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.

With French Polynesia behind us, we now head into another stretch of sea days — officially four, though it will magically become three once we cross the International Date Line. There’s something wonderfully strange about going to bed on one date and waking up having skipped an entire day, as if the ocean itself decided to fast‑forward time for us. It adds a little spark of fun to the journey ahead, a reminder that out here, time bends and the adventure keeps unfolding in its own rhythm.

Feb 8: Super Bowl Sunday at Sea

Our first full day at sea happened to land on Super Bowl Sunday, and the ship treated it like a holiday. By mid‑morning, the Lido Deck had transformed into a floating stadium — lounge chairs lined up like bleachers, the giant screen glowing over the pool, and passengers settling in with the kind of anticipation usually reserved for sail‑away parties.

Every imaginable beverage was flowing, from tropical cocktails to sodas to tall glasses of ice‑cold water, and the snacks appeared in a steady parade: nachos, wings, sliders, popcorn — the works. It felt festive and relaxed all at once, the kind of atmosphere where strangers become instant friends simply because they’re rooting for someone.

When the game kicked off, the cheers rolled across the deck, carried by the warm Pacific breeze. The sun was bright, the water sparkling, and the whole scene had a wonderfully surreal charm — watching football in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by people in swimsuits and sun hats.

During halftime, we took the opportunity to slip into the pool and enjoy the show. Floating in the water while the music played overhead felt like the most effortless kind of multitasking: part football fan, part vacationer, fully content.

The only thing missing were the commercials, which aren’t shown in international waters. Later, I looked them up myself. The Guy Fieri ad was interesting but I’m pretty sure my favorite was the Budweiser ad with the horses and the Lays Potato Chips ~ classic, dramatic, and exactly what a Super Bowl commercial should be.

We also just found out that our grandson Quinten was actually at the game — how fun was that.

And when the game wrapped up, it felt like the perfect finale to a day already full of sunshine, cheering, and easy joy. The Seattle Seahawks took the win, 29–13, a decisive finish that had the Lido Deck buzzing long after the final whistle.

Congratulations to all the Seahawk fans especially Daniel!

With two more sea days ahead, we’re hoping for calm waters, easy breezes, and maybe a few more surprises from the ocean — a whale’s tail in the distance, a pod of dolphins racing the bow, or one of those sunsets that feels like it was painted just for us.

Soon enough, we’ll be sailing into Samoa, and the thought of stepping onto those islands — rich with culture, warmth, and stories — gives these quiet days a lovely sense of anticipation.

After completing the long stretch of sea days — five in a row, the most I’ve ever done — I can honestly say the ocean gave us the full range of its moods. Day three was the toughest, the kind that makes you wonder if the horizon will ever change. At one point the pool had to be netted, and the hours stretched longer than they should have. We even crossed the equator on the third day, a small milestone marked with a certificate and a quiet sense of accomplishment. It was the longest it possibly could have felt, but it was also the only way to reach our first stop in French Polynesia.

Feb 5: Landfall in Raiatea

When Raiatea finally appeared on the horizon, it felt like a reward. The deep Pacific blue softened into clear turquoise, and the island rose in layers of lush green, misted and ancient. After five days of nothing but sea and sky, the sight of land — this land — felt almost unreal.

Once ashore, we spent a gentle four hours circling the island, taking in Raiatea’s quiet, unspoiled beauty. The landscape felt ancient and alive — steep green ridges, soft mist clinging to the mountains, and water so clear it looked lit from within. We stopped at the caldera overlook, where the island’s volcanic heart opens into sweeping valleys layered in every shade of green. Later, a simple fruit tasting became the highlight of the morning: sweet mangoes, cold watermelon, fresh coconut, and coconut juice straight from the shell. After five long days at sea, those bright, clean flavors tasted like pure renewal.

Feb 6: Moorea — Peaks, Bays, and a Dreamlike Arrival

To reach Moorea, we first boarded a tender, gliding across the lagoon toward the island. The ride itself felt like part of the adventure — the water shifting from deep blue to bright turquoise as we moved closer to shore. Partway across, a pod of dolphins appeared beside us; it was one of those unexpected moments that makes travel feel magical.

Once ashore, we set out on an island drive with our tour guide, Rico, who immediately won us over with his warmth and endless knowledge. He told us everything from local legends to practical details — including how often the tour buses are inspected. At first, we thought this was just an interesting bit of trivia… until we began climbing the mountain and encountered hairpin turn after hairpin turn. Suddenly, that inspection schedule felt very reassuring.

As we circled the island, Moorea revealed itself in layers: jagged emerald peaks wrapped in soft clouds, quiet villages tucked into the greenery, and roadside fruit stands bursting with color. The air carried the scent of vanilla and tiare blossoms, and the mountains shifted in greens and golds as the light moved across the ridges.

Moorea invited you to slow down, breathe deeper, and simply take in the beauty around you. It was a perfect continuation of our journey through French Polynesia, each island revealing a different face of this remarkable part of the world.

Feb 7: Papeete — Color, Rhythm, and Island Life in Motion

After the quiet beauty of Moorea, arriving in Papeete felt like stepping into the heartbeat of French Polynesia. The harbor was alive with movement — ferries crossing the channel, locals heading to work, vendors setting up their stalls, and the city stretching along the waterfront in a mix of color, sound, and warm island energy. It was a lively contrast to the stillness of the smaller islands, and it immediately pulled us into its rhythm.

Our tour guide for the day was Teva — “just like the shoe,” as he liked to joke. He had the same easy charm and humor we enjoyed in Moorea, and he kept our group together with his signature method: whenever it was time to return to the bus, he lifted a conch shell and blew a deep, echoing call across the street. Even in the middle of the city, that ancient sound cut through the bustle and made everyone smile.

Walking through Papeete, we saw a blend of French influence and Polynesian tradition: open‑air markets filled with vanilla, pearls, and bright pareos; bakeries offering warm croissants next to stands selling fresh coconut; and murals splashed across buildings in bold tropical colors. The waterfront promenade was lined with flowers, food trucks, and people going about their day, all framed by the deep blue of the harbor and the dramatic silhouette of Moorea rising in the distance.

Papeete wasn’t about dramatic peaks or quiet lagoons — it was about people, movement, and the feeling of being in a place that hums with its own energy. After days of serene landscapes, it was refreshing to experience the lively, colorful side of French Polynesia before continuing our journey onward.

Seventy‑eight days sounded like forever when we first booked this trip — and then we met people on the ship who are doing the entire 115‑day world voyage. Suddenly our “forever” felt almost modest. Our own adventure is divided into three chapters: 33 days across the South Pacific, 10 days in Sydney, and 28 days in the Philippines.

The full itinerary begins with five long sea days from Los Angeles to Honolulu. We decided to trade that stretch of open ocean for a simple five‑hour flight instead — a choice that gave us more time on land and a gentler start to the journey. It felt like the right kind of shortcut.

We began in Honolulu, easing into the adventure with two beautiful days on Oʻahu. Warm breezes, familiar beaches, and that slow shift into travel mode set the tone perfectly. From there, we hopped through the Hawaiian chain — Kauaʻi, Maui, and the Big Island — each stop a reminder of why these islands never lose their magic.

Before we left, we installed a little camera in our bedroom so we could peek in on our kitties along the way. It’s become our tiny daily ritual — somewhere between checking the weather and checking the dinner menu, we check on the cats. They seem completely unimpressed that we’re crossing the Pacific, which feels exactly right.

Now we’re settling into our own stretch of five sea days as we make our way toward French Polynesia. There’s a quiet rhythm to life out here: the gentle sway of the ship, the endless horizon, the way time stretches when the only thing on the agenda is simply being.

We’ve made it a little mission to watch for life in the water — whales on their migration paths, dolphins darting through the ship’s wake, anything that decides to appear. Every time someone points toward the ocean, we look up like kids waiting for magic. The sky has joined in too, with soft, pastel sunrises and sunsets that start quietly before setting the whole horizon on fire. With five days at sea, we’re hoping for more of those peaceful moments — and hoping to avoid any seas that feel like we’ve accidentally wandered into the Drake Passage.