Photo from ten years ago today, December 12, 2015:
Day 47…Last day of cruise….Packing today, disembarking tomorrow…
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Day 35…Last day of the second and final leg of our 47-night, back-to-back cruise…Packing today…Changing cabins tomorrow…
Over the years of cruising, we’ve learned many lessons, some the hard way, and recently, one of those lessons resurfaced with an uncomfortable thud. When we booked this cruise, we chose what’s called a guaranteed cabin, a term that sounds promising, almost luxurious in a vague sort of way, as if it means you’re assured something special. In theory, that’s the appeal: you’re guaranteed a cabin within the category you booked, or possibly even an upgrade if availability allows.
What they don’t explain quite so clearly, at least not in a way that resonates until you live it, is that while you’re guaranteed a cabin, you’re not guaranteed to like where it is. We knew this possibility existed, but figured that saving over US $1000 was worth any potential challenges. Little did we know, I’d fall and injure my knee. Up to that point, walking on the ship had worked out well for me, and I wasn’t experiencing any issues.
A guaranteed cabin means you allow the cruise line to assign your stateroom at their discretion. They select the cabin for you, sometimes not until shortly before sailing or even after boarding. For those willing to roll the dice in exchange for a lower fare or a shot at a surprise upgrade, it’s an enticing prospect. For travelers with no mobility issues or who don’t mind being at the far end of a long corridor, it might be a non-issue. But for us, especially right now, it’s proving to be a complication we wish we’d avoided.
As many of you know, my knee is still painful almost three weeks after the fall. Walking long distances feels like dragging a cement block through molasses, slow, painful, and exhausting; however, it’s improved considerably over the past week. The cabin we’ve been staying in has been reasonably close to the elevators, a blessing I’ve appreciated each time I’ve hobbled down the hallway. But because we’re consecutive passengers, continuing on for the next segment that begins tomorrow in Singapore, our guaranteed cabin status now means we must move. And not just move a few doors down, but move to another location entirely, much farther from the elevators.
We went to guest services a few days ago, hoping to plead our case. Surely, we thought, they could make a note, or make a swap, or at the very least commit to finding us something closer. After all, we aren’t asking for an upgrade, only a location that doesn’t require an Olympic-level trek. The young crew member behind the desk was pleasant but immovable. She explained that they simply couldn’t promise anything until the new batch of passengers boards tomorrow in Singapore, and they’ve seen which cabins open up after no-shows and cancellations. Only then, they said, might a more accessible cabin become available, but there’s no certainty.
This means that tonight, between 7:00 pm and 11:00 pm, we must pack everything, every shoe, every cable, every miscellaneous item that has slowly migrated across the small surfaces of this cabin, and place our luggage outside our door to be taken away. They will move our bags to whatever stateroom we’ve been assigned overnight. We won’t know which cabin that is until sometime tomorrow, when guest services calls or leaves a message on the stateroom phone. And until we know where we are assigned, we won’t have our luggage or access to the room.
Adding to the absurdity, none of us, including those who are continuing on the next voyage, are allowed access to our new cabins until 1:00 or 2:00 pm tomorrow afternoon, after they’ve completed the cleaning and preparation for the next round of guests. So we will spend tomorrow morning and early afternoon wandering the ship with whatever we keep in our carry-on bags. I suppose we’ll stake out a quiet corner somewhere with our laptops and wait for the news.
Tonight, when we pack, we’ll have to think carefully about what needs to stay with us for the night: my prescriptions, pajamas, a change of clothes, and minimal toiletries, including our laptops and chargers. Anything else will disappear into the abyss of luggage carts until sometime tomorrow. It feels strangely vulnerable, this temporary state of limbo, reliant on forces entirely beyond our control.
For now, I’m frustrated and, admittedly, a little embarrassed that we didn’t foresee this inconvenience. In hindsight, we should have booked a specific cabin assignment to ensure a location that worked for my current limitations. That extra certainty would have been well worth whatever price difference existed.
Lesson learned, once again: a guaranteed cabin doesn’t guarantee convenience, comfort, or location. It guarantees only a place to sleep…somewhere.
We’ll breathe easier once tomorrow is behind us, when we’ve unpacked yet again and settled into whatever cabin fate and the cruise line assign us. Until then, we brace ourselves, we pack, we hope, and we wait.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, November 30, 2015:
Day 24…How much did we pay for WiFi for these three back-to-back-cruises?…Our cruise stats…
Finally, we have our confusing cruise bills figured out, including the daily WiFi charges:
- Cruise # 1 US $572.68
- Cruise #2 US $575.68
- Cruise #3 US $383.68
- Total US $1532.04
Total daily expense for WiFi: US $32.60
Since we are Diamond Plus (priority) members, these costs are about 20% less than they would have been for lower-tier categories, as follows:
- Pinnacle Club – 700 points for 700 days of cruising
- Diamond Plus – (our category) for 175 or more days of cruising
- Diamond – for 80 days of cruising
- Emerald – for 55 days of cruising
- Platinum – for 30 days of cruising
- Gold – for 3 days of cruising
Since we began cruising in 2013, less than a year after we left Minnesota, we have sailed on 32 cruises*, with several cruise lines, including the following:
- Celebrity (not since 2023)
- Carnival (not since 2013)
- Norwegian (not since 2013)
- Royal Caribbean (current)
- Viking (not since 2016)
- Ponant (not since 2018)
- Azamara (not since 2023)
*We had booked other cruises that were canceled due to the war in Ukraine and the pandemic.
That’s it for today, folks.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, November 19, 2015:
Day 23…Halfway through the cruise…The cruise industry is evolving…
Cruising has always been a moving target, gently shifting with each passing year. However, lately the changes feel more noticeable, almost as if the industry is trying to reinvent itself while still holding on to that familiar sense of comfort so many of us love. As we’ve observed during our travels, both onboard and through conversations with fellow passengers and crew, the experience feels like it’s taken on new layers, some subtle, some impossible to miss. And as always, when you’re someone who spends a lot of time at sea, those changes stand out in a way that becomes woven into your days.
One of the most significant shifts seems to be the way cruise lines are refining the onboard experience to accommodate a broader range of travelers. You can feel it the moment you step onboard: the mix of guests is more diverse than ever, spanning generations, cultures, and backgrounds, all converging on these massive floating cities. It’s reflected in everything from expanded dining options to entertainment that tries to appeal to both longtime cruisers and first-timers dipping their toes into this lifestyle. At the same time, some of the more traditional elements remain, such as afternoon tea, formal night photos, and the library’s quiet corners. There’s an undeniable push toward livelier, more customizable experiences.
Technology has quietly slipped into nearly every corner of cruising, changing the way the days unfold. From mobile apps that handle everything from dining reservations to muster drills, to digital wristbands that conveniently unlock doors and make purchases, the industry seems determined to streamline and modernize. For those of us who remember the paper dailies and queuing up at customer service for the smallest question, this shift feels both efficient and slightly surreal. It’s a sign of the times, I suppose, but one that certainly makes life onboard smoother, especially on longer sailings when routines become second nature.
Dining, too, has taken on a new personality. While the classic main dining room experience remains firmly intact, there’s a noticeable emphasis on variety, flexibility, and catering to diverse dietary needs. Plant-based menus, gluten-free options, sugar-free desserts; these offerings were once limited and now appear thoughtfully integrated, as if the culinary staff is trying to ensure that everyone feels welcome at the table. Although I am struggling to enjoy meals tailored to my dietary needs, I accept this reality and continue to order the same dinner almost every night.
Of course, another change that’s become increasingly clear is the broader shift toward sustainability. While cruise ships will always generate debate around environmental impact, many lines now proudly highlight their efforts to reduce waste, conserve energy, and adopt cleaner technologies. You notice it in the elimination of single-use plastics, the emphasis on water conservation, and even in the way shore excursions are framed, better for wildlife, better for the local communities, better for the conscience of travelers eager to make responsible choices.
Perhaps the change that feels most personal is the evolving mindset of the passengers themselves. After years of global uncertainty, people seem to travel with more intention, more gratitude, and often more awareness of how precious these experiences truly are. Conversations at shared tables or around the cocktail bar drift toward topics of resilience, health, connection, and the simple joy of waking up each morning to a new horizon. There’s a softness to the way people interact, a gentleness in their appreciation for small moments.
In many ways, cruising is still exactly what it has always been: a way to relax, explore, and experience life from a floating home where the days glide by with a certain sweetness. But like all things, it continues to evolve, shifting with the needs and expectations of those who step aboard. And for travelers like us, who notice the texture of each day at sea, these changes become part of the story, another chapter in the ongoing journey of being out in the world, savoring each moment as it comes.
At the moment, as always in the mornings, we’re seated at the banquet in the Promenade Cafe on deck 5, where we park ourselves each morning as I prepare the new day’s post. Tom is enjoying watching football on his laptop while I prepare the post, using his earbuds. Often, passengers stop by to say hello, and we immediately stop what we’re doing to visit with them. The social interactions we experience each day are delightful and exceed our expectations.
Tomorrow, we’ll share details of the cost of WiFi on the ship. It’s still shockingly high!
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, November 18, 2015:
Day 21…Meet up with cruise friend from 2017…Port Elizabeth, South Africa…
In April 2017, during one of those long, dreamy repositioning cruises, which was aboard Royal Caribbean’s Explorer of the Seas, sailing from Sydney all the way to Seattle, we met a lovely couple who instantly felt like old friends. Ulla and her husband, Ray, had that rare combination of openness and warmth that made conversation effortless from the start. Over the 24 nights we shared on that voyage, we often found ourselves lingering in lounges, lingering anywhere the ship’s gentle hum encouraged stories to spill out. Little did we know at the time that this serendipitous meeting would blossom into an eight-year friendship.
Since then, Facebook has been our bridge across continents and oceans. We’ve celebrated their travels, they’ve celebrated ours, and despite the miles, the connection never dimmed. So when we discovered they’d be joining us again on this current sailing, it felt like one of those full-circle travel blessings that only long-term nomads, like us, truly understand, life looping back with familiar faces in faraway ports.
But as travel often reminds us, plans can shift in a heartbeat. Just before departure, Ray fell ill with pneumonia in Australia and wasn’t able to travel. Our hearts sank for him. After eight years of looking forward to crossing paths again, the timing felt almost cruel. Still, in true traveler spirit, Ulla made the journey anyway, accompanied by her delightful friend Julia, boarding the ship in Cape Town and planning to stay aboard until Brisbane, Australia, on December 13. Seeing Ulla step onboard, smiling, resilient, and excited despite the circumstances, was a reminder of how friendships forged at sea have a kind of buoyancy all their own.
Last night, the four of us reunited as if no time had passed at all. There’s something about cruise ship evenings that brings out the best in these moments: the soft lighting, the gentle sway beneath our feet, the feeling that time is stretching just enough for connections to breathe. We shared stories, laughter, and updates, catching up on the years as though flipping through a well-loved scrapbook.
Later, when they headed off to the nightly show, we gravitated to the Star Lounge for a singing game show that turned out to be hysterical. Neither of us has any desire to get up on stage—our comfort zone is firmly in the enthusiastic-but-anonymous audience category—but we laughed harder than we had in days. The energy was infectious, reminding us of all the quirky little joys that make cruise life so endearing.
When the game wrapped up, we wandered back to the R-Bar, where we ended up deep in conversation with George, an American man we’d briefly met before. He was genuinely stunned—almost wide-eyed—when he heard how long we’ve been traveling the world full-time. His fascination mirrored the reactions we often get: a mix of admiration, curiosity, and disbelief that anyone could live out of a suitcase for so many years and still love it.
As we chatted, I felt that familiar wave of gratitude wash over me. Nights like this—old friends rediscovered, new acquaintances made, laughter drifting through lounge floors—remind me why this nomadic life continues to fill us up after all these years. It’s not just the places or the ports. It’s the people who drift in and out like tides, each leaving a gentle imprint on our ever-changing journey.
Today, our ship is docked in Port Elizabeth, a place many cruisers look forward to exploring, but for us, it’s a quiet pause in the journey rather than a day of adventure. The options are straightforward enough: the shuttle ferries passengers to a nearby shopping mall or off to a safari experience. For many, spotting wildlife in South Africa is the highlight of a trip like this. And truly, we understand the appeal. It’s magical to see those first giraffes grazing on treetops or elephants ambling across the savanna.
But after almost 300 game drives and safaris over the past thirteen years, our hearts no longer chase the novelty of a single day out in the bush. Instead, we’ve come to relish the deeper rhythm of returning to Marloth Park, where we can slip back into our own private version of the wild. There, we settle into a routine we know well: the early mornings when the world is still hushed, the familiar rumble of distant lions, the comfort of waiting in our rental car, engine humming softly, as we slowly make our way through Kruger National Park.
The wildlife seen in this region, whether here in the Eastern Cape or up north near the Mozambique border, tells the same story. The same iconic species roam, the same dramas unfold under the African sun, and the same sense of wonder lingers in the air. The difference, for us, is the feeling of home that Marloth and Kruger have come to represent. We aren’t rushed on those visits, nor are we part of a tour group being guided along a predetermined route. Instead, we have the luxury of time, freedom, and the deeply personal experience of choosing our own path through the bush.
So today, while others line up eagerly for shuttles and excursions, we’re content to stay aboard the ship, enjoying the peaceful hum of life at sea. Some ports call to us with irresistible energy, urging us to explore. Port Elizabeth, however, whispers permission to rest. And in this season of our lives, after so many days on the road, so many game drives, so many breathtaking encounters, we’ve learned to honor those quieter impulses too.
We’ll save the safaris for June, when we return to Marloth Park and ease back into the wilderness we know and love. There’s no need to rush. Africa will be waiting.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, November 16, 2015:
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| In Savusavu, Fiji, this boat navigates to the pearl beds. For more photos, please click here. |
Day 19…Part 1, Cape Town, South Africa…Beginning first day of cruise #2 to Singapore…
Yesterday, as we rode through the bustling streets of Cape Town, I felt that familiar flutter in my chest; the one that always comes when we wander into a city that seems to hum with its own quiet poetry. Cape Town isn’t a place you simply visit. It’s a place that rises up to greet you, brushing its history, its colors, and its complexities against your senses until you’re left a little breathless and more than a little enchanted. And with a knowledgeable local guide, Patrick leading our way, the experience felt even richer, like lifting the veil on a story we’d only skimmed before.
Patrick, a 19-year resident of Cape Town, originally from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, introduced himself with an easy smile and a voice seasoned from years of telling Cape Town’s layered stories. We met him at the waterfront just after we disembarked, one of many tour guides we could choose from. His easy smile and friendly demeanor immediately triggered us to choose him, among a plethora of others.
He stated he’d take us on a two-hour tour of the highlights of Cape Town for US$70 $70 which was reasonable compared to the many other offers thrown at us.
The morning air was cool, tinged with sea spray and that faint aroma of roasted coffee drifting from nearby cafés. Patrick explained that Cape Town is best understood as a tapestry, each neighborhood a patch stitched from different moments in time. That idea framed the entire tour, as though we were unspooling a long thread that connected past to present, one step at a time.
We began in the shadow of Table Mountain, its flat top softened by a thin ribbon of cloud. Our guide pointed out how the mountain almost seems to anchor the city, both geographically and emotionally. Locals look to it as a constant, he said, especially on days when the winds shift and life feels a bit unpredictable. As he spoke, I could feel that sentiment echoing somewhere inside me. After so many years of nomadic living, I’ve grown sensitive to how anchor points—mountains, oceans, even people—give a place its pulse.
From there, we wound our way through the city where ancient trees arched overhead like protective elders. Squirrels darted across pathways, accustomed to visitors stopping to take photos or offer tiny morsels. Our guide paused often, not to lecture but to share small, almost tender anecdotes, where couples propose, where schoolchildren gather, where artists come to find their quiet. It reminded me that cities aren’t just streets and monuments; they are held together by moments that might seem insignificant until they’re stitched into someone’s memory.
No city tour of Cape Town would be complete without a visit to the Bo-Kaap, and the sight of those candy-colored houses made my heart lift with the same lightness I feel when traveling down a sunlit sea lane. The bright facades, turquoise, rose, lemon, and emerald, seemed to glow under the midday sun. Patrick explained the neighborhood’s Muslim heritage and the resilience of families who’ve lived there for generations. You could feel the pride in his voice, but also a thread of protectiveness, as though he were speaking of a beloved relative. That kind of connection always moves me; it’s a reminder of how deeply place and identity intertwine.
Later, we drove along the coast, where waves crashed against the rocky shoreline, sending up plumes of white spray. Our guide let the scenery do most of the talking, offering only gentle notes, where fishermen cast their lines at sunrise, which beaches locals escape to on sweltering afternoons, and how the color of the water shifts with the seasons. As we looked out at the expanse of the Atlantic, I felt a familiar blend of gratitude and longing. Gratitude for the privilege of witnessing so many corners of the world, longing because every beautiful place leaves an imprint, a soft tug that stays with you long after you’ve moved on.
By the time our tour wrapped up and the city began to glow with afternoon light, I felt that Cape Town had opened itself to us in a way only a skilled guide can orchestrate, honestly, gently, and with a sense of invitation. We returned to our ship with full hearts, carrying with us not just facts and photos but the feeling of a city alive with stories, stitched forever into our own.
Unfortunately, riding in Patrick’s vehicle through insane traffic prevented us from remembering the details of every photo, and we are unable to identify every scene. However, regardless of that reality, we were entranced by the sights and look forward to sharing more in tomorrow’s post.
A fantastic surprise we promised to share today… Our dear friends from Marloth Park, Louise and Danie, are meeting us at the pier at 2:00 pm to share sundowners at a local pub and to have a lively conversation about our exciting visit to their home city, Cape Town.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, November 14, 2015:
Day 13, Sea days continue…Update on the cruise cough…Tamiflu benefits…
When that familiar ache settles deep into the bones, the chills start creeping across your skin, and the world suddenly feels like it’s been wrapped in fog, most of us know that dreadful feeling—it’s the flu. Not just a little sniffle or a passing sore throat, but the real thing, the kind that knocks you flat for days. That’s where Tamiflu, or Oseltamivir as it’s known generically, comes into the picture. Over the years, it’s become a trusted companion for those of us who’ve faced influenza’s wrath and wanted a fighting chance at shortening the misery.
Tamiflu is what you reach for when you can feel the flu tightening its grip, especially within the first 48 hours of symptoms. That timing is critical. The medication doesn’t work like a magic wand; it can’t eradicate the virus, but it can slow its multiplication in the body. What that means for most people is fewer days of fever, body aches, and exhaustion. In some cases, it can shorten the illness by as much as one or two days, which doesn’t sound like much until you’ve been bedridden, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you’ll ever feel normal again. Those two days can feel like a gift.
For travelers like us, constantly moving between climates, continents, and crowded environments like airports and cruise ships, the risk of catching the flu is always lurking. We try to be careful, washing hands frequently, eating well, and staying rested, but exposure is inevitable when you’re surrounded by people from all over the world. Having Tamiflu on hand provides a layer of comfort, almost like carrying an umbrella when the forecast looks stormy. You might not need it, but when you do, it’s invaluable.
One of Tamiflu’s greatest benefits is its ability to help prevent complications, particularly in older adults or those with underlying conditions. The flu is more than just an inconvenience for people with heart disease, diabetes, or respiratory issues—it can be life-threatening. By slowing down the virus’s ability to reproduce, Tamiflu helps reduce the risk of the infection spreading deeper into the lungs, where it could lead to pneumonia or other severe complications. For many, it’s a way to stay out of the hospital and on the path to recovery at home.
Another important aspect is its use as a preventive measure. When someone close to you comes down with the flu, a spouse, a cabinmate, or even a fellow traveler on a long cruise, it’s often only a matter of time before others follow. But with Tamiflu, there’s a possibility of stopping that chain reaction. When taken as a prophylactic, it can reduce the likelihood of developing the flu even after exposure. It’s not foolproof, but it can make the difference between staying healthy and joining the ranks of the feverish and coughing.
What many people appreciate about Tamiflu is how relatively easy it is to take. It’s available in both capsule and liquid form, and when started early, the side effects are usually mild, sometimes a bit of nausea or a headache, but nothing compared to the agony of full-blown influenza. It’s a reminder that while modern medicine doesn’t have all the answers, it has given us tools that can ease our suffering and speed our return to normal life.
There’s also a psychological benefit that shouldn’t be underestimated. Knowing there’s something you can do, some form of defense, can ease the helplessness that often comes with getting sick far from home. We’ve learned that having a small supply of Tamiflu in our travel medical kit brings peace of mind. When you’re in a foreign country or at sea, where access to medical care can be limited or delayed, that little blister pack can feel like reassurance in tangible form.
Ultimately, Tamiflu doesn’t promise perfection, but it offers hope. It reminds us that even when illness finds us, we’re not entirely at its mercy. Whether taken to lessen the flu’s severity, to prevent its spread, or simply to bring comfort during an uncertain time, Tamiflu remains a valuable ally in the traveler’s arsenal, and for anyone who wants to feel just a little more in control when the flu comes calling.
No words can express how grateful I am that Doc Theo prescribed Tamiflu in the event we started coming down with a virus on the ship. It has, without a doubt, prevented me from a long-term bout with the cruise cough and flu, which started several days ago and is significantly improved.. Please check with your medical professional for assistance with this drug.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, November 8, 2015:
Day 11…sea days continue…Oh no! The dreaded cruise cough!….
It was Tuesday night when I first felt that familiar tickle in my throat, you know…the one that sends a quiet alarm through your body, whispering, something’s coming. Within hours, it progressed to a sore throat, then a cough, and finally to that heavy, sinking feeling of general malaise. My energy drained like a leaky faucet, and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. By the next morning, I knew without a doubt: I had developed the dreaded “cruise cough.”
This is the ninth day of our voyage, and it’s ironic how fast something so small can take over the experience. Before we boarded, we did everything right, or so we thought. We took our daily supplements religiously: vitamin C, zinc, quercetin, elderberry, and a handful of others. I kept up with cold showers, exercised daily, ate healthily, and made sure to get plenty of rest. And yet, none of it mattered once that invisible stowaway, a germ or virus, found its way into our cabin.
Tom, ever resilient, was the first to show symptoms. On the fifth day of the cruise, he began sneezing and coughing, his voice hoarse but his spirit unfazed. He’s never one to complain, even when feeling under the weather. He rested for a few days, skipped all the sugary foods, drank plenty of water, and by the eighth day, he was completely back to normal. I wish I could say the same. My version of this “cruise cough” has dug in deep, with a persistent tickle that keeps me awake and a fatigue that makes even short walks around the ship feel like an effort.
The “cruise cough” isn’t an official medical diagnosis, of course. It’s a phrase seasoned cruisers use to describe the upper respiratory bug that often spreads like wildfire on ships. Despite the best ventilation systems, diligent cleaning, and constant hand sanitizing, a ship is a floating city with thousands of people sharing confined spaces, elevators, dining rooms, and theaters. All it takes is one person to sneeze in the buffet line or cough into their hand before pressing a button, and the virus begins its quiet circulation through the decks.
So, what can one do to prevent it from getting worse once it’s arrived? I’ve been asking myself that very question as I sip hot tea, the ship rocking gently beneath me. I’ve been taking Tamiflu since yesterday, a precautionary prescription from Doc Theo, “just in case.” Whether it’s the flu, a cold, or something in between, I’m hoping it helps shorten the duration or at least keep it from becoming more serious. The key now is hydration, rest, and patience, three things that sound simple but are surprisingly hard to achieve when the itinerary is full and the excitement of travel still hums in your veins.
There’s also the matter of isolation. I’ve been careful not to attend large gatherings, and we’ve skipped the evening shows and dinners in the main dining room for now. It isn’t enjoyable, of course. After all, cruising is such a social experience. The last thing I’d want is to pass this along to someone else. It’s strange how considerate you become once you’re the one coughing. Every sneeze feels like a public offense.
It’s humbling, really. After years of travel across continents, through jungles, deserts, and cities of every size, I find myself sidelined not by a grand adventure gone wrong, but by a simple cough on a cruise ship. It’s a reminder that even the healthiest routines and the most diligent precautions can’t guarantee immunity when hundreds of different immune systems mingle in close quarters.
For now, I’ll continue resting, take Tamiflu, and drink copious amounts of liquids. I’ll skip the dining room, avoid the buffet crowds, and hope the ocean air helps clear my lungs. Tom, ever attentive, brings me Sprite Zero while reminding me that this, too, shall pass. Goodness, we still have 36 nights of cruising to savor, and I’d like to experience them feeling well.
The “cruise cough” might be an unwelcome companion. Still, it’s also part of the unpredictable rhythm of travel, that reminder that we’re human, fragile, and always at the mercy of the environments we wander through. I suppose all we can do is ride it out, grateful that we’re together, afloat on the wide-open sea, waiting for wellness to return with the next sunrise.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, November 6, 2015:
Day 9, still at sea…What is the tipping situation on this cruise?…
When we first began cruising many years ago, one of the most confusing aspects was understanding how gratuities worked. Every cruise line has its own policy, and over time, those policies evolve. On Royal Caribbean cruises in 2025, gratuities remain an essential part of the onboard experience, both a gesture of appreciation and a vital source of income for the hardworking crew.
Royal Caribbean automatically adds daily gratuities to each passenger’s account. As of 2025, the rate for this cruise is $18.50 per person, per day for guests in standard cabins and $21.00 per person, per day for those in suites. This covers the crew who make our voyage comfortable, the dining staff, stateroom attendants, and behind-the-scenes team members who keep everything running smoothly. The charge is conveniently added to your onboard account, eliminating the need to carry cash or track tips throughout the cruise.
Our total gratuity bill for this 47-night cruise is an additional US $1739 ($18.50 per day x 2 x 47), which is added to our online account and charged to our credit card at the end of the cruise.
While some travelers prefer the old-fashioned way by handing out envelopes of cash at the end of the cruise, the automatic system ensures that every crew member receives their fair share. It’s easy to forget how many invisible hands make a cruise ship feel like a floating home. There are the stewards who quietly tidy our cabins twice a day, the dining room servers who remember our favorite drink, and the countless others who never meet us face-to-face but still play a role in keeping everything spotless and seamless.
Guests can prepay gratuities when booking their cruise, which can simplify budgeting and prevent surprises at the end of the trip. We’ve found this especially helpful when traveling for many weeks at a time. It’s one less line item on the final bill. Prepaying also locks in the current rate, which can be useful if there’s a price increase before your sailing date.
That said, gratuities are not carved in stone. If you receive particularly outstanding service, you can always add an additional tip directly to your onboard account or hand cash to the crew member personally. Conversely, if you experience a service issue, you can request adjustments through Guest Services, though most guests rarely need to. We’ve always found Royal Caribbean’s crew to be warm, attentive, and genuinely eager to please.
In specialty restaurants, bars, and lounges, an automatic 18% gratuity is added to all beverage and dining purchases. When we first started cruising, we used to double-check every receipt, but now we sign and smile, knowing the gratuity is already included. Of course, if someone goes above and beyond—a bartender who remembers your name after one visit, or a waiter who anticipates your dietary needs—a few extra dollars or a heartfelt thank-you goes a long way.
Some cruisers wonder where all these gratuities go. Royal Caribbean’s policy states that the funds are shared among the service team, including dining attendants, stateroom staff, and other key crew members who directly impact guest satisfaction. It’s a collective effort, and the crew’s livelihood depends on these contributions.
We’ve always viewed gratuities not as an obligation but as a form of gratitude. When you consider the long hours, the weeks away from family, and the consistently cheerful service that defines life aboard a Royal Caribbean ship, it feels good to know our small daily contribution makes a meaningful difference.
Over the years, we’ve met many crew members who’ve become familiar faces; some we’ve seen on different ships and itineraries. They remember us, ask about our travels, and share stories about their own journeys. It’s those connections that remind us tipping isn’t just about money, it’s about appreciation and acknowledgment of the human touch that makes every voyage memorable.
So, as we sail through 2025, it’s comforting to know the gratuity system continues to support the very people who make cruising so special. Whether it’s the smile of a room steward greeting you in the hallway or the waiter who ensures your meal is just right each evening, those daily tips are a way of saying, “Thank you for making this feel like home at sea.”
On the flip side, if you feel the overall services have been inferior, you can have the automatic gratuities removed from your final bill. But keep in mind that this will impact service staff you do not interact with, such as kitchen and laundry staff.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, November 4, 2015:
Off we go! Interesting facts about our cruises..
Tom looked up some facts about today’s 47-night cruise(s) that surprised us.
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10 Countries
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4 Continents,
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4 Hemispheres,
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Cross the Equator 3 times
Wow! We certainly are looking forward to this adventure and will share details with you as we sail on this fun journey.
We’ve taken every possible precaution to avoid getting sick, including taking immune-supporting supplements, taking cold showers, eating healthy food, getting good sleep, and exercising (which I’ve done daily). Tom did the three flights of stairs many times, collecting packages from Amazon, groceries, and Uber Eats.
We’ve both been doing intermittent fasting and have each lost over 16 pounds (7.3 kg) in 6 weeks, averaging 2.63 pounds (1.2 kg) per week. Tom is as light as he’s been since we left the US in 2012, but I still have 11 more pounds (5 kg) to reach my usual weight. I’d gained over 25 pounds from the previous heart medications I had to take for a year.
It will be a challenge to keep losing weight on the cruise, but I will try. It will be too hard to continue intermittent fasting, but since we don’t eat lunch, I’ll be careful with portion control and food choices during breakfast and dinner. Since we didn’t drink any alcohol, except for last Monday when we went to lunch with Linda and Ken, it was easier to lose.
On the ship, as Diamond Plus members, we’re each allowed five complimentary drinks each day. I will only have two glasses of wine each day, so we’ll see how it goes. Hopefully, all the walking we’ll do on the ship and out on tours will offset some of the extra calories we consume from the alcohol.
We are fully packed and ready to go. Soon, Carlos will arrive to help Tom get the bags downstairs. We arranged a larger taxi to take us to the cruise terminal. We have an assigned arrival time of 11:30 am to 12:30 pm. We won’t have any trouble making that time.
We signed up for internet so we each have our own connection on the ship and will still be able to communicate with family using WhatsApp and Facebook Messenger.
We’ll be back tomorrow, but it may be later than usual since we’ll be having breakfast and unpacking in the morning.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, October 27, 2015:
