwest, California, Colorado, Vermont, Alaska, Mexico, Greece, and The Bahamas, I already know the estimate of my flights, lodging, meals, and other transportation costs for travel to each region, so I can account for all of that without having to add on any surprise fees later in the planning process.”

If wedding videography piques your interest, she has one major piece of advice. “Dedicate time to travel to a couple of top chosen destinations for weddings to build content and real firsthand experience in the places you want to work,” she says. “Clients love being able to work with someone who’s at least been to the destination they want to get married in. Knowing exactly how easy or difficult certain places are to access or when is the best time of year to visit certain destinations helps show expertise.”

Travel Nurse
As a travel nurse, you’ll fill temporary positions in hospitals, clinics, and other healthcare facilities in destinations across the country—and even around the world. Karen O’Donnell Fountain, a Fastaff ER nurse and director of clinical services, says she usually accepts short-term assignments (between eight and 13 weeks). “I complete the same core clinical work as staff nurses, but I’m stepping into new environments regularly, so adaptability is a big part of the job. One contract I might be working in a busy urban Level 1 trauma center, and the next I could be in a rural hospital that serves a tight-knit community,” she explains. This type of role, she adds, allows her to “travel, do the work I love, and get paid well for my skills.”

“Facilities pay a competitive wage to secure an experienced nurse for a short-term assignment. My compensation usually includes an hourly wage plus tax-free stipends for housing, meals, and incidentals, as long as I’m working away from my permanent home and duplicating expenses,” she says. “Sometimes housing is arranged for me; other times I receive a stipend and choose my own place. Travel costs may also be reimbursed. An agency typically handles contracts, pay structure, and logistics, which makes the process smoother.”

Au Pair or Nanny
A role as an au pair or nanny isn’t just a job; it’s a full cultural immersion. “When I was in my early 20s, I had an urge to get out and see the world, but I didn’t have the budget. This led me to researching all of the ways I could make a little money abroad. One of those was through being an au pair,” says Sarah Pardi, a former au pair and the current global head of travel content at Insurte. “I learned that most au pair positions are in exchange for room and board, plus a stipend, but it varies depending on the country and its local laws. I also learned that visas are required, but many countries have specific ‘au pair visas’ designed exactly for these purposes.” There are all kinds of sites and agencies designed to match potential au pairs with families, and Pardi notes it’s paramount to do your research and only work with the most reputable sources.

Content Creator
The jobs of content creators and influencers are constantly shifting depending on their social media platforms and niche. When you see these public figures on the go, they may be getting paid by a larger brand—like a hotel, tourism board, or airline—or they’re creating content that will eventually earn them money. YouTubers, for instance, are typically paid ad revenue based on engagement and views. To become a fully independent content creator, you’ll need to focus on consistency and find a subject that resonates with an audience.

Scientist or Researcher
Creatives aren’t the only ones who can get paid to travel. Those with more analytical minds—namely biologists, geologists, ecologists, and anthropologists—often conduct fieldwork as part of their research. Sometimes, it does require finding (and applying for) grants to fund the travel itself, but there are also roles funded through universities or private companies. Your work could bring you to some of the world’s most far-flung and isolated places; Antarctica, for instance, is home to many year-round research stations.

Foreign Service Officer
If you plan to study global policy or foreign affairs in college—or have recently completed a degree—a career as a U.S. Foreign Service Officer (FSO) or diplomat may be in your future. The U.S. government notes there are five career tracks: economic officers, consular officers, management officers, political officers, and public diplomacy officers. Your exact assignment and placement will depend on your skills and the government’s interests and goals.”

Hopefully, for those of you who would consider working while traveling, even if none of these suggestions feel like the right fit, they may still spark ideas of your own, ideas better aligned with your unique skills, interests, and curiosities. Sometimes inspiration doesn’t arrive as a perfect solution but as a gentle nudge, encouraging you to think differently about what might be possible beyond the familiar boundaries of traditional work.

We’ve learned along the way that the path rarely looks the same for everyone. What works beautifully for one person may feel entirely wrong for another, and that’s part of the adventure. The value lies in staying open, in allowing new concepts to simmer, evolve, and eventually take a shape that feels authentic to you.

If nothing else, perhaps this serves as a reminder that alternatives do exist, even if they’re not immediately obvious. With a bit of creativity and courage, new doors have a way of opening when you least expect them. Thanks so much for stopping by and sharing a moment of your day with us.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, February 1, 2016:

This beautiful church in New Plymouth, New Zealand, was being demolished because it wasn’t earthquake-proof. For the story and more photos, please click here.

Starting to think about leaving New Zealand…

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It’s ironic how cattle and other farm animals tend to hang out together.

Note: Due to WiFi issues, our paragraph spacing is impossible to change.

With only twelve days left until February 12, the calendar has begun to inch closer to our departure. The date sits there reminding us that we will soon be heading back to Auckland, New Zealand, only to turn around and fly onward to Hobart, Tasmania. As always, when a stay begins to wind down, we find ourselves doing mental inventories. Not of memories, though those matter deeply, but of food. How much do we have left? How many meals can we stretch from what remains? Can we make it to departure day without one last grocery run?

This ritual has become part of our departure process after so many years of moving from one place to another on this long and winding journey around the world. Each holiday home brings the same quiet calculations to a close. Jars opened and half used. Freezers peered into with hope. Shelves are examined with creativity rather than desire. This time, the stakes feel slightly higher because the grocery stores are far away, and the drive is long enough to make us both pause before heading out. We would much rather stay put, savoring the final days, than spend hours in the car for a handful of items we might be able to do without.
Based on what we have counted so far, it looks promising. We should be able to make it through without another trip. Mostly. The only snag is that Tom runs out of rice tomorrow. Rice has been his dependable side dish, accompanying every meal I prepare. Without it, there is nothing obvious waiting in the pantry to take its place. I have already begun thinking creatively, wondering what might step in without disrupting our carefully settled routine.
It’s ironic how they all hang out within close proximity to one another.

We stopped eating salads some time ago, and I miss them. Tom, not so much. They seemed innocent enough, but they quietly stalled our weight loss, and we are too close to our goals to ignore that. We have stayed committed to our intermittent fasting plan, with one healthy, nutritious meal each day. It has brought a simplicity that we both appreciate. Tom is now within 5 pounds (2.3 kilograms) of his goal weight. I am within 10 pounds (4.5 kilograms) of my goal weight. For the first time in years, we are both on track to return to the weight we were when we first began our travels in 2012.

There is something deeply satisfying about that realization. We are still losing about one pound, or half a kilogram, each week, steady and calm. It feels sustainable, not rushed. Especially after the last cruise, where we both indulged far too freely. We gained more than we wanted to admit at the time, but now it is all gone, gone, gone. That chapter feels closed.

On our upcoming cruise, returning to Royal Caribbean’s Voyager of the Seas in April, we intend to be far more mindful. This may well be the last time we sail on a large ship. With nearly four thousand passengers, it has become a breeding ground for illness, and we are tired of paying that price. In Tasmania, we plan to visit a doctor to secure enough Tamiflu to carry us through the twenty-five-night journey. From then on, we have decided that only smaller ships will do, seven hundred passengers or fewer. When we sailed on Azamara in 2023 with around six hundred passengers, we never got sick. That experience, along with getting so sick on the recent 47-night journey, changed how we think about cruising.

This peacock and his mate visit almost daily.

Today, though, none of that feels urgent. It is warm and sunny, one of those days that invites an easy day rather than a lot of planning. We will enjoy it fully by stepping outside often and watching for any visiting farm animals or wandering wildlife. These quiet moments, surrounded by sunlight and simple routines, feel just as meaningful as the miles we continue to travel.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, January 30, 2016:

It’s hard to believe how these young alpacas have quickly adjusted to our presence on the alpaca farm in New Zealand. For more photos, please click here.

The Māori culture in New Zealand…

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Traditional Māori meeting house near Oakura Beach. Visit this site for more information.

Note: All photos posted today were taken during our 2016 trip to New Zealand. See the post here.

Visiting New Zealand today, it is impossible not to feel the living presence of Māori culture woven into daily life. It is there in the greetings we hear at the supermarket, in the place names that roll off the tongue like poetry, and in the quiet respect shown before meetings, ceremonies, and shared moments. Māori are not a people of the past here. They are very much of the present, carrying ancient roots while navigating a modern world with resilience, creativity, and great pride.

Māori are the tangata whenua, the people of the land, whose ancestors arrived in Aotearoa centuries ago by ocean-going waka, guided by stars, currents, and an intimate understanding of nature. That connection to the land remains central today. Even in cities, many Māori speak of whenua with the tenderness one might reserve for a family member. Land is not something owned in the Western sense but something that holds identity, ancestry, and responsibility. This worldview continues to shape how many Māori approach environmental care, community life, and decision-making in contemporary New Zealand.

In everyday interactions, te reo Māori is increasingly heard and seen. For many years, the language was suppressed, and generations grew up discouraged from speaking it. Today, there is a strong and hopeful revival. Māori language classes are popular among Māori and non-Māori alike. Television, radio, and schools embrace te reo, and bilingual signs are common. Hearing a simple kia ora offered with warmth feels like an invitation rather than a formality, a small reminder that language carries spirit and belonging.

The Māori had set up tents for a special event.

Current-day Māori life is diverse. Some live in rural communities closely tied to ancestral lands and marae, while others thrive in cities, balancing careers, families, and cultural obligations. There is no single Māori experience. Many Māori work as artists, teachers, doctors, entrepreneurs, and activists, while others focus on preserving traditional knowledge through carving, weaving, kapa haka, and oral history. What often unites these varied paths is the importance of whānau. Family extends beyond the nuclear household to include grandparents, cousins, and community, creating a strong network of care and responsibility.

The marae remains a powerful anchor in Māori life. Even for those who live far away, returning to the marae for gatherings, funerals, weddings, and celebrations is deeply significant. Stepping onto a marae, as shown in the main photo above, is an act of respect and humility, where protocol matters, and stories are shared across generations. In a fast-paced world, the marae offers a place to slow down, to listen, and to remember who you are and where you come from.

Māori today also stand at the forefront of conversations about justice, equity, and the country’s future. The Treaty of Waitangi, signed in the nineteenth century, remains central to national dialogue. Many Māori continue to seek recognition, restitution, and partnership promised in that document. These discussions are not just political. They are personal, tied to histories of loss and resilience. At the same time, there is a growing sense that these conversations are shaping a more honest and inclusive national identity.

What feels especially striking is how Māori values resonate in uncertain times. Concepts like manaakitanga, caring for others, and kaitiakitanga, guardianship of the environment, feel deeply relevant in a world facing climate change and social fragmentation. Māori leaders, elders, and youth alike often speak about thinking seven generations ahead, a perspective that gently challenges the short-term thinking so common elsewhere.

As travelers, we sense that learning about Māori culture is not about ticking off experiences or performances. It is about listening, observing, and approaching with humility. The stories are layered, sometimes painful, often inspiring, and always alive. Current-day Māori people are not frozen in tradition nor separated from it. They move between worlds with grace, carrying ancestral knowledge while shaping new futures.

In Aotearoa today, Māori culture feels like a steady heartbeat beneath the surface of daily life. Sometimes it is loud and celebratory, other times quiet and grounding. But it is always present, reminding us that this land has memory, that people endure, and that identity is something lived, not just remembered.

We hope our readers have found this topic interesting.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, January 29, 2016:

Many place names and signs are based on the indigenous inhabitants of New Zealand, the Māori, whose language has had official language status, with the right to use it in legal settings such as in court, since the Māori Language Act 1987. There are around 70,000 native speakers of Māori out of a population of over 500,000 Māori people, with 161,000 of the country’s 4 million residents claiming conversational ability in Māori.” For more photos, please click here.

Fascinating beauty but often risky beaches worldwide…

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The rocky cliffs and sprawling shoreline in New Plymouth, New Zealand. Photo taken in March 2016. See the post here.

When we think of beaches, our minds usually drift toward postcards and daydreams: turquoise water, soft sand, the sight and sound of waves breathing in and out. Beaches are supposed to be gentle places, where time slows, and worries dissolve. Yet, as we’ve learned over years of travel, some of the most beautiful shorelines on Earth also carry an undercurrent of danger, sometimes obvious, sometimes invisible, and often underestimated by visitors caught up in the spell of the sea.

It’s this contrast that makes dangerous beaches so compelling. They look like paradise, but they demand respect.

Take Hanakapiai Beach on Kauai, for example. The hike to reach it is lush and intoxicating, every step drawing you deeper into a tropical dream. But the ocean here is unforgiving. There’s no protective reef, and powerful rip currents have claimed many lives. Standing on the sand, watching the waves roll in, it’s hard to reconcile the beauty with the warning signs. The sea doesn’t shout its danger; it whispers it, calmly, persistently. We never visited this beach while in Kauai.

Further south, Playa Zipolite in Oaxaca, Mexico, is nicknamed “The Beach of the Dead.” That name alone says it all. The waves break fast and hard, and unpredictable currents pull swimmers out with alarming strength. Yet the beach is popular, beloved even, its wide sands and bohemian vibe masking the reality beneath the surface. It’s a reminder that danger doesn’t always repel us; sometimes, it coexists with charm.

In Australia, danger feels more overt but no less complex. Bondi Beach, iconic and bustling, surprises many people by making this list. Despite lifeguards and clear swimming zones, powerful rips are common. Then there’s Cape Tribulation in Queensland, where the threats extend beyond the water. Saltwater crocodiles lurk in estuaries, box jellyfish drift invisibly through the sea, and cassowaries patrol the rainforest edges. It’s a place where nature hasn’t been softened for tourism, and it makes no apologies for that. While in this area in 2017, we walked along many estuaries with crocodile warning signs. And, while visiting a wildlife/beach area, a cassowary approached us, and we quickly moved away.

South Africa’s coastline carries its own reputation. Gansbaai, often called the Great White Shark Capital of the World, in Cape Town, is breathtaking in a raw, elemental way. Standing on the cliffs, one feels small, aware that the ocean here belongs to something older and far more powerful than us. Even without seeing a fin, the knowledge alone changes how one feels when watching the water.

Then there are beaches where the danger lies not in teeth or tides, but in geography. Reynisfjara Beach in Iceland looks otherworldly, with black volcanic sand and towering basalt columns. It feels quiet, almost solemn. But the sneaker waves, sudden and powerful surges, have swept people into icy water with terrifying speed. Many visitors underestimate the force because the ocean looks calm, almost polite. It isn’t. Although we toured Iceland in 2014, it was pouring rain, and we didn’t venture close to this beach.

Brazil’s Praia de Boa Viagem in Recife tells a similar story of hidden risk. Shark attacks increased here after changes to the coastline disrupted natural feeding patterns. The water looks inviting, warm, and familiar, but signs warn swimmers to stay close to shore. It’s a sobering example of how human intervention can quietly shift the balance of nature, with lasting consequences.

In the Pacific, Chowpatty Beach in Mumbai presents a different kind of danger. Pollution levels are among the highest in the world. Families gather, festivals unfold, laughter fills the air, but the water itself can be hazardous to health. Not all dangerous beaches announce themselves with crashing waves or predators; some carry risks you can’t see at all. Although we toured many of India’s highlights during our year in the country, we spent most of our time (10 months) in lockdown in a hotel room.

What strikes us, again and again, is how often danger and beauty walk hand in hand. These beaches are not “bad” places. They’re honest ones. They remind us that the ocean is not a theme park. It’s a living, breathing force with its own rules.

Of course, there are many other dangerous beaches scattered quietly around the world, places where beauty and risk coexist, rarely announcing themselves in obvious ways. Diani Beach in Kenya is one of those places. When we walked along the Indian Ocean, the shoreline felt almost impossibly peaceful and more beautiful than any beach we’d seen up to that point or beyond. The sand stretched on and on, pale and powdery, the Indian Ocean rolling in with a gentle, hypnotic rhythm. What struck us most was the emptiness. We barely passed another soul, and at the time, it felt like a gift, one of those rare travel moments where you believe you’ve stumbled into something untouched.

The cleanliness of the uncluttered beach along the Indian Ocean at Diani Beach, Kenya, in 2013, made us feel as if we were taking the first human step onto an uninhabited island. For this post, please click here.

Only later did we learn the fuller story.

Despite its postcard-perfect appearance, parts of Diani Beach have a troubling reputation for rampant criminal activity, including muggings and, tragically, deadly attacks on tourists in the past. The danger wasn’t in the water or the tides, but on land, hidden behind palm trees and silence. That realization lingered with us long after, reshaping the memory of that walk.

It was a sobering reminder that danger doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it arrives quietly, wrapped in stillness and sunshine. As travelers, we carry these moments with us, not as fear, but as lessons. Beauty alone is never the whole story, and awareness, like respect for nature, is something we learn to pack alongside curiosity wherever we go.

As travelers, especially long-term ones, we learn to listen. To read the signs, both literal and intuitive. To ask locals. To watch how the water moves, how quickly waves rise and fall. And sometimes, to choose not to approach, even when the day is warm, and the sea is calling.

Dangerous beaches don’t diminish our love for the world; they deepen it. They teach humility. They remind us that awe and caution can, and should, exist together. And perhaps most importantly, they show us that respect for nature isn’t fear. It’s gratitude, expressed through restraint.

Be well.

Photos from ten years ago today, January 28, 2016:

There wasn’t a post on this date in 2016.

Is there a bridge between New Zealand’s North and South Island?…

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Yesterday, I stumbled across the following video. If you’re interested in geography, this may appeal to you, along with today’s story:  https://youtube.com/shorts/-hSwHxNVoAU?si=wOYvewVJVmVWwVQL.

Standing on the edge of either island in New Zealand, it’s hard not to wonder why, after all these years, all this ingenuity, and all stubborn human determination, there is still no bridge stretching across Cook Strait. The question feels especially natural when one is living here, watching ferries inch across restless water, checking weather apps with fingers crossed, and quietly hoping the wind will hold just long enough for safe passage. And yet, the absence of a bridge isn’t an oversight. It’s a deliberate, deeply practical decision shaped by nature, history, and humility. The two islands are 14 miles, 22 kilometers apart.

Cook Strait is not a polite body of water. It is one of the most unpredictable and hostile stretches of sea in the world. Where the Pacific Ocean collides with the Tasman Sea, powerful currents squeeze through a narrow gap between the North and South Islands, accelerating with astonishing force. The tides reverse direction several times a day, creating swirling eddies, standing waves, and sudden surges that can catch even experienced sailors off guard. Add frequent gale-force winds, and Wellington is famously windy for a reason; it has an environment that resists permanent human structures.

Then there’s the depth. Cook Strait plunges to depths of more than 120 meters (nearly 400 feet) in places, far deeper than many of the world’s bridged waterways. Building bridge pylons would require anchoring into a seabed that drops away steeply and unevenly, making construction not just expensive but technically daunting. Unlike rivers or shallow channels, this isn’t a place where you sink supports and build upward. The sea floor itself seems to say, “Not here.”

New Zealand also sits astride the boundary of two massive tectonic plates, the Pacific Plate and the Australian Plate, which are in constant, grinding motion. Cook Strait lies directly within this seismic zone. Earthquakes are not a remote possibility; they are an accepted part of life. Any bridge would need to withstand powerful seismic activity while simultaneously enduring relentless wind, waves, and corrosion from salt spray. Engineering something that could survive all three in the long term would push even modern technology to its limits.

Cost, of course, looms large. Estimates for a Cook Strait bridge, or even a tunnel, run into tens of billions of dollars. For a country with a relatively small population (5.34 million), that kind of investment must be weighed against hospitals, housing, roads, and climate resilience. Ferries, for all their frustrations and delays, remain vastly cheaper and more flexible. They can be upgraded, replaced, rerouted, or paused when conditions turn dangerous, something a fixed structure can’t do.

There’s also a more philosophical reason. New Zealanders tend to respect the land and sea in a way that feels deeply ingrained. The Māori worldview, in particular, emphasizes balance, guardianship, and coexistence with nature rather than dominance over it. Cook Strait, known as Raukawa Moana by the Māori people, is seen not just as an obstacle to conquer, but as a powerful living entity in its own right. Sometimes, choosing not to build is a form of wisdom.

As travelers and temporary residents, we’ve come to see the ferries as part of life here and in many other parts of the world. Yes, they can be delayed. Yes, the crossings can be rough. But something is grounding about watching the coastline fade behind you, knowing that this stretch of water remains untamed. In a world obsessed with connection at any cost, New Zealand’s lack of a bridge across the Cook Strait feels like a quiet reminder: not every gap needs to be closed. Some are meant to be crossed with patience, respect, and a healthy acceptance of nature’s authority.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, January 27, 2016:

“Ah, I’m so happy they stopped by to see us!” say these cows as we walked past in New Zealand. For more photos, please click here.

Fascinating life saving event in Marloth Park with video…

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This poor giraffe had this stcu on his hoof.

Click here first to see the video of the removal of the above: https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1Q1WjLAwc9/

Click this video next to see the end result: https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1ZNcA2vLGp/

Although we are far away, we remain deeply tethered to Marloth Park through the steady, comforting influx of messages, photos, and shared concern. We stay in close touch with our many friends who live there, and we follow along almost daily through Facebook posts in the group Marloth Park Sighting Page. That simple act of scrolling, reading, and commenting has meant the world to us. It bridges the physical distance and reminds us that connection is not measured in distance, but in care. Even from afar, Marloth still feels like part of our daily lives, especially during this past month of massive rains and relentless flooding that, incredibly, continues.

Watching the storms unfold from a distance has been emotionally complicated. There is the helplessness of not being there, of not being able to look someone in the eye or step outside to assess the damage ourselves. At the same time, a shared vigilance emerges in moments like these. Posts appear at all hours, with roads washed out, fences damaged, rivers swollen beyond recognition. Wildlife sightings take on a different tone, edged with concern rather than delight. The land we know so well has been under siege, and everyone, human and animal alike, has been affected.

A few weeks ago, a series of photos caught our attention. A giraffe had been spotted with a pipe lodged around its leg, stuck just above its foot. It was the kind of image that makes your stomach drop. Giraffes move with such grace and quiet dignity that seeing one encumbered by a human-made object feels especially cruel. The pipe looked rigid and unforgiving, and it wasn’t hard to imagine what could happen if it remained there, swelling, restricted movement, open wounds, infection—a slow, painful outcome for an animal that had done nothing wrong.

Under normal circumstances, one might hope for swift intervention. But there is nothing normal about operating during floods. With roads submerged and large areas inaccessible, the Marloth Park rangers could not reach the giraffe safely. Days passed. Updates were scarce. Each new sighting brought a mix of relief that he was still moving, still alive, and fear that time was working against him. From afar, all we could do was watch, hope, and trust.

Then, a few days ago, everything shifted. We saw the video, that video, and felt an overwhelming surge of emotion. (Please click on the link above if you haven’t already.) There, on the screen, were the rangers at work, finally able to reach the giraffe. The scene was both tense and extraordinary. The giraffe was carefully darted, handled with precision and respect, and his immense body was supported as gently as possible. A generator hummed in the background, powering an electric grinder, an unexpected but necessary tool in this delicate operation.

Watching the pipe being cut away was almost unbearable in its intensity. Sparks flew briefly, hands moved with practiced confidence, and then, finally, the obstacle was gone. The pipe that had threatened so much pain and long-term damage was removed, piece by piece. What struck us most was not just the technical skill involved, but the calm, methodical compassion of the rangers. There was no rush, no drama. There was only focus, professionalism, and care for the animal in front of them.

For those of us who love Marloth Park and its wildlife, moments like this inspire a profound sense of gratitude. The rangers do not simply “do a job.” They shoulder an enormous responsibility, often in dangerous and unpredictable conditions, and they do so with humility and kindness. They intervene when human impact harms wildlife, even when the intervention requires ingenuity, heavy equipment, and hours of planning. They treat each animal as an individual life worth protecting.

From where we sit now, far away, dry, and safe, it is easy to forget how demanding this work truly is. But that video brought it all back into sharp focus. It reminded us why Marloth Park holds such a powerful place in our hearts. It is not just the animals, or the landscape, or even the memories we carry with us. It is the people on the ground, showing up day after day, quietly ensuring that compassion prevails.

Distance has not weakened our connection to Marloth Park; if anything, it has strengthened it. In moments of crisis and triumph, we are reminded that belonging does not require proximity. It requires care. And on that day, watching a giraffe freed from pain by steady, capable hands, we felt deeply grateful to still belong.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, January 25, 2016:

Although a little tough to see with the long lashes, Mont Blanc has blue eyes and was the “cria’ that escaped the paddock yesterday, leaving us in quite a quandary. For details of this story, please click here.

Horrific landslide on the North Island due to outrageous amounts of rain…

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Not our photo: “At least two people dead and several missing in New Zealand landslides | ITV News.”

Note: Dave, our landlord and new friend, sent me the following message a few days ago: “Hi Jessica, So far this January, we have had 274 mm of rainfall.” 40mm today. Last year at this time, we had had 37 mm, which is the average for January.”

So sorry I didn’t upload a post yesterday. I had written that we’d be offline for a bit due to necessary “bookkeeping tasks” tied to upcoming travel, but somehow I failed to hit publish. Nonetheless, we’re back today, hearts a bit heavier, to share a sobering story from New Zealand’s North Island. Relentless rain has soaked the land beyond its limits, triggering landslides that swept away homes and, tragically, claimed lives. Our thoughts are with those facing loss, uncertainty, and the long road toward recovery.

The North Island of New Zealand recently experienced rain so relentless that the land itself seemed to give way beneath its weight. What began as a stubborn grey sky, like an old bruise across the horizon, turned into days and days of torrential downpour. Rivers swelled beyond their banks. Roads vanished under brown torrents. And steep hillsides, soaked through to their foundations, finally surrendered in catastrophic landslides. The scenes unfolding across the island feel surreal, yet they are painfully real.

Somewhere between two and a half months’ worth of rainfall fell in just 12 hours in parts of the Bay of Plenty, where the earth, saturated and weary, could no longer cling to itself. Grass, trees, and soil loosened like pages from a well-thumbed book, tumbling down with a noise locals likened to moving thunder. At Mount Maunganui Beachside Holiday Park, a beloved campground perched at the foot of Mauao, “The Mount,” the hillside let loose. Tents and campervans were crushed,  and in their wake, people went missing. There were moments, desperate and human, when rescuers and bystanders heard voices from beneath the rubble only to be forced back by unstable ground.

I find myself thinking about those voices, faint, hopeful calls for help carried on rain-muffled air, and what it must feel like to be trapped under earth and sky at once. To be held by the land and yet at its mercy is a strange, harrowing duality. New Zealanders call these slips… slips, a modest term for something that can rip homes from foundations and forever alter landscapes. But on this scale, with entire sections of hillside sliding into chaos, the term feels too gentle.

Two lives have already been lost, precious human stories cut short, and at least seven others are unaccounted for as emergency crews, dogs, heavy machinery, and helicopters comb the debris. One individual was swept away near Auckland when floodwaters surged without warning. These numbers, sparse though they may seem against the backdrop of an entire island in crisis, represent families, futures, and the profound fragility of everyday life.

And it hasn’t been confined to one place. “States of emergency” have now been declared across multiple regions, from Northland to the eastern Bay of Plenty and Waikato, a chorus of alerts that feels like a nation calling in its deepest breaths, waiting for the next sky-borne assault. Rivers have carved new channels through farmland; highways and bridges lie closed or unstable under the unyielding water. Thousands remain without power. Homes stand in ankle-deep, muddy pools, while, far from the floodplains, hills tremble with the threat of further slides.

Amid the fear and chaos, though, there are stories of compassion and courage. Communities have rallied to support rescue crews. Strangers shared food and shelter with those displaced. And first responders, exhausted but undaunted, work long into the night, searching for signs of life. The Prime Minister, Christopher Luxon, has pledged all possible government support, urging people to heed safety warnings and look out for one another with quiet resolve.

This is not just another storm on another island; it is a stark testament to how weather can reshape the texture of daily life in an instant. For those of us who travel, who study landscapes with awe and affection, it is a reminder of both the beauty and the ungovernable force of nature. Rain, which falls in gentle, life-giving showers one season, can turn into something ferocious, reshaping the world and leaving deep wounds in soil and soul alike.

As the North Island slowly begins to dry, to rebuild, to search and grieve, I’m left with the echo of rain pounding on the roof at night, a sound that once lulled me to sleep on summer nights now carries the weight of loss and the promise of renewal in its wake. And as always in Aotearoa, the Māori name for New Zealand, the land will remember, and slowly people will again walk these hillsides, footprints returning, inch by careful inch.

Although the landslide occurred far from where we are staying, living day to day in this very hilly landscape brings the reality uncomfortably close. Each morning, we look out at steep slopes softened by rain, their edges blurred and darkened, and we’re reminded how little separates beauty from danger. The land here is stunning, generous, and alive, but it is not passive. After days of relentless rain, every hillside feels watchful, heavy with possibility. It’s a quiet reminder of our vulnerability, of how temporary our sense of safety can be, and how deeply we depend on the land’s willingness to hold us.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, January 23, 2016:

The pregnant alpaca with this adorable, unusual white marking on her face, the day prior to giving birth. For more photos, please click here.

You won’t believe what Tom did today!…

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What do these US dollar signs mean on this Azamara ship? See below for details.

After perusing Costco Travel for price drops on our four upcoming Azamara cruises in 2027, he was thrilled to see that each had dropped substantially. Not a few dollars here or there, but the kind of price drops that make your eyebrows lift and your heart beat just a little faster. The same cabins. The same itineraries. The same sailings we’d already committed to, penciled into our future like promises. Only now, suddenly, there were hundreds, possibly thousands, of dollars less expensive. Please keep in mind that such price drops may only be available to US citizens.

Without hesitation, he picked up the phone and called Costco Travel.

Normally, this is where the ritual begins. You put the phone on speaker, brace yourself, and go about your day while waiting the expected 30 to 60 minutes to connect with a live human being. It’s almost a game for us at this point: How much can you get done while on hold? Laundry folded, dishes washed, emails answered, maybe even a meal cooked. The hold music becomes the soundtrack to productivity.

But this time was different.

They answered after the second ring.

We both froze, exchanging the kind of look that says, Well, that’s never happened before. Surely a fluke. A cosmic travel anomaly. Maybe someone accidentally picked up the phone too quickly. Whatever the reason, he was connected instantly, and optimism filled the room. This was going to be easy, we thought. A quick conversation, a few clicks on their end, and voilà—money saved.

Fast-forward to the present moment as I write this: he has been on the phone for over 2 hours, 34 minutes. Luckily, he’s using WiFi calling and will not be charged for the very long-distance call using T-Mobile at $.25 per minute. But even if he were paying for the call, it would still be worthwhile.

Scroll to the end of this post for the total savings.

Over two hours of polite explanations, long holds, keyboard clacking in the background, and the occasional reassuring, “I’m still here.” Over two hours of navigating the complex inner workings of cruise pricing, fare codes, guarantees, and systems that don’t always speak to one another as smoothly as one would hope. Over two hours that might sound excessive to some, but to us feels oddly familiar, part of the unglamorous side of long-term travel planning that rarely makes it into glossy brochures or Instagram reels.

Here’s the thing many people don’t realize: when you book a cruise with a lowest-price guarantee, it’s not a simple matter of pressing a button when prices drop. There is real work involved on the part of Costco or any other booking service. Each booking has to be re-priced manually. after back and forth calls with the cruise line. Each fare has to be checked against the original contract. Each change must be approved, processed, documented, and, if necessary, escalated. Multiply that by four cruises, all scheduled for 2027, and suddenly you understand why this isn’t a five-minute task.

And yet, it’s almost always worth it.

Because this is the quiet art of travel math, the behind-the-scenes effort that can mean the difference between “just making it work” and “breathing a little easier.” Saving a few hundred dollars on one cruise might cover a pre-cruise hotel or a memorable shore excursion. Saving thousands across multiple cruises can stretch a travel budget in ways that ripple outward: better flights, longer stays, more experiences, fewer compromises.

This is especially true for those of us who travel slowly and deliberately, who plan far ahead, not out of rigidity but out of intention. Booking early gives us peace of mind, but it also opens the door to these moments when patience and persistence pay off. Prices fluctuate. Markets shift. Cruise lines adjust. And when you’re paying attention…when you take the time to check, to call, to wait, you sometimes get rewarded.

Of course, there’s also a human element to all of this. On the other end of the line is someone doing their best within a system that is anything but simple. We never forget that. Gratitude goes a long way during long phone calls. So does kindness. So does remembering that this person didn’t create the complexity; they’re navigating it alongside you.

As he continues to wait, listening to waiting-time music through his hearing aids, I can’t help but smile. This is part of our lives. The research. The follow-up. The occasional frustration, balanced by those small victories that feel disproportionately satisfying. The knowledge that, even if it takes two hours or three, this effort might quietly fund another sunset, another port, another memory yet to be made.

Travel isn’t just about where you go. It’s also about how you manage the in-between moments, the spreadsheets, the phone calls, the hold music, and the patience. And sometimes, it’s about celebrating the simple fact that the same cabin, on the same ship, sailing to the same beautiful places, will now cost a little less than it did yesterday.

Here are the savings we incurred today on each of the four cruises:

  1. US $3,080

  2. US $1,560

  3. US $1,280

  4. US $  400

Total Savings: US $6,320

That, to us, feels like winning.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, January 20, 2016:

Ten years ago, we began our three-month stay on the alpaca farm in New Zealand, an absolutely delightful experience which we’ll share in this section/feature over the next few months. For more photos, please click here.