Leaving the ship on March 2 will carry that familiar ache — the kind that settles in when a journey has been so full of life, laughter, and unexpected connection that stepping away feels like closing a chapter we weren’t quite ready to finish. This voyage hasn’t just been about the places we visited; it’s been about the people who filled our days with warmth and meaning.

Some friendships were brief but memorable — a shared smile in the hallway, a conversation over breakfast, a moment of kindness that stays with us.

Others grew into something deeper, the kind of bonds that feel rare and precious. And this journey reminded us that those deeper friendships don’t just happen on ships; they happen on land too, in the places where our paths cross again with people who feel like family.

Spending time with Katrina, Phil, and Aidan — the wonderful Kiwis we first met on our Trafalgar trip to Turkey — was one of those gifts. From the moment we reunited, it felt like slipping back into a familiar rhythm, the kind that only happens with people who have become part of our story. Meeting Nadia, Lewis, and Jen added even more richness, each of them warm, open, and instantly easy to be around. Being with them reminded us how travel can bring people into your life who stay, who matter, who become woven into your memories long after the trip ends.

And right alongside that was our day with Rochelle — another Kiwi whose presence on this journey meant just as much. She welcomed us into her world with such generosity, taking us to her farm, introducing us to her cows (a dream I once joked about on the Croatia trip, never imagining it would actually come true), and sharing her life with a sincerity that touched us deeply. Catching up with Shane, who had been working while Rochelle toured us around, added another layer of warmth. And finally meeting Natalia — someone we had heard about, who felt like meeting a character from a story who suddenly steps into real life, made the day feel complete. Lunch at their table felt like being wrapped in kindness.

🍽️ The Ones Who Filled Our Evenings

Every night on this voyage had its own kind of magic, and much of that came from the four people we shared our dinners with — the little “family” we didn’t know we needed until we found ourselves looking forward to seeing them each evening.

• Andy, our fearless building‑jumper, whose Sky Tower leap became one of the big stories of the cruise. His energy, humor, and zest for life made every dinner brighter.
• Tammy, warm, steady, and always ready with a smile that made the table feel like home.
• Hector and Oilda, who celebrated their 61st wedding anniversary on February 14th, brought a quiet sweetness and depth to every meal. Oilda’s laugh — the kind that could fill a room and lift all of us with it, the kind that stays with you long after the moment has passed — became one of the sounds we’ll miss most. Watching the two of them together, still teasing, still tender, still so connected after all these years, felt like witnessing a love story still unfolding.

These four turned our dinners into something more than meals — they became a ritual, a comfort, a joy. And we hope our paths cross again one day.

These moments are why goodbyes at sea are never simple. The ship becomes a floating village of memories — and the crew, the heartbeat of it all. Their kindness, their care, their quiet way of making every day feel effortless… it stays with us.

Lex, a junior waiter with the instincts of a best friend, remembers everything about you — not just what you like to drink with each meal, but the little things too. He anticipates your preferences the way someone does when they’ve been paying attention from the very first day. Delfino, with his quiet wit and gentle patience, handled every one of my complicated dinner requests as if they were the simplest thing in the world. Nerisa greeted us each evening with the warmth of someone welcoming family — her joy was genuine, contagious, the kind that lifts the whole table before you even sit down. And Flor and Cicero, who made sure every meal was perfect, slipped Filipino dishes and rice onto our table whenever they could, little gifts from their hearts to ours, reminders that kindness often arrives in the form of food.

And then there was Mark, one of the sweetest surprises of this voyage. On this cruise he was stationed right across the hallway from us, and the moment he saw us, he recognized us instantly. It felt like no time had passed at all since our Greenland cruise, when we first met him and handed him my leftover peanut butter before leaving the ship — a tiny gesture that meant far more than we realized. And here we were again, leaving him our half‑jar of peanut butter, my breakfast staple that the ship never quite gets right. Watching his face light up with that same warm smile brought back all the tenderness of that first journey. Moments like that, simple and genuine, are what make it so hard to say goodbye.

These are the people who turn a voyage into a home, who make the days feel softer and the nights feel warmer, who remind you that the ocean may be vast, but you are never adrift.

But woven into the sadness is something sweeter — something that lifts our hearts even as we pack our bags.

Because when we step off the ship on March 2, waiting for us in Sydney will be Mae and Jo — family we haven’t hugged since 2019. Before COVID. Before the world stood still. Before time stretched in ways none of us expected. The thought of seeing them again, of hearing their laughter in person, of simply being together after so many years… that is the kind of joy that softens every goodbye.

And Sydney won’t just bring us back to family — it will bring us back to friends who have become part of our story. We’ll see Kazune again, the ship photographer who became family in Tokyo, and finally meet her husband Michael. We’ll reunite with Shenna and her mom Winny, whom we met on that unforgettable Trafalgar tour in Israel. And we’ll catch up with Warren and Deborah, from the Rio‑to‑Antarctica cruisetour. Somehow, all these threads — from cruises, tours, faraway cities, and unexpected moments — are coming together in one place, as if the universe decided to gather our travel family in a single embrace.

And after Sydney, our hearts will carry us onward to the Philippines — to more family, more warmth, more long‑awaited embraces. Another homecoming, another chapter waiting to be written.

So yes, leaving the ship is bittersweet. But endings like this — full of gratitude, full of connection, full of love — are the kind that stay with us. They remind us that every journey leaves us a little richer, a little softer, a little more open to the world. And as we look ahead, we hold onto the hope of meeting our ship friends again someday — because Katrina and Rochelle have already shown us that in this wide, wonderful world, anything is possible.

We have a habit of turning up at just the right moment—whenever that may be!

Our day in New Plymouth feels like a story that has been quietly waiting to complete itself. It begins in 2023 during our Trafalgar Unlocked trip to Croatia, where 15 of us — chosen from 11,500 entries — came together as the very first group of contest winners. Among us, Rochelle was the most unexpected arrival. She was the very last person to learn she had won, so when she and Shane joined the group, the rest of us had already exchanged introductions and excitement. Rochelle became known as the mystery winner — the one none of us knew anything about.

And yet, from the moment she appeared, there was an instant ease. Something about her felt familiar, as if we were picking up a friendship that had already existed somewhere. During that trip, I kept saying — half joking, half dreaming — that one day I wanted to meet her cows. I said it lightly, never imagining that life would actually arrange that moment for me.

📖 How Our Paths Cross Again

Fast forward to this voyage. Rochelle has been following our blog, and one day she realizes we will be docking in New Plymouth, right where she lives. She reaches out with that same warm, open-hearted spirit she had in Croatia, offering to spend the day with us and show us her world. It feels like a thread from that first trip being gently pulled back into our lives.

🚗 Circling Mt. Taranaki

One of the most unforgettable parts of the day is the drive around Mt. Taranaki. Rochelle takes us on the full loop — a slow, beautiful circle that lets us see the volcano from every angle. From some sides it looks perfectly symmetrical, a classic cone rising out of the landscape. From others, the ridges and folds catch the light in ways that make the mountain look alive.

And then we see the dramatic northern indentation locals call the Phantom Hole — the huge ancient collapse that carved a deep scoop out of the mountain’s side. From that angle, Mt. Taranaki looks almost sculpted, as if nature pressed a thumb into its flank. Seeing it from all sides makes the mountain feel less like a landmark and more like a presence.

🐄 A Promise Kept: And then it happens, I finally meet her cows.

Standing there on her farm, surrounded by the animals she cares for every day, I feel a wave of gratitude. A wish I tossed into the air in Croatia — said with a smile, not knowing if it would ever be real — has found its way back to me in the most genuine, grounded way.

🏡 Lunch at Her Table

After the farm, Rochelle welcomes us into her home — a moment that feels as warm as the day itself. Shane is waiting for us when we arrive, having already finished the morning’s work on the farm. Seeing him again feels like reconnecting with an old friend, the kind you may not see often but instantly fall back into step with. We finally meet Natalia, her daughter, someone we’ve heard about but have never met in person. She is every bit as lovely as Rochelle always described.

Lunch isn’t formal or staged; it’s simply home. We sit at her table, treated like part of the family, sharing a beautiful meal that feels effortless and heartfelt. The cheese we enjoy is made from milk processed at the very same place where their cows’ milk goes — a small detail that makes the meal feel even more connected to their life and work. And the bread… that incredible bread… I’m still thinking about it. It’s the kind of simple, perfect food that stays with you long after the day is over.

Knowing how hard Rochelle and Shane work, how early their mornings start, how constant the rhythm of farm life is, makes the gesture even more meaningful. She doesn’t squeeze us in; she gives us her whole day.

🌤 A Gentle Goodbye

On the drive back to the port, Rochelle makes an impromptu stop for ice cream — a sweet surprise that seals the day with a smile. Jay chooses Hokey Pokey, New Zealand’s iconic honeycomb flavor and chocolate while I take Rochelle’s recommendation of passionfruit with chocolate. It’s a small, joyful pause on the way to the ship, the kind of moment that feels like it belongs only to this day.

As we continue toward the port, the clock edges closer to the 3 p.m. milking, a process we would have loved to see, but the ship is calling and the farm waits for no one. We leave it with a promise: next time, we’ll stay long enough to watch the milking. Who knows when that will be… but after today, anything feels possible.

This day doesn’t compete with anything else on our journey. It lives in its own gentle, generous space — a day defined by reconnection, by the kindness of someone who opened her real life to us, by gifts we will cherish, and by a promise made in Croatia that unexpectedly comes true in New Plymouth.

Thank you for the beautiful necklaces!

The moment we stepped outside, the day greeted us with sound before anything else: cicadas, hundreds of them buzzing from the trees as if they’d been waiting for us to arrive. Their chorus followed us from the ship to the shuttle, a bright, summery soundtrack that stayed with us all day.

The shuttle ride into Picton was beautiful—sunny, calm, and framed by hills that looked freshly washed. And then the town appeared: a tiny harbour tucked into the green folds of the Marlborough Sounds, with steep hills rising around a sheltered bay where ferries and sailboats glide in slow motion. It’s the kind of place most people outside New Zealand have never heard of, but instantly fall a little in love with.

The moment we stepped off the shuttle, the wind came rushing through the streets—strong, playful, and determined to make itself known. We found ourselves laughing as we leaned into it, half convinced it might blow us sideways.

Walking Picton with Hannah and Andy

Our walking tour with Hannah and Andy turned that blustery morning into something genuinely memorable. They shared stories of Picton’s past, pointed out native plants, and explained how people once used them. One leaf in particular stole the show—apparently useful as a postcard, a bandage, or even toilet paper in the bush. It was the kind of quirky detail that sticks with you.

Down by the waterfront, the water was so clear we could see jellyfish drifting below the surface, their slow pulsing almost hypnotic. And then, as if Picton wanted to impress us even more, a very large stingray glided past—wide, dark, and impossibly graceful. A little wildlife magic tucked into an already full day.

A Sweet Finish

By the end of the tour, the wind had softened just enough for a final treat: hokey pokey ice cream, cold and perfect even on a chilly day. With the cicadas still buzzing overhead and the harbour sparkling below the hills, it felt like the perfect ending to a very Picton kind of day—small, charming, and full of surprises.

Tauranga welcomed us with soft morning light and the easy calm of a port that already feels familiar. But today wasn’t about sightseeing or checking off landmarks — it was about reconnecting. As soon as we stepped off the ship, Katrina, Phil, and Aidan walked up to meet us, and this time Aidan brought his partner, Nadia, whom we were meeting for the first time. Seeing them coming toward us felt like a moment we’d been waiting for since 2022 — long overdue in the best possible way. It didn’t take long for Katrina to point out the delightful detail that Aidan is Nadia spelled backwards — and truly, if that isn’t a match made in heaven, what is?

The six of us set off on a short, relaxed stroll toward the beach, catching up as naturally as if we’d seen each other last week instead of years ago. Travel friendships have a way of picking up right where they left off, and this one was no exception.

From the beach, we made our way to Te Puna Quarry Park, a beautiful garden space carved out of an old quarry. The views of Mount Maunganui were especially striking from there. The mountain itself was still closed due to a recent landslide, but from the lookout the scenery was lush, green, and unmistakably Tauranga.

Lunch was waiting at a spot called Neck of the Woods, a cozy, welcoming place perfect for a long, chatty meal. We were joined by Lewis, Aidan’s brother, and his partner Jen, both of whom we were meeting for the first time. The table filled quickly with stories, laughter, and that easy comfort that comes from being surrounded by good people who genuinely enjoy one another’s company. Over lunch, Katrina surprised us with a bag of beautiful souvenirs — thoughtful pieces we’ll treasure forever. We were so touched that they all took the time to spend the day with us; we truly appreciated everything.

We lingered until it was nearly time to head back to the ship, but not before making one last stop. Just a short walk from the port was Copenhagen, home to some of New Zealand’s famous ice cream, and it felt only right to end such a lovely day with a scoop in hand.

As we said our goodbyes, we all agreed that this shouldn’t be the last time we meet up. There was hopeful, excited talk of planning a short cruise together in the very near future — something to plan, something to look forward to, and something we all genuinely want to make happen.

Thank you all for such a special day — we truly appreciated every moment together ❤️

Coming back to Auckland felt like revisiting a city we already knew well enough to skip the tours and simply let the day unfold. With no schedule and only one sweet mission in mind — finding Giapo, the city’s most famous ice cream — we set out to wander wherever the streets pulled us.

We drifted through downtown until the smell of spices and grilled food pulled us into a farmers market tucked between the buildings. It felt like the whole world was cooking at once: dumplings steaming beside fresh pastries, skewers sizzling next to trays of sweets, every aroma trying to outdo the last. People wandered with coffees, kids tugged at parents for treats, and the whole place buzzed with that relaxed, weekend energy.

From there, our wandering carried us into Auckland’s Chinatown, where the pace shifted from calm to electric. Lanterns were being hung, decorations were going up, and vendors were setting out treats in preparation for Lunar New Year. The whole neighborhood felt like it was humming with anticipation.

Somewhere between the lanterns and the market stalls, we remembered that we were supposed to catch Andy — a fellow passenger we’ve gotten to know over meals — take his big leap off the Sky Tower. We thought his jump was at 2:30 p.m., so we made our way over, half excited, half curious to see how calm he’d look before stepping off a perfectly good building. His jump time turned out to be later than we’d thought, but we still managed to find him just as he was being prepped. We snapped a couple of photos, wished him luck, and left him in the capable hands of the crew. Our ice‑cream quest wasn’t going to complete itself.

By 3:08 p.m., we were in the queue at Giapo, and at 3:52 p.m., we finally had our cones in hand — a wait that was absolutely worth every minute. The flavors were bold, the presentation was fun, and the whole experience felt like a little celebration of its own.

We headed back to the ship feeling like we’d accomplished our day’s mission, cones in hand and spirits high. Tomorrow we arrive in Tauranga, where we’ll reunite with Aidan, Katrina and Phil — friends we first met on our Trafalgar trip to Turkey in 2022 — and we’re already looking forward to catching up.

Andy later told us his jump was great and shared a video from the leap, still buzzing with excitement — and he added the fun fact that if you’re 80, you jump for free!

There goes Andy — committed, airborne, and all in as he sails down the Sky Tower!

The day we arrived in Lifou looked like a complete washout. It was pouring — the kind of rain that makes you question every life choice that led you to booking an island drive tour. I was absolutely dreading it, but off we went anyway, shuffling toward the tender line like determined little penguins.

People were returning from their tours drenched, dripping, and defeated. Not exactly inspiring. But we carried on, wrapped in my well‑traveled, utterly glamorous $2 poncho, whose only mission was to keep my camera and backpack dry. It did so with heroic dedication.

And then — Lifou changed its mind.

By the time we reached our destination, the rain had stopped. The clouds thinned. The sky turned the kind of blue that feels like a reward. The sun came out as if it had been waiting for us specifically.

And there it was: the most pristine beach I’ve seen in my entire life.

Jay didn’t hesitate for a second — he was in the water before I could even take my shoes off. I, on the other hand, felt pulled in a different direction. I set off on a long, slow two‑mile walk along the water’s edge, meeting locals along the way and telling each one how impossibly beautiful their island was. They smiled warmly, though I’m not entirely sure they understood a word I said. One man even posed for a photo with me, the whole exchange carried out in cheerful, improvised sign language.

What began as a day I was bracing myself for turned into one of the most perfect surprises of the voyage — a reminder that sometimes the best moments arrive right after you’ve resigned yourself to the worst.

Now we have two sea days ahead, and a surprising number of chores lined up. Our passports — taken from us before we were allowed off the ship in earlier ports — were finally returned today so we can complete our New Zealand entry declaration. We also have to re‑do our safety training and report to our muster station since we’ll be on board for more than 30 days, a first for us and a milestone that feels both amusing and impressive.r

And as we sail on, I’m struck by how this journey has carried us through so many islands and cultures, each one adding its own rhythm to the trip.

Next stop: Auckland, New Zealand — where we plan to seek out what’s said to be the best ice cream in town, Giapo.

Every long voyage has its moments, and today brought one we’d hoped to avoid. Our stop in Vanuatu was officially aborted early this morning. The surf at the port was too rough for the ramp to be safely set, and no amount of careful maneuvering could convince the sea otherwise.

What makes it all the more ironic is that, as we sail away, the water around us looks calm—almost serene. You’d never guess that just a short distance away the swells were strong enough to cancel an entire port call. The sea has her own logic, and today she reminded us that she’s the one writing the script.

It’s a genuine disappointment. No new flag will be added to the map at home, and Vanuatu will remain an empty space in this voyage’s constellation of stops. But at least we can say this: thank goodness we booked our shore excursion through the ship. One less headache to cancel, and one small mercy on a day that didn’t go as planned.

So we settle into an unexpected sea day, watching the horizon smooth itself out as if nothing ever happened. Not the day we imagined, but still part of the story.

Next stop: New Caledonia. Here’s hoping tomorrow brings clear skies, cooperative seas, and a proper welcome ashore. And with friends waiting for us in Tauranga and New Plymouth, we’re crossing our fingers for no further changes—those reunions are too precious to miss.

We arrived in Suva with a sense of purpose. Tahiti and Fiji were two of the main reasons we chose this voyage, and Suva felt like one of those anchor points — a place I’d long imagined, a place I was eager to finally step into. And when we arrived, Suva greeted us with that unmistakable Fijian warmth: bright colors, easy smiles, and a sense of daily life unfolding all around us. It was everything I hoped it would be.

But then came Druvani

Druvani wasn’t just another port — it was the Fiji of my imagination. After a gentle tender ride to the beach, we slipped straight into the water, warm and calm and impossibly clear — the kind of water that makes you forget time entirely. Once we’d cooled off, we wandered for a bit before hiking up the tallest hill on the island, climbing steadily until the whole world opened into those impossible shades of blue and green. Standing at the top, with the breeze carrying the scent of the sea and the village below looking like a storybook, I felt that deep, quiet recognition: this was the Fiji I had dreamed of. The Fiji that felt untouched, unhurried, and utterly sincere.

Druvani didn’t just impress me — it stole my heart. It was the Fiji I had imagined, and somehow, even better.

And then, as if the day needed one more perfect note, there was Jay’s sulu. He’d bought it back in Suva — because of course the sulu goes with Suva — a spontaneous, delighted purchase! And that very night, he wore it to dinner with such relaxed confidence that he looked like he’d been part of the local welcome committee all along. It was the sweetest, most playful ending to a day already overflowing with beauty.

As we sail away, we have one quiet sea day to let Fiji settle into our hearts before we make our way toward Vanuatu and New Caledonia — a gentle pause between the places that welcomed us and the ones waiting just over the horizon.

Wishing you a very Happy Valentine’s Day

Wherever you are today, may your day be filled with kindness, connection, and a little extra sweetness. We’re sending warm thoughts across the miles as we continue our voyage, grateful for each of you.

Apia greeted us with that soft Samoan glow — warm air, bright skies, and a sense of unhurried welcome that settled over the whole ship the moment we stepped ashore. After two sea days and a playful dance with the International Date Line, it felt like arriving somewhere both new and familiar.

We had a wonderful tour guide, Saili, the kind who doesn’t just recite facts but threads them into stories, gestures, and little personal asides that make a place feel alive. She was gracious and grounded, with a presence that made the whole group lean in. After we boarded the bus, she invited us to join her in a small blessing — a quiet invocation for a safe journey as we explored her island. It was simple, heartfelt, and deeply Samoan, and it set the tone for the entire day: respectful, connected, and carried by a sense of shared goodwill.

One of the day’s highlights was the Immaculate Conception Cathedral, a masterpiece of Samoan craftsmanship. Inside, the soaring wooden ceiling curved like the hull of a great canoe, every beam carved with care. Sunlight filtered through stained glass in soft blues and golds, and for a moment the whole space felt suspended — quiet, reverent, and deeply rooted in the island’s spirit.

From there, we traveled into the lush hills to visit Robert Louis Stevenson’s home, Vailima. The house felt like a living storybook: wide verandas catching the breeze, rooms filled with artifacts of a life both adventurous and tender, and views that made it easy to imagine Stevenson writing with the windows open. And then there were the two fireplaces — charming, unexpected, and entirely unnecessary in Apia’s warm climate. They seemed to exist more for sentimental reasons than practical ones, a nod to the world Stevenson left behind and perhaps a comfort to a man who carried Scotland in his bones even as he embraced Samoa as home.

Throughout the day, Apia revealed itself in layers — beauty, spirit, humor, and history — all guided by a woman who clearly loved her island and wanted us to feel its heart. And when we returned to the dock, she closed our time together with a second blessing, just as warm as the first. It felt like being sent off by a friend.