After a good night’s sleep, with all ten of us gathered under one roof, we shared breakfast together before heading out for the day. It was the kind of morning that felt both ordinary and extraordinary—ordinary in its routine of coffee, rice, and conversation, yet extraordinary in the way it marked the beginning of our journey through Manila.

We were not alone in this adventure. Our driver, Obet, joined us not just behind the wheel but as part of the family circle. He would eat and sleep alongside us for the entire trip, becoming one more thread in the tapestry of companionship that held us together.

Luneta Park and Taft Avenue

Our day began at Luneta Park, where history and memory converge. The Rizal Monument stood solemnly at its center, a reminder of sacrifice and nationhood. José Rizal, the national hero, was executed here in 1896—his writings had awakened a people, and his death became the spark that ignited revolution. Standing before his monument, I felt the weight of his belief that freedom could be won not only through arms but through education, dignity, and the courage to speak truth.

Nearby, another monument honors Lapu-Lapu, the warrior chieftain of Mactan who resisted Ferdinand Magellan in 1521. His defiance delayed colonization for decades, and he remains a symbol of courage and independence—the first Filipino hero remembered for meeting foreign power with strength. Together, Rizal and Lapu-Lapu embody the two paths of resistance: the pen and the sword, intellect and valor, each reminding us that freedom is never easily won.

We walked the length of Luneta Park until we reached the end, where Taft Avenue stretched wide before us. Across that busy street stood Santa Isabel College—the school I had attended sixty years ago.

Santa Isabel College

We all crossed Taft Avenue together, but only Jay, Rica, and I were permitted to enter the school grounds. The guard hesitated, uncertain, until I explained that I had once been a student there. He allowed us to walk the outskirts of the campus.

Inside, time folded in on itself. I pointed out the old directory sign that directed visitors to the principal’s office. In my day, I knew exactly how to get there.

I’ll never forget the Saturday morning I dropped my laundry bag from the fourth floor down the spiral steps, hoping to save myself from lugging it down four flights of stairs—there were no lifts or elevators on campus then. When I reached the ground, Sor Theresa was already there, her sharp‑pointed shoe planted firmly on my laundry bag. You can only imagine how that ended for me: another trip to the principal’s office, where lessons were taught not only in books but in obedience.

The chapel was unchanged, standing as it had in my youth, though the quadrangle seemed smaller than I remembered. Looking up at the fourth‑floor dormitory windows, I was reminded of how I used to gaze out and see Luneta Park in the distance. I was lucky to have a bed next to the window, where the view stretched beyond the school walls and gave me a sense of connection to the wider world.

Then I saw the sign: Parents are not allowed beyond this point. Simple words, yet they carried the weight of memory. They reminded me of how the nuns controlled our lives, shaping discipline and order in ways that seemed unquestioned.

My best friend in school was Edith delos Santos

Quiapo Church

Later that same day, we traveled to Quiapo Church. My mother used to bring me here, and the memory of those visits returned as soon as I saw the crowds pressing toward the Black Nazarene. The church was alive with devotion—candles flickering, prayers whispered, the air thick with incense and faith.

The Black Nazarene stood at the heart of it all, dark and solemn, carried in the prayers of thousands who believed in its miraculous power. As a child, I had watched my mother bow her head here, her devotion steady and unshaken. Returning now, I felt the continuity of generations—the same ritual unfolding, the same faith binding people together, unchanged by time.

After church, my mother and I would always walk to a nearby Chinese restaurant. The memory is so vivid: we never needed a menu, because we always ordered the same dishes—egg foo yung and camaron rebosado. The flavors linger in my mind even now, tied inseparably to those afternoons of devotion and comfort.

Intramuros and San Agustin Church

From Quiapo, we made our way to Intramuros, the old walled city that has stood through centuries of upheaval. Its cobblestone streets and Spanish-era walls seemed to whisper stories of resilience. We ate lunch at a wonderful place just across from San Agustin Church, a UNESCO World Heritage site. The meal was one of many we would share during this 28‑day adventure, each table becoming part of the journey.

As we finished, we were fortunate enough to witness a bride and groom stepping out of the church, celebrated by their friends and family. Weddings are among my favorite sights when traveling—moments of joy framed against walls that have endured centuries.

The Alley of Vendors and Manila Cathedral

After lunch, we wandered down a side street where vendors were cooking every imaginable Filipino delicacy. The air was thick with the scent of freshly grilled chicken feet, skewered squid, and bibingka warm from the coals. Not that we were hungry after such a meal, but we found a way to buy snacks to bring back to the place where we were staying. It wasn’t a hotel—it was more like an Airbnb, a temporary home in Manila, where these flavors would later remind us of the day’s abundance.

At the end of the alley, we encountered the Cathedral of Manila, its grand façade rising above the bustle of vendors. The sight of the cathedral, timeless and solemn, seemed to anchor the day’s wanderings in history and faith.

Chinatown

Before calling it a day, we made one more stop in Chinatown. Again, the air was alive with food—smells and flavors drifting through the streets, queues wrapped around corners as people waited for a piece of whatever was being offered. It was amazing to see how Jay and Rica tried so many different foods, each bite a small adventure. The streets themselves seemed to pulse with life, a reminder that Manila’s story is told not only in monuments and churches but also in the everyday rituals of eating, sharing, and savoring.

Reflection

That first day in Manila unfolded like a tapestry of memory and devotion. Luneta Park, Santa Isabel College, Quiapo Church, Intramuros, San Agustin, the vendor alley, Manila Cathedral, and Chinatown each carried echoes of the past, layered with the present.

Santa Isabel, in particular, reminded me of the rhythms that shaped my youth. I woke each morning to the sound of a bell ringing in my ear, though Sor Remedios allowed the younger children a little more time to sleep. From kindergarten to college, faith was not just practiced; it was our life. I could recite the entire Mass in Latin, and we attended services daily—sometimes twice in one day. Even the smallest routines carried discipline: shower days were Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, with Sunday left as a free‑for‑all. Looking up at the fourth‑floor dormitory windows, I remembered how fortunate I was to have a bed by the window, where I could gaze out toward Luneta Park and feel connected to the world beyond the school walls.

The signs, the chapel, the Black Nazarene, the remembered taste of egg foo yung, the laughter over lunch, the sight of a wedding procession, the indulgence of street snacks, and the queues for Chinatown delicacies—all became threads in the larger story of homecoming. Manila was not simply a city to visit; it was a place where memory and history pressed close, reminding me of discipline, devotion, and the quiet rituals that shaped a life.

This journey was first imagined in 2020, but the world had other plans. My uncle passed before we could make it, and so we traveled with his family to honor him, carrying his memory with us.

Onieh, his wife, joined us, along with cousins Ronell and Ronald. Mae and her partner Jo were meant to come, but Mae’s new job in Sydney kept them from joining. Because of that, we chose to stop for ten days in Sydney before continuing on—a pause that carried their presence with us even though they could not be part of the trip. Ronald arrived with Ella and their son, Ryzen, while Buddy—Onieh’s brother—completed the circle of companions who would share this pilgrimage.

On March 13, 2026, our threads began weaving across continents. Jay and I left Sydney, Rica departed San Francisco, and Ronald’s family flew from Singapore. By design and by chance, our flights converged on Manila. Rica’s layover in Singapore gave her the gift of meeting Ella, Ronald, and little Ryzen for the first time—a moment that felt less like coincidence than destiny.

For Rica, this was more than a reunion. It was her first return to the Philippines since leaving at the age of four—a journey back to a homeland she had only known through stories and photographs.

When she landed, Ronell, Onieh, and Buddy were waiting, their welcome a gentle embrace after her long journey. Hours later, Jay and I touched down almost in step with Ronald, and together we made our way to our “home base.” Laughter, anticipation, and quiet awe filled the air. After fifty years, the Philippines was no longer a distant memory—it was a living embrace, ready to unfold.

Time with Mae and Jo

After weeks at sea, two ocean crossings, and what felt like an eternity of anticipation, the morning finally came. The ship eased into Sydney Harbour, the Opera House glowing in the early light, and everything inside us said the same thing: they’re here. Disembarkation days are usually a blur of luggage and logistics — but this one felt different. This one felt like stepping into a long‑awaited chapter.

We collected our bags, found our arranged ride, and made our way toward Mona Vale. As the car pulled into the driveway, there she was — Mae, waiting with that unmistakable smile that somehow held nearly two months of her new Australian life and six years of our stories. The moment we stepped out, the reunion hit us all at once. The hug was long, tight, and full of happy tears — the kind that only come when time apart has stretched far too long.

Later that afternoon, Jo came home from work and the house once again shifted instantly into that warm, familiar rhythm only family can create. It didn’t matter that they had just relocated from Singapore with one suitcase each two months ago, the second we were all together, everything snapped back into place.

Beaches Walks and All The Firsts

They were determined to show us their new corner of Australia, and we were determined to savor every moment. We hopped from beach to beach, each one a different shade of blue, each one a reminder of how lucky we were to be here together after so many years.

Back at home, the kitchen became our shared playground. They cooked for us with such pride, and we introduced them to foods they’d never tried before. It became a running theme of the visit: What’s today’s first?

Stone fruits were the stars — peaches, nectarines, pears — each one met with wide‑eyed delight. Then came brussel sprouts and beets, sweet and earthy. They tried everything with enthusiasm, and every bite felt like a tiny celebration of being reunited.

And while the fruits and veggies were memorable, I do think bagels, prepared both sweet and savory, ranked pretty high on the favorites list. They were a home run, the kind of discovery that instantly became part of the family’s new routine.

Jo’s Steak Lesson (and the Smoke Detector Incident)

Even before we arrived, the steak lesson was already in motion. Mae had mentioned that Jo wanted to learn how to cook a proper steak, and that was all the encouragement we needed. Still on the ship, somewhere between ports, we discovered that Amazon.au would deliver straight to their door. A stovetop grill was ordered before we even reached Sydney — a quiet little surprise waiting for the first cooking lesson.

Once we were all together, it was time. The grill went on, the steaks started sizzling, and the house filled with that mouthwatering aroma that makes everyone hover around the kitchen.

And then it happened.

The smoke detector — which they had never heard go off in their entire lives — suddenly shrieked like it was announcing the end of days.

Jo froze. Absolutely still, wide‑eyed, as if waiting for instructions from mission control.
I started barking out orders like a drill sergeant in a kitchen comedy: “Fan it! Aim for the detector!”

Mae grabbed a handheld fan, scrambled onto a chair, and started directing gusts of air toward the alarm like she was single‑handedly saving the household. Meanwhile, the rest of us scattered like a comedy sketch, waving towels, lids, cutting boards, anything we could find to push the smoke toward the patio.

It was pandemonium. It was ridiculous. And it was hilarious.

By the time the alarm finally stopped, we were doubled over laughing, breathless from the chaos. The steaks survived, the lesson was a success, and Jo declared it the most exciting cooking class she’d ever had.

Live photos not available for this fiasco!

The Costco Expedition

Another “first” came in the form of a simple errand that turned into an adventure: Costco.

They had never been, and we were determined to fix that. Getting there required a bus, a tram, and another bus — a full public‑transport relay. Spirits were high as we stepped off the final bus… and then the heavens opened.

Rain didn’t just fall — it poured. Sheets of it. The kind of rain that soaks you in seconds. This was, impressively, the second time on this trip we’d been drenched to the bone. But we pressed on, laughing, dripping, and determined.

Inside, we got them their very first Costco membership — a milestone moment — and wandered the aisles like explorers. We left with just enough groceries for each of us to carry back through the rain, onto the bus, the tram, and the bus again. Among the haul: their first-ever bagels, which quickly became a household favorite — sweet and savory. A true home run.

Gratitude, Pride, and What Comes Next

Those ten days flew by faster than any of us expected. One moment we were stepping out of the car into Mae’s arms, crying happy tears in the driveway, and the next we were packing our bags again, wondering how time could possibly move that quickly when you’re with the people you love. Every beach walk, every shared meal, every new “first,” every laugh — it all passed in a blur of joy.

As sad as we were to leave, we were also filled with something else: pride.

Pride in Mae and Jo for uprooting their lives with one suitcase each.
Pride in how quickly they were learning their way around.
Pride in how they were settling into their new life with resilience, humor, and openness.

Watching them build a home, a routine, and a future in a new country was inspiring. They weren’t just adapting — they were thriving.

And the best part? We’re already planning our next chapter together.

By 2028, we imagine the rest of the family will have relocated, Mae and Jo will be fully settled, and we’ll all be ready for a little “seacation” — a reunion at sea with our Aussie and Kiwi friends joining in. The thought alone made us smile: the four of us, plus the extended circle we’ve gathered across continents, sharing sunsets, stories, and maybe even another cooking lesson or two (hopefully with fewer smoke alarms).

Leaving Sydney wasn’t easy. But as we closed the door behind us, we felt that familiar spark of anticipation.

Watch out family in the Philippines, we’re on our way!

Sydney greeted us with that familiar mix of sunshine, sea breeze, and the unmistakable feeling of coming home to people we love. After years of waiting — years that stretched all the way back to Christmas 2019 — we finally wrapped our arms around Mae and Jo again. No video call, no message thread, no shared photo ever came close to the warmth of that first real hug. It felt like time folded in on itself, collapsing the distance and the years in one breath.

Those first hours in Sydney were all about family: catching up, laughing at how much and how little had changed, and settling into the comfort that only cousins can give. But woven into this homecoming was another kind of reunion — the kind that travel gifts you when you least expect it.

Reconnecting With Friends Who Became Part of Our Story

Sydney isn’t just where our cousins live. It’s also where several of our travel friendships have taken root, each one formed in a different corner of the world and somehow leading us all back to this city.

We first met Shenna and Winny on a Trafalgar tour through Israel and Jordan— one of those journeys where the landscapes were unforgettable, but the people were what truly stayed with us. From the very first day, Shenna’s warmth and Winny’s gentle presence made every stop richer, every long bus ride lighter, and every shared meal feel like dinner with family.

Seeing them again in Sydney felt like picking up a conversation we’d paused only moments ago, even though years had passed. There’s something rare about friendships that survive distance, time zones, and the unpredictability of travel — and rarer still when they grow stronger because of it.

Collage created by Winny

During our visit, Winny shared some of her incredible sketches with us — delicate, expressive, and full of quiet detail. It was a privilege to see her talent up close, a glimpse into the creative world she carries with her.

Before we said goodbye, our conversation drifted — as it always does with them — toward future adventures. We realized we weren’t ready to let this reunion be the end of the story. So we made a promise that felt both exciting and completely natural:
in 2027, we’ll plan to travel to South Africa together.

It’s a plan I’ll start researching when we get home in April. And just like me, Winny has her eye on Victoria Falls, already dreaming about the mist, the rainbows, and the thrill of standing at the edge of one of the world’s great wonders. It’s the kind of shared dream that makes a friendship feel even more like family.

A Sweet Afternoon With Kazune and Michael

Our next reunion was with Kazune, someone whose story has been intertwined with ours for years.

We first met her on a Princess cruise, back when she was a ship photographer with a warm smile and a quiet talent for making everyone feel seen. A couple of years later, in 2019, we found ourselves in Tokyo — and she became our guide, our translator, our food scout, and truly one of the best companions we’ve ever had. She took us to places we still talk about today, each meal somehow topping the last, even though we swore it couldn’t be possible. That week with her remains one of our most treasured travel memories.

Life carried her forward in the most beautiful ways. She married in 2023, moved to Australia, and built a new chapter here. So when we realized our paths would cross again in Sydney, we were thrilled — not just to see her, but to finally meet her husband, Michael.

After a wonderful lunch together, we wandered through a nearby street market — the kind filled with handmade crafts, colorful stalls, and the irresistible smell of something sweet frying in the air. Naturally, we followed our noses straight to the donuts. Standing there with donuts in hand, laughing and catching up, it felt like no time had passed at all.

Before we said goodbye, we made a promise: we’ll see each other again in 2028 — and by then, we’ll get to meet the newest addition to their family, their baby boy who is expected this May, their happiest news.

Warren & Deborah — A Reunion Sparked by Serendipity

Some reunions begin with intention; others begin with a spark of coincidence. Deborah had been following our blog as we sailed across the Pacific, reading along as each port unfolded. One day, she noticed something uncanny: we were aboard the Coral Princess, the very same ship where two other couples they knew from our Antarctica voyage were also sailing. That little moment of recognition set everything in motion.

The instant she realized it, Warren sent us an email — one of those perfectly timed messages that feels less like chance and more like the universe giving a gentle nudge.

Catching up with them felt natural, as if no time had passed since our cruisetour from Rio to Antarctica. They welcomed us into their day with such warmth, taking us on a beautiful hike up to the Barrenjoey Lighthouse. The climb was worth every step — sweeping views, sea breeze, and the kind of conversation that settles in comfortably.

Lunch afterward was delicious, made even better by the stunning seafront setting. It was one of those afternoons that felt unhurried and full, the kind you tuck away as a quiet treasure of a trip.

We promised to stay in touch and keep them posted about our plans for the 2028 cruise. And next time, we’ll make our way up to visit them — perhaps by train, or maybe by then the cousins will be driving and can whisk us along. However it happens, we hope our paths cross again soon.

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.