Looking to the future…A dilemma…

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The grapes are robust and beautiful at Okurukuru Taranaki Winery in New Zealand, which we visited ten years ago.

Yesterday, we started talking about an upcoming reality that has been quietly hovering in the background of our days, waiting for the right moment to step forward and demand our attention. It arrived not with urgency or stress, but with curiosity and a shared sense of wonder. Where will we go after our next 90 days in South Africa end in September? And just as importantly, when will we return, knowing that the Christmas holiday season brings intense heat and an influx of holidaymakers to Marloth Park, transforming its normally tranquil lifestyle into something far busier than we prefer?

These conversations have a familiar cadence for us. They usually begin casually, perhaps over coffee or while glancing at our phones, and then slowly gather depth as possibilities unfold. This time, they led us down a familiar path: scanning airfares, jotting down potential destinations, and weighing comfort against curiosity. Eventually, we set aside the airline apps and opened a map of Africa, letting geography guide the conversation instead of algorithms.

That was when the idea emerged, almost effortlessly. What if we stayed somewhere else in Africa for six months? What if we allowed ourselves to experience another corner of this vast, complex, and endlessly fascinating continent, returning to Marloth Park the following March, when the cooler winter weather settles in, and life resumes its slower, though socially active, more peaceful pace? The thought felt right, balanced, practical, and gently adventurous.

But as always, reality adds structure to dreams. Visa rules are not suggestions; our well-worn travel brains immediately shift into problem-solving mode. We know we can’t obtain a new 90-day visa by visiting countries bordering South Africa. That simple fact eliminated several otherwise tempting options and narrowed the field considerably. South Africa shares land borders with five countries: Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, and Eswatini (formerly Swaziland). It also surrounds the independent kingdom of Lesotho, making it a geographic enclave within South Africa.

To the north lie Namibia, Botswana, and Zimbabwe. To the northeast and east are Mozambique and Eswatini. Lesotho, tucked entirely within South Africa’s borders, is its own world, but for visa purposes, it doesn’t solve our challenge. Each of these countries holds its own allure, memories, and beauty, but none can reset our South African visa clock.

As we studied the map more closely, we were reminded of just how vast Africa truly is. Beyond Southern Africa lies an intricate patchwork of countries, cultures, climates, and lifestyles. At the same time, we’re realistic. Not every destination is suited for long-term stays, and not every place is particularly tourist-friendly for three to six months at a time. Infrastructure, healthcare access, safety, and day-to-day livability all matter far more than novelty at this stage of our travels.

What we’re really seeking isn’t a whirlwind adventure or a checklist of sights. We’re looking for somewhere that lets us settle in, create routines, shop at local markets, cook simple meals, and, at least temporarily, feel at home. Somewhere warm but not stifling, interesting but not exhausting, welcoming without requiring constant movement.

As we closed the map and leaned back, a quiet sense of gratitude filled the room. We are fortunate even to be having this conversation. This is a “problem” born of choice, freedom, and time, luxuries we never take lightly. The answers didn’t come yesterday, and that’s perfectly fine. Sometimes the value lies not in the decision itself, but in the thoughtful, shared process of getting there.

For now, the map of Africa remains open in our minds, dotted with possibilities, patiently waiting for the next chapter to reveal itself. As we progress in these decisions, we will keep our readers informed, as always.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, January 5, 2015:

Then, in Hawaii, this sheep posed for a photo. For more photos, please click here.

A new sighting in the pasture…Ten facts and stats about cows in New Zealand…

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Yesterday, we spotted these cows in the pasture with the sheep.

Yesterday afternoon, when gazing out the veranda window, Tom said, “Get the camera! We have new visitors in the pasture.” I jumped up enthusiastically, hardly able to contain myself. And, there they were, cows in the pasture we’ve been observing several times a day.

Cows are an inescapable part of the New Zealand landscape. No matter how far we travel or how winding the road becomes, there they are, heads down in impossibly green paddocks, tails flicking lazily, completely unbothered by passing cars or curious travelers. Over time, they stop feeling like livestock and start feeling like quiet companions to the journey, steady and familiar. Here are ten facts and statistics about cows in New Zealand, woven into the lived reality of seeing them day after day.

First, New Zealand is home to about 6.3 million dairy cows, a figure that slightly exceeds the country’s human population. It’s one of those statistics that suddenly makes everything make sense: the endless fields, the milk tankers on the highways, and the unmistakable rural scent that drifts through the air in farming regions.

Second, dairy farming is one of New Zealand’s largest export industries, earning tens of billions of dollars annually. Products like milk powder, butter, and cheese quietly travel from these peaceful paddocks to dinner tables all over the world.

It was delightful to look out the window and see cows.

Third, the most common cows you’ll see are Friesian and Friesian-cross breeds, easily recognized by their black-and-white markings. Jerseys, smaller and tawny-colored, are also common and prized for producing milk with higher butterfat.

Fourth, New Zealand cows are overwhelmingly grass-fed and pasture-raised. Thanks to the temperate climate, most cows live outdoors year-round, grazing freely rather than being housed in barns. It’s a system that feels aligned with the land and explains why the countryside looks so alive.

Fifth, the average New Zealand dairy cow produces around 4,300 liters of milk per year. That number may be lower than in more intensive systems overseas, but it reflects a farming model built on grass, rainfall, and open space rather than heavy grain feeding.

Sixth, there are roughly 10,000 dairy farms across the country, many of them family-run. Driving through rural areas, you sense how deeply farming is tied to identity here, passed down through generations, shaped by weather, land, and resilience.

Seventh, cows are central to ongoing environmental conversations in New Zealand. Methane emissions, waterway protection, and sustainable land use are daily topics of debate. Farmers are increasingly adapting practices to balance productivity with care for rivers, soil, and future generations.

Eighth, calving season typically begins in late winter, around July and August. During this time, the countryside feels especially tender when tiny calves dot paddocks, and rural roads slow to accommodate the pace of farm life.

Ninth, cows now outnumber sheep, a notable shift in a country once defined globally by its wool industry. While sheep remain iconic, cows have quietly taken center stage in modern New Zealand agriculture.

Tenth, beyond all numbers and economics, cows shape the emotional texture of the land. There’s something deeply calming about watching them graze in the misty morning or at golden hour, when the hills glow, and everything feels briefly, perfectly still.

In New Zealand, cows are more than statistics. They are part of the scenery that seeps into memory, part of the slow, grounding rhythm of travel here. They remind us that this country, for all its modern comforts, is still deeply rooted in the land and that some of the most enduring stories unfold quietly, one pasture at a time.

We love living amidst this natural landscape, where a simple glance outdoors reveals the everyday wonders New Zealand has to offer: rolling green paddocks, shifting skies, and the quiet reassurance that life here moves in harmony with the land.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, January 4, 2016:

We arrived in Sydney for the first of many times. Tom is so happy. Gosh, we love this life! I took this photo in the rain when we found an overhang on the sidewalk on George St. in Sydney. For more photos, please click here.

One more task completed..Failure to observe…

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This interesting wall décor caught my eye. It looks 3D but was not.

Yesterday, we booked a hotel in Auckland for February 11, and the sense of relief was almost immediate. It’s located within two minutes of the airport, offers a shuttle, a generously sized room with a king bed, free WiFi, an on-site restaurant, and boasts a 9.2 rating from recent guests. All the small but meaningful details lined up just right for our next day’s flight. By making this choice, we’ve removed the pressure of having to rush to Auckland on the day of our flight to Tasmania. Instead of watching the clock and navigating traffic with clenched jaws, we’ll arrive calmly, enjoy a pleasant dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, and let the evening unfold without urgency.

The plan is simple and, for us, ideal. Tom will drop me and the luggage at the hotel, then return the rental car using the hotel’s free shuttle. After that, we can truly relax for the evening, knowing that the hard part is already taken care of. Early the next morning, we’ll head out for our flight to Hobart feeling rested rather than frazzled. We’ve learned over many years of travel that the lowest-stress scenario is almost always worth it, even if it means paying a little more. Peace of mind, especially during transit between countries, has become one of our most cherished travel luxuries.

On another note, this past week has marked a welcome shift back toward normalcy. Since I’ve been feeling better, I’ve started exercising each day, following a few online guides I discovered after doing a bit of research. The exercises are somewhat strenuous, and there are moments when my muscles remind me just how sedentary I was while sick. Still, I can already tell that my strength and stamina will improve over time. Progress may be slow, but it’s happening, and that in itself feels like a victory.

While exercising yesterday, I was facing a wall in the living room and suddenly noticed an unusual piece of wall décor, something that had clearly been there all along. I pointed it out to Tom and asked if he’d seen it before. He hadn’t. That realization made us both laugh. After nearly three weeks in this house, you’d think we would have noticed not only that item, but other decorative details as well. Yet, as is so often the case, we become absorbed in what we’re doing or what’s happening outdoors and pay little attention to the interior, aside from the features/items we actually use.

That’s not entirely true, of course. I have noticed the live plants scattered throughout the house and have watered them each week. But beyond that, much of the décor fades into the background. Years ago, we used to call this phenomenon “house blind.” It referred to the areas in our own homes that needed repairs or maintenance, things we stopped noticing because confronting them meant admitting what we weren’t getting done. There’s an irony in realizing that, as world travelers moving through a wide array of properties, we can still be so oblivious to our surroundings in similar ways.

This particular house, however, is in perfect condition, with no obvious repairs needed. Dave, our landlord and a builder by trade, has been intermittently working on a garage for this house. Yesterday, he stopped by to ask if we’d mind if he worked on it for a bit. We didn’t mind at all. He plans to put the house on the market as soon as we move out. Interestingly, we are both the first and the last renters to ever occupy this home. He has three finished houses on this acreage and a fourth still in progress. Soon, I’ll post videos of the houses, as they really are something special.

In any case, our lack of attention to the interiors of holiday homes never ceases to amaze us. The properties we rent are always in excellent condition, and once we’ve confirmed that reality, our attention naturally drifts elsewhere. Perhaps that’s part of the beauty of this lifestyle: being present enough to feel comfortable, yet unattached enough to let the details quietly exist without demanding our notice.

Be well.

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

In Pacific Harbour, Fiji, this was the vegetable stand where we purchased most of our produce during the 28-day stay. For more photos, please click here.

Happy New Year’s Day to everyone who celebrates today…Challenges paying for holiday rentals?…

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Happy New Year to our family, friends, and readers celebrating New Year’s Day today.

Over the years of world travel, we’ve made a very deliberate choice when it comes to paying for holiday rentals: we do not do bank transfers. It’s a rule we established early on and one we’ve stuck to faithfully, largely because of the sheer volume of fraud worldwide, including in many of the countries we’ve visited and loved. Instead, we’ve always paid deposits and final balances through reputable booking entities, allowing a layer of protection between us and the unknown. That buffer has provided peace of mind and, in many ways, has allowed us to travel more freely without constantly looking over our shoulders.

We’ve heard far too many stories from fellow travelers who wired funds directly to property owners they’d found online, only to watch their money disappear. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.

Wire transfers have always made us uneasy. There is no safety net, no meaningful recourse if fraud is involved, and very little forgiveness if a single digit is entered incorrectly into a bank’s processing system. For that reason alone, we’ve avoided them whenever possible. Thankfully, most of our holiday rentals over the years have been paid for using credit cards through trusted services like VRBO, where accountability exists on both sides of the transaction.

As we prepared to pay for our upcoming rental in Penguin, Tasmania, a place we’ve stayed before, owned by someone we know and trust completely, we unexpectedly ran into a wall. The owner doesn’t accept credit cards. That alone isn’t unusual, but it set us on a frustrating path as we attempted to find an alternative. We explored Wise, PayPal, Western Union, and several other services, only to be met with exorbitant fees or an inability to process our credit cards at all. Each failed attempt chipped away at our patience.

I even called our credit card companies directly, convinced that something must be blocking the transactions. But no, they assured me everything was clear on their end. Apparently, New Zealand’s systems have additional safeguards in place to prevent fraud, which is admirable in theory but maddening in practice. I tried processing payments with and without our VPN, hoping that might make a difference. It didn’t. After nearly two hours of going in circles, we reluctantly decided to do the one thing we’d avoided for years: initiate a wire transfer through our US bank.

Even that proved more complicated than expected. There wasn’t a straightforward path to send money directly to his bank in Tasmania. Instead, the transfer had to pass through his bank’s Sydney corporate office. It was time-consuming, confusing, and required a level of concentration that felt disproportionate to the task. But eventually, finally, it was done. The relief was palpable. One more logistical hurdle cleared.

Our next easier task is booking a hotel in Auckland for our final night in New Zealand. With a long drive to the airport and an early flight to Tasmania, leaving in the morning feels far too risky. One unforeseen delay, weather, traffic, and the unexpected, could unravel everything. We’d much rather pay for a single night’s stay than absorb the stress of cutting it too close.

Traveling the world non-stop requires aggressive planning balanced with sensible caution. It’s a constant dance between trust and preparedness, flexibility and structure. While the freedom is immense, the responsibility that comes with it is very real, and sometimes exhausting. But when everything finally falls into place, it’s worth every careful step along the way.

Happy New Year’s Day to all our family and friends celebrating today.

Be well.

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

Tom and I had dinner on his birthday, but my clothes became dirty from my flying lobster tail landing in my lap. For more photos, please click here.

It was a great New Year’s Eve…Photos…Happy New Year to all!…

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We all brought along a snack to share. There was plenty that I could eat.

Last night, New Year’s Eve in this part of the world, we attended a small gathering of only nine of us at Dave and Eing’s home up the road. It was one of those evenings that quietly reminds us that numbers don’t matter nearly as much as connection. Though the group was small, the energy was anything but. From the moment we arrived, conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving from story to story, punctuated by laughter that lingered in the room long after each joke or story was told. There was an ease to the evening, a sense that everyone present felt comfortable being exactly who they were, which made the hours slip by unnoticed.

Tom, and our hosts, Dave and Eing. They are such a lovely couple. We appreciate the invitations for Christmas dinner and New Year’s Eve.

The food, as always, was enjoyed slowly and appreciatively, shared plates prepared with enthusiasm and gratitude. There’s something deeply satisfying about a table filled with dishes everyone contributed to, each one carrying a little piece of its maker. The atmosphere was playful and animated, voices rising and falling as stories overlapped, laughter bubbling up without warning. It felt warm and familiar, even though many of these friendships are still new, proof that meaningful bonds don’t require years to form, just openness and shared moments.

We wandered back to our house shortly after 11:00 pm, while the night was still alive with the soft hum of summer insects and a sky that felt vast and calm. Neither of us was tired, so instead of rushing to bed, we settled in and watched the latest Ricky Gervais Netflix special. There’s something oddly perfect about welcoming a new year with humor, laughing together, relaxed and unhurried. Midnight arrived quietly for us, marked with hugs and kisses rather than noise or spectacle. By 1:00 am, content and peaceful, we drifted off to sleep.

Lindsey and Tony, who own a large sheep farm in the area with over 400 animals. They are also a delightful couple.

This morning greeted us with sunshine, the kind that instantly lifts one’s mood and makes even mundane tasks feel lighter. We washed the bedding and some towels, savoring the simple luxury of fresh linens. Tomorrow we’ll tackle our clothes. With the rain coming and going so often, laundry has required patience and timing, another small reminder of how life here asks us to move with the unpredictability of the weather rather than against it.

Tonight’s dinner will be easy peasy and, hopefully, delicious. A New York steak with rice for Tom, and lamb riblets with scrambled eggs for me, simple, nourishing, and comforting. Meals like this feel grounding, especially after weeks of being unwell and slowly finding our footing again.

We are as content as we could be, feeling better, relaxing, and quietly getting through a multitude of travel-related tasks. None of them is complicated or time-consuming, just the gentle maintenance that comes with this nomadic life we’ve chosen. There’s comfort in the ordinary, in knowing we’re precisely where we need to be right now.

This is John (Linda’s husband) and their son, Oscar. I had fun chatting with them.

Happy New Year to all of our family, friends, and readers. May this new year bring you health, peace, and the courage to pursue what truly matters to you. May it be an opportunity to fulfill your dreams, in significant ways and small.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, January 1, 2026:

This tropical flower we spotted in Pacific Harbour, Fiji, was new to us. For more photos, please click here.

Happy New Year’s Eve in this part of the world…

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Tonight feels like a gentle pause before the calendar turns, the kind of evening that asks nothing more of us than to show up with something warm to share and an open heart. We’re heading up the road to our landlord’s and now dear friend’s home for a New Year’s Eve gathering. Dave and Enge have opened their doors once again, and like all the best parties, this one comes with a simple request: everyone brings a dish, everyone contributes to the table, everyone belongs.

In our highly functional kitchen, the air already carries the comforting scent of Italian comfort food. We’re making wagyu beef Italian meatballs, rich and tender, which I’ll pre-cook and simmer slowly in homemade red pasta sauce. It’s the kind of recipe that doesn’t rush, that asks for patience and rewards it generously. Just before serving, we’ll top the meatballs with hand-grated mozzarella cheese, still soft and slightly warm from the block. Tom will bring along his brandy, while I’ll tuck my bottle of white wine in the cooler bag, chilled and ready to pour.

Most of the guests will be familiar faces, people we met at the last party Dave and Enge hosted, the day after we arrived in New Zealand. It feels like a lifetime ago now, especially considering how quickly we fell ill after that evening. There’s something comforting about returning to a place where we were welcomed before we were sidelined by sickness, where laughter and conversation first eased us into this new chapter. Tonight feels a bit like a do-over, a chance to reconnect now that we’re finally ourselves again.

Today itself has been beautiful, one of those days that quietly insists you slow down and notice it. The windows are open wide, no screens to interrupt the breeze, and the sounds of the countryside drift in freely. Of course, that also means the flies will arrive in due time, uninvited and relentless. Flies are a constant nuisance here in New Zealand, just as they are in Australia, including Tasmania, where we’ll be headed in just 43 days. Forty-three days. It hardly seems possible. Time is flying by at a pace that’s both thrilling and a little startling.

Still, we’re savoring every moment in this blissfully quiet and serene location. The stillness here has been healing in ways we didn’t fully appreciate until we slowed enough to feel it. The pace will pick up considerably when we reach Tasmania in February, and we know that energy and activity will have their own rewards. For now, we’re content with gentle days like this one.

Today will remain intentionally quiet. I’ll do my daily exercises, grounding myself in routine and gratitude, and once this post is finished, I’ll sit down to do my nails, a small, almost meditative ritual that feels like self-care in its simplest form. Tom is happily relaxed, absorbed in Ancestry.com, his favorite pastime. He can lose hours tracing family lines and stories, and I love watching him do it, so completely at ease.

As the sun lowers and evening approaches, we’ll gather up our contributions and head up the road, ready to welcome the new year among new friends. From our hearts to yours, we wish every one of our readers a safe and Happy New Year, wherever you may be in the world, in whatever time zone you call home. May the year ahead bring health, peace, and many shared tables.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, December 31, 2015:

Now that it’s summer in Fiji, more and more flowers are blooming. For more photos, please click here.

The storm proved to be wild with consequences…

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The sheep disappeared to their barn during the worst of yesterday’s storm.

Note: WiFi issues are impacting our paragraph spacing today.

Yesterday’s storm didn’t arrive with drama so much as persistence. It simply stayed and deepened, hour by hour, until it wrapped itself around the house and refused to let go. By late morning, the wind had grown bold enough to shake the walls, rattling windows with sudden gusts that made us pause mid-sentence and listen. Outside, the sheep that usually dot the pasture had quietly vanished. The sky never lightened. It remained a heavy, bruised gray, as though the sun had given up trying.

We were hunkered down safely indoors, grateful for the solid walls around us, when just before noon, the inevitable happened. The power went out. At first, it was just a click and a silence, no hum, no background noise, but the implications came rushing in quickly. Without power, the electric pump that moves water from the outdoor Jojo tanks doesn’t work. No pump means no flushing toilet. There’s no swimming pool here to bail water from, either. That realization alone was enough to make us groan out loud.

Immediately, we were transported back to Barcelona, to that unforgettable five-day stretch without a working toilet. What a disaster that was, the kind of experience that permanently rewires your appreciation for plumbing. Standing there in New Zealand, wind howling outside, it felt uncomfortably familiar.

As we mentally ran through our options, more complications surfaced. The stove here is entirely electric. No power meant no cooking. There’s no grill, either, so dinner suddenly became a much bigger question than we’d anticipated. Then the WiFi dropped instantly, cutting off any hope of streaming shows to distract ourselves. We still had some battery power on our laptops, but without internet, they were reduced to little more than glowing rectangles. Within a few hours, our phones began draining quickly as we played games to keep boredom at bay.

As soon as the storm died down, the sheep returned to the pasture.

We searched the house for old-school entertainment, playing cards, books, puzzles, anything,  but came up empty-handed. It was just us, the storm, and dwindling battery percentages. Our biggest immediate concern became dinner. Neither of us wanted to venture out to dinner in the worsening weather, with flooding a real possibility and the wind still whipping relentlessly.

After taking stock of what we had on hand that didn’t require cooking or heating, we landed on a plan. Tom’s leftover pork roast would work, and I could make a batch of tuna salad, minus the usual boiled eggs. Not ideal, but perfectly fine. It was one of those meals born of necessity rather than inspiration, and we were grateful it was even an option.

With darkness falling around 8:30 pm here, we decided we’d go to bed early, entertaining ourselves with whatever charge remained on our phones. We have a fully charged portable battery pack, but it charges painfully slowly, so we treated it like a precious resource. I sent Dave a message to see if he had any insight into when the power might return. In the meantime, using my phone and our T-Mobile account, with a very weak signal, I managed to check the power company’s website. They were aware of the outage here, along with seven others nearby. That knowledge helped, even if it didn’t speed things up.

Then, at about 4:00 pm, the lights flickered back on. Relief washed over us instantly. Power, water, and connectivity were all restored in one quiet moment. Today, the rain has stopped, though the winds remain strong. We’re hopeful we’ll make it through the day and evening without another outage, but we’ll see.

We counted about 50 sheep after the storm died down, only to return today.

Of course, this whole experience reminded us of the frequent power outages, referred to as load shedding, we endured in Marloth Park, South Africa, before Danie installed the inverter system. Once we had that, outages became almost irrelevant. The only thing we couldn’t use was the oven; the burners were gas, so life went on fairly normally.

We’re sincerely grateful for the return of power and the simple comforts it provides. With it back on, we’re once again able to enjoy yet another pleasant day in New Zealand, winds and all.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, December 30, 2015:

New Year’s Eve 2013 in Marloth Park, South Africa at Jabula Lodge. For more photos, please click here.

Stormy day in Kaiwaka…Confusion on our site with the dates…

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The sheep are hiding in today’s storm with the high winds and rain.

Note: Based on the almost 24-hour time difference between our US-based website and New Zealand, our current location, the dates listed on our site will continue to appear to be a day off. Please ignore this; we continue to post each day unless we specify otherwise. Today, in New Zealand, the date is December 29, but in the US and many other parts of the world, it is December 28. We appreciate your understanding.

Living in New Zealand, even temporarily, teaches us very quickly that the weather is not just a background detail here; it is a daily companion, a conversation starter, and often the quiet architect of any potential plans. The country’s year-round weather has a personality of its own: gentle, moody, changeable, and deeply tied to the landscape that surrounds us at every turn.

New Zealand’s seasons follow a familiar pattern but arrive with softer edges than many travelers expect. Summer, stretching from December through February, feels more relaxed than the blistering heat we’ve known in other parts of the world. Days are warm without being oppressive, sunlight lingering late into the evening as if reluctant to leave. The air often carries a salty tang near the coast, while inland areas feel dry and pleasantly warm. Even during summer, evenings can cool quickly, a reminder that a light sweater or jacket is never a bad idea. The sun, though, is intense, sharper than it looks, and it commands respect, especially for those of us who learned the hard way how easily a cloudy day can still burn.

Autumn arrives quietly, from March through May, and may be our favorite season here. The heat lessens, the light becomes gentler, and the landscape seems to exhale. Trees shift into muted golds and rusts, especially in the south, while the days remain comfortable enough for outdoor meals and time on the veranda. Rain becomes more frequent, but it tends to arrive in passing showers rather than long, dreary stretches. There is a calmness to autumn in New Zealand, a sense that the country is slowing down just enough to notice itself.

Winter, from June through August, surprises many people. It is cooler, certainly, but rarely severe. Snow appears mainly in the mountains and ski fields, while coastal and low-lying areas experience crisp mornings, cool days, and chilly nights rather than true cold. Frost is common, especially inland, but it usually melts away by mid-morning. Houses can feel colder than expected, as insulation standards vary, and you become adept at layering even indoors. Winter weather invites a slower pace: warm drinks, early evenings, and an appreciation for small comforts.

Spring, arriving between September and November, is perhaps the most unpredictable season of all. It carries a sense of renewal, but also restlessness. One day may feel like summer, the next like winter, revisiting out of habit. Showers pass quickly, clouds race across the sky, and flowers bloom with enthusiasm that feels almost impatient. Wind is a frequent guest during spring, reshaping plans and reminding you that New Zealand sits exposed in the vastness of the South Pacific.

Throughout the year, rain plays an important role, though it rarely lasts long. It arrives, nourishes the land, and moves on. The result is a country of vivid greens, rolling hills, and landscapes that feel alive rather than manicured. Weather forecasts are best treated as suggestions, and locals are wonderfully pragmatic about it all.

What I’ve come to appreciate most is how the weather encourages presence. You pay attention here. You look at the sky before heading out. You listen to the wind, feel the shift in temperature, and adapt. New Zealand’s year-round weather doesn’t demand endurance; it invites awareness. And in doing so, it gently teaches us to move with the seasons we have an opportunity to experience.

We are continuing to enjoy our renewed health and the luxury of unhurried days here in New Zealand, regardless of what the weather decides to do. Some mornings are wrapped in soft clouds and mist, others open wide with clear skies and bright sun, but it hardly matters anymore. Feeling well again changes everything. Moving about feels refreshing and is savored instead of rushed, and even quiet afternoons indoors carry a sense of peace rather than confinement. The weather becomes part of the experience, a shifting backdrop for rest, for feeling gratitude, along with the simple pleasure of having nowhere urgent to be.

Be well

Photo from ten years ago today, December 29, 2015:

In Pacific Harbour, Fiji, we often encountered unfamiliar flower varieties while walking through the neighborhood. For more photos, please click here.

We’re back!…Getting into the groove in this remote area of New Zealand…

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We welcomed an adorable hare in the garden of our holiday home in Kaiwaka, New Zealand.

Note: Due to the almost 24-hour time difference, this post appears to have been posted on December 27, when in fact I posted it on December 28.

We took the day off from posting, not because there was nothing to say, but because there was finally enough energy to do the things that quietly pile up when life grinds to a halt. The past two weeks since our arrival had been defined by illness and recovery, days blurring together as we moved only when necessary, conserving strength and patience in equal measure. Now, feeling noticeably better, we both sensed it was time to gently reclaim some normalcy and tend to the practical matters we’d neglected while simply trying to get well.

The morning began with our monthly financial routine, a task that has followed us faithfully from country to country, no matter where we land. At the end of each month, I sit down with my laptop and coffee, pulling up balances from multiple credit cards, checking statements line by line, and scheduling payments through our banking app. It’s not glamorous, but it is necessary. Everything gets paid off on the first of the month, or in this case, the second, due to the New Year holiday. There’s something deeply reassuring about closing those digital tabs, knowing we’re organized, current, and free of lingering obligations. It clears mental space in a way few other tasks can.

Once the numbers were handled, we turned our attention to the house. While we’d kept things reasonably tidy during our sick days, a deeper clean was overdue. Tom took charge of vacuuming, washing the floors, and handling the trash, jobs he’s tackled as his own over the years, while I dusted every surface, scrubbed the bathrooms, and gave the kitchen a thorough cleaning. The cleaning felt almost meditative. Cloths wiped away dust, familiar scents of soap and cleaner filled the rooms, and before long, the house felt transformed. By the time we finished, it felt as fresh and clean as it had on December 13, the day we arrived.

Laundry was completed, loads washed, dried outdoors, folded, and neatly put away, restoring a sense of order that only clean clothes, towels, and bedding can provide. These simple domestic rituals might seem mundane, but when you’ve been sidelined by illness, they feel like small victories, proof that energy is returning and routines are once again possible.

Dinner was our reward. I wanted something nourishing but comforting. For Tom, I prepared a lean pork roast with rice and vegetables, simple and satisfying. For myself, I made a lamb patty, paired with homemade ketchup, and a hearty slice of the mushroom, sausage, cheese, and egg casserole I’d made on Christmas Day. We ate slowly, savoring not just the flavors but the fact that cooking no longer felt like a chore or an impossible effort.

As the day settled in, I felt satisfied with another small but meaningful step forward. I started an indoor Tai Chi program I found online, hoping it would help rebuild the strength and stamina that vanished after two weeks of lying around. The movements are gentle and yet stimulating for my weary muscles, requiring balance and focus rather than force, and they feel right for where my body is now. I’d love to begin walking outdoors, but the unpaved, rocky road nearby makes it too risky for now. Tom isn’t a fan of walking anyway, and I’ve learned not to push him into activities he doesn’t enjoy.

This is a common Australian Magpie.

By the end of the day, we felt lighter, physically and mentally. The house was clean, the finances were in order, meals were prepared, and our minds were free to rest. Recovery isn’t just about healing the body; it’s about restoring a sense of control and calm. Today, in these small, ordinary ways, we felt ourselves moving steadily back into balance.

This remote location, hours from any possible tourist attractions, suits our daily living far better than it serves our social media feeds. There are no bustling towns or iconic landmarks, begging to be photographed and shared, anywhere nearby. Instead, there is quiet, beautiful scenery, long stretches of it, broken only by birdsong, shifting clouds, and the soft, familiar sounds of everyday life. While that may limit the variety of new photos we can add to our posts, it offers something far more valuable right now.

After the constant motion, activity, and stimulation of our recent 47-night cruise, followed by injury and then sickness, this stillness feels intentional, almost necessary. Our days unfold without urgency. Mornings ease in slowly, afternoons pass without schedules, and evenings settle gently into rest. There’s comfort in knowing we don’t need to be anywhere or do anything beyond caring for ourselves and each other.

Of course, at some point we’ll venture out, camera in hand, ready to explore and document what lies beyond this quiet pocket of New Zealand. But for now, we’re content to stay exactly where we are. This pause, this calm interlude, feels like a gift, one we’re happy to accept before moving on to whatever comes next.

Plus, when we head to Penguin, Tasmania, on February 12, everything will naturally shift. With a more active social life and everyday activities within easy walking distance from the house, we’ll ease back into a far more energetic pace. There will be people to meet, places to go, and reasons to step outside each day, and with that, our active lifestyle will quietly reassert itself without effort or forcing.

From that point until we return to South Africa in June, life will once again become a near-constant flurry of movement, conversations, outings, and shared experiences. It’s another step in our world travel, we know well and genuinely enjoy, but one that demands energy, resilience, and good health. Right now, we’re rebuilding all three.

This sixty-day reprieve feels perfectly timed. It’s a pause that allows our bodies to recover fully and our minds to settle after months of intensity. There’s no guilt in the stillness, no sense that we’re missing out. Instead, there’s gratitude for this quiet window, for mornings without agendas and days that unfold with ease and simplicity. When the time comes to move again, we’ll be rested, grounded, and appreciative of both the calm we’re enjoying now and the lively chapters still ahead.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, December 28, 2015

We’d been warned against purchasing locally caught fish, since it’s often caught close to the shore, where sewage runoff makes the waters heavily contaminated. As a result, we have not purchased any fish in the past four months.  I’m looking forward to cooking fish once we arrive in New Zealand. For more photos, please click here.

Merry Christmas and Happy Boxing Day to everyone who celebrates today!…

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Last night, we enjoyed Christmas dinner with our wonderful landlords and new friends, Dave and Eing, who live next door, just a short distance from our holiday home. In so many ways, that simple sentence captures one of the greatest gifts of long-term travel: the people you meet along the way, often when you least expect it, who make a foreign place feel instantly warmer and more familiar. When Dave stopped by earlier in the day to invite us, we accepted with genuine gratitude, knowing we were still recovering and might not have the stamina for a long evening, but also knowing how special it is to share a holiday meal with others.

They prepared fall-off-the-bone ribs, tender and rich, along with vegetables and potatoes that appeared comforting and grounding, real food, lovingly made. I brought along a sausage, mushroom, and cheesy egg casserole, something hearty enough for me to enjoy while still being easy to share with everyone else. Sitting around their table, plates full and conversation flowing easily, it was hard not to feel a quiet sense of amazement at how far away we were, yet how at home we felt in that moment. Christmas has a way of softening edges, opening hearts, and reminding us that hospitality transcends borders.

We lingered longer than expected, talking about life, travel, adventures, and the subtle differences between our cultures that somehow felt more charming than dividing. By the time we returned to our place, it was nearly 10:00 pm. The night air was calm, and the area was quiet, as if the entire world had collectively exhaled after the holiday. We were ready for a good night’s rest, or so I thought.

Sleep didn’t come easily for me. I tossed and turned most of the night, my mind restless and my body refusing to fully settle. I suspect the culprit was the two small glasses of red wine I enjoyed with dinner, something that wouldn’t have phased me at another time, but after not drinking alcohol for so long, my body clearly had opinions. Still, even with the broken sleep, there was no regret; some evenings are worth a little discomfort the next day.

This morning, despite lingering weakness from so much rest over the past weeks, we both noticed something important: we are feeling better. Not fully restored, not back to our old energy levels, but better in that subtle, unmistakable way that signals healing is underway. The fog is lifting. The heaviness is easing. It feels like the turning of a corner.

Now comes the gentle work of rebuilding strength. Nothing dramatic, nothing rushed. Soon, I’ll start doing indoor exercises, small movements meant not to conquer but to reconnect, to remind my body that it is capable, resilient, and ready to reawaken. Today, we’re doing laundry. Tomorrow, we’ll clean the house. These are small, ordinary tasks, but right now they feel meaningful. Each load of laundry, each wiped surface, is a step back into a pattern, back into daily life.

Today is Boxing Day, celebrated on December 26 and observed in many countries with historical ties to the United Kingdom. Its origins date back to the Victorian era, when wealthy households would give “Christmas boxes” filled with money, food, or goods to servants, tradespeople, and those in need as a gesture of gratitude after Christmas Day.

Boxing Day is recognized as a public holiday in the United Kingdom, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and South Africa, as well as in several Caribbean nations, including Jamaica, Barbados, and the Bahamas. While the spirit of generosity remains part of its history, modern celebrations vary widely by country.

In the UK, Ireland, Australia, and New Zealand, Boxing Day is strongly associated with sports, particularly football (soccer), rugby, and cricket, with major matches traditionally scheduled on this day. In Canada, it has long been known for large retail sales, similar to Black Friday in the United States. In Australia and New Zealand, the day also marks the start of the famous Boxing Day Test cricket match and the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race.

Although customs differ, Boxing Day continues to symbolize rest, recreation, and generosity, offering a relaxed counterbalance to the celebrations of Christmas Day itself.

We are grateful for the kind neighbors who became friends, for the food shared and the stories exchanged, for bodies slowly recovering, and for the chance to experience Christmas in a place so far from what is familiar to us, yet filled with warmth. This is what travel gives us, again and again: reminders that connection matters, that healing takes time, and that even the smallest steps forward are worth celebrating.

Next party? New Year’s Eve in the neighborhood!

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate today, and Happy Boxing Day to those who do as well.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, December 26, 2015:

The guard at the gate to the Government Building in Suva, the capital of Fiji. For more photos, please click here.