The ship itself is genuinely impressive

Apex belongs to Celebrity’s Edge series, known for its sleek, outward-facing design, and it shows. We stayed in an Edge Stateroom with an Infinite Veranda — a bi-fold glass door that blends indoor and outdoor space and gives you noticeably more room than a standard balcony cabin. Push a button and the upper window drops, turning the veranda into an open-air sunroom. It’s a small feature that made a real difference every day. The Magic Carpet, a cantilevered platform that travels up the side of the ship across 13 decks, and Eden, the three-story glass-enclosed venue with its greenery, dining, and entertainment, are both worth the hype architecturally.

But the ship felt built to extract money, not to let you relax

This was our biggest disappointment. Activities that are complimentary on most other lines — a ship tour, a cooking demonstration, a yoga class — all carried a fee here. It’s a small thing multiplied many times over, and after a few days it starts to color how you experience the whole ship: every space, every activity, starts to feel like a pitch.

That feeling was sharpest for us as non-drinkers. Most of the lounges are built around bars, and if you’re not ordering, it’s hard to shake the sense that you’re not really meant to be there. More than once, we’d sit down somewhere quiet and a server would come over to take a drink order, and without one in front of us, we felt like we were occupying a seat meant for someone else. Even Eden, for all its beauty, never felt like a place we could just sit and take in the view. The Oceanview Café was really the only spot on the ship where we felt comfortable lingering without buying something. We’ve sailed Holland America, Princess, and Virgin Voyages and never had this experience — which makes me think it’s specific to how Celebrity has designed its public spaces, not an inevitable cruise-ship thing. I also wonder whether the drinks package cuts both ways: it’s good for the line’s revenue, but bad for passengers’ health, encouraging overindulgence, unlimited drinking in hot tubs, elevators, and everywhere in between doesn’t seem like it’s actually good for anyone’s cruise.

The amenities gap showed up elsewhere too. There’s no dedicated game room and no traditional library, both spaces we’ve come to rely on for sea days. The casino is likely the largest we’ve seen on any ship, but nearly every table sat empty each time we passed, a lot of space dedicated to something very few passengers seemed to want.

The food didn’t match Celebrity’s reputation

This is the one that surprised us most, since Celebrity’s dining is supposed to be a highlight. Instead, a lot of dishes missed on seasoning, either bland or too salty, and the menu started repeating itself after a few days into the cruise. Desserts were the weakest link: they didn’t have the elegant presentation Celebrity is known for, and they didn’t taste like much either. One small detail stuck with us — the Greek yogurt at the buffet was available for the first few days, then vanished for the rest of the voyage and was never restocked. Minor on its own, but it captured a broader inconsistency we noticed throughout the trip.

The scenic cruising had no narration

Whenever Apex sailed through one of the fjords or passed a notable landmark, there was silence — no commentary from the bridge or the cruise director. We felt this gap most clearly against our Holland America cruise through Patagonia last November, where the cruise director narrated glaciers, mountains, and history over the loudspeaker as we passed them. Norway’s fjords are every bit as spectacular, and we’d hoped for that same layer of context here.

Shore excursions were expensive and skippable

Celebrity’s own tours cost significantly more than what’s available locally. The one real advantage of booking through them is that the ship will wait for you if your excursion runs late. But local operators, like GetYourGuide and Norway Excursions AS, run the same routes for the same length of time, are just as professional about getting you back on time, and often cost one-half to one-third of Celebrity’s price. Plenty of passengers on our sailing had figured this out already.

So four stars or five?

One last detail bugged me: vacationtogo.com lists Celebrity as a Five Star line, but the placard in the Guest Services area on Apex itself says four. Based on everything above, I’d side with the ship’s own placard.

Would we sail Celebrity again?

Probably not. Apex is a beautiful, well-designed ship, and the itinerary did exactly what we wanted it to do. But the accumulation of extra charges, the lack of anywhere comfortable for non-drinkers to sit, and food that didn’t live up to the brand’s name added up to an experience that didn’t feel like the right fit for how we like to cruise.

We sailed aboard Celebrity Apex, stopping at eight fjord towns. The decision to cruise came down to a few practical reasons. Our goal was the fjords, not Norway’s cities, and a cruise packed more fjord stops into one itinerary than any land trip could. Norway is expensive — hotels, restaurants, and even casual snacks cost significantly more than back home in Canada. A cruise, while not cheap, evened out to comparable cost. And frankly, we wanted someone else driving those mountain roads.

June 8 — Haugesund

Haugesund was our first stop, and the weather made sure we earned it — heavy rain and wind the whole day. We pushed through to Haraldshaugen, the national monument marking the burial site of King Harald Fairhair, the Viking king who first united Norway. Standing in the rain, staring up at the monument, I couldn’t help thinking of the Netflix series Vikings. Look at what the descendants of those warriors have built! We also walked the waterfront canal, lined with colourful buildings and cafes. We missed the Nordvegen History Center and the Viking village of Njardarheimr — next time.

June 9 — Flam

As the ship pulled into Flam, the scenery unrolled like a canvas — a village of fewer than 400 people tucked between mountains and fjords. We booked a half-day shore excursion through GetYourGuide (operated by Maresia Tours) that took us up to the Stegastein viewpoint above the UNESCO-listed Aurlandsfjord. The fjord lay below like a mirror, rimmed by mountains that seemed to go on without end. We also stopped at the 800-year-old Borgund Stave Church, one of Norway’s most striking landmarks. One thing we regret missing: the Flam Railway, which stops at Kjosfossen waterfall where a dancer in red portrays Huldra, a spirit from Norwegian folklore. Tickets sell out fast in June — book early.

June 10 — Olden

Olden’s main draw is the Briksdal Glacier (Briksdalsbreen), and it delivered. Our tour bus wound through the valley and its tunnels. I had no idea Norwegians build tunnels the way other countries build highway. We passed a charming little red church from the early 1900s, gifted by an American collector of Norwegian antiques. At the foot of the glacier, we chose to hike rather than ride the open-top Troll car. The glacier has been retreating for decades, and that urgency was part of why we came — to see it while it still exists. Waterfalls tumbled down both sides of the trail, and by the time we reached the viewing platform, the spray hit us full in the face. Standing at the glacier’s edge, I felt equal parts awe and quiet relief at having made it.

June 12 — Tromsø

Tromsø sits above the Arctic Circle and carries its reputation as the “Paris of the North” with a relaxed confidence. We crossed the iconic Tromsø Bridge on foot, then rode the Fjellheisen cable car up to 421 metres, where the panorama of fjords, islands and snow-capped mountains stretched as far as we could see. A cafeteria at the top serves coffee — welcome after the ascent. Back at sea level, we visited the Arctic Cathedral, a striking modernist landmark. In June, the city hums with the energy of an Arctic summer finally arriving.

June 13 — Honningsvåg

Honningsvåg sits on the island of Magerøya, the gateway to Europe’s northernmost point. We joined a tour with Blue Puffin for the 34-km ride to North Cape. We knew the June sun never sets here, but we weren’t prepared for the relentless wind, rain and fog, waiting for us at the cape. Standing at 71°N on the cliff above the Arctic Ocean, I could see almost nothing. I had to stay mindful of exactly where I was standing. Before we could wait for any clearing, staff told us to leave — a storm was coming. On the way back, we stopped at a small fishing village where locals make their living on king crab and cod, and we said hello to a Sami man and his reindeer. Those two stops softened the disappointment of the Cape considerably.

June 15 — Molde

Molde, the “Town of Roses,” sits between fjords and mountains with a compact, walkable centre. We strolled to the landmark statue of the girl with roses, then joined a last-minute GetYourGuide tour of the Atlantic Road — a Norwegian engineering marvel that winds over elegant bridges and across tiny islands along the coast. It earned the title “Norway’s Construction of the Century,” and driving it, the name feels right. The tour also stopped at Bud, a quiet fishing village with colourful boathouses and remnants of a German World War II fortress built between 1941 and 1945 as part of the Atlantic Wall — an unexpected but sobering highlight.

June 16 — Ålesund

The ship docked right in Ålesund’s centre. From my cabin I could already see people climbing the Aksla viewpoint, and that was our first order of business. Two options: sightseeing train or 418 steps on foot. I have acrophobia and I’m in my late sixties. I climbed the steps anyway. I needed to know I still could. At the top, the reward was a full panorama of Ålesund’s Art Nouveau rooftops, the surrounding fjords, and the islands beyond. The Art Nouveau architecture came as a genuine surprise — ornate, fairy-tale buildings that make Ålesund feel like a northern Venice with an artistic edge. It’s the most visually layered of all the fjord cities we visited.

June 17 — Geiranger

Geiranger saved the best for last. This tiny village of roughly 250 residents sits at the end of the Geirangerfjord, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and the scenery earns every superlative thrown at it: sheer cliffs, the famous Seven Sisters waterfalls cascading down into deep sapphire water. We joined a Norway Excursions AS tour up the Eagle Road with its 11 hairpin bends to the Mount Dalsnibba Platform at about 1,500 metres, surrounded by green mountain slopes, snowy peaks and waterfalls. After seven fjord stops, this one still managed to raise our enthusiasm to its highest point.

Tips

• Book with local operators. Celebrity’s shore excursions run roughly double the price of equivalent local tours. We used GetYourGuide (getyourguide.com), Blue Puffin (blue-puffin.com), and Norway Excursions AS (norwayexcursions.com) — all reliable, professional, and honest. Norwegian guides and drivers never hinted at tips, which made every interaction more relaxed.

• Expect the roads. Mountain roads are narrow, often single-lane, and some have no barriers. Drivers routinely reverse or pull aside to let oncoming vehicles pass within inches. The driving skill on display is impressive — but I would not want to do it myself, especially in June when some roads are still icy and rain makes them slick.

• Pack for all weather. Norwegian weather shifts without warning. A downpour can pass in minutes, followed by sun, followed by grey skies again. Bring a rain jacket and rain pants — umbrellas are useless in the wind. Trekking poles are worth carrying if you plan any hiking.

• On the zero-emission question. Norway’s government ruled in 2018 that only zero-emission vessels could sail the World Heritage fjords by 2026. Major cruise lines had already begun adjusting itineraries — but the government has since delayed implementation by six years. That ruling was one reason we prioritized this trip now. Whether you feel the same urgency is up to you.

• Flam Railway. Book Flam Railway tickets well in advance. June is peak season and they sell out.

For a full description and video of each of the eight destinations, visit my Facebook at http://facebook.com/GoWittyCat with the links provided below. Be sure to turn your speaker on, you will love them!

Haugesund
https://www.facebook.com/reel/1679965763276003

Flam
https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1BrVdr8sGt/
https://www.facebook.com/reel/1999084097385284

Olden
https://www.facebook.com/share/1954510458535996

Tromso
https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1LDN3BbJXW/

Honningsvag
https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1EJGZTquNc/

Molde
https://www.facebook.com/share/v/191DiQyEsH/

Alesund
https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1EMNzHBPhF/

Geiranger
https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1DApPLMzE6/

I have travelled to many countries over the years, and I can tell you: not all toilets are created equal. In fact, the state of a country’s toilets tells you more about its civilization than any museum or monument ever could.

Let me start with the worst.

In the summer of 2011, I joined a tour group to Qinghai, a vast high-altitude province in northwest China on the Tibetan Plateau. Stunning landscapes, immense Qinghai Lake, strong Tibetan and Mongol cultural influences. We drove for long hours on dusty roads, drinking constantly to fight the dry heat. We were warned beforehand that only “dry toilets” were available along the way.

Dry toilets. The words meant nothing to me until I found one.

I put on a mask and walked in. Immediately I was pushed back out by the smell and the sight. “Dry” means no flushing water. Pees and poos piled up in a wide, deep pit, accumulating for what looked like decades. To do your business, you had to stride across that wide pit and squat. The risk of falling in was very real.

I put on a second mask and my sunglasses. I did not want to see clearly. With my friends gripping my hands on either side, I took the challenge. Beside me, a senior female friend stood at the entrance in tears: “I couldn’t do it... I would definitely fall into the pit.” She walked into the fields instead and peed there. Nobody judged her. We all understood completely.

In April this year, my two granddaughters aged seven and four visited Shanghai, China for the first time. The four-year-old tried her best with the squat toilet and soiled her pants. Her mother made an emergency dash to a nearby shop for new pants and, resourcefully, paper underwear. The seven-year-old took one look at the squat toilet and refused entirely. She held it. All day. A child of principle.

Squat toilets are not only user-unfriendly but apparently also a major contributor to the odour problem. I have always wondered why they still exist.

Mexico presented a different problem altogether. In Puerto Vallarta last December, public toilets were simply nowhere to be found. Adults learned to plan ahead and use restaurant facilities during meals. Children, however, do not plan ahead. My granddaughters discovered quickly that the only reliable way to access a toilet was to buy an ice cream at a beachside stall, about $5 each. It did not take long before every request for ice cream became suspiciously urgent. “I need to pee!” became the most profitable sentence in their vocabulary.

One night, the seven-year-old genuinely couldn’t hold it any longer. We were far from the tourist strip, no ice cream stall in sight. Her father drove us frantically to the nearest gas station. There was a toilet, but it required a local coin to enter, and we had none. A kind stranger saw our desperation and handed me a coin. I dropped it into the slot, hesitated one second too long deciding whether to send the girl in alone or follow her inside, and the entry bars opened and closed in about ten seconds. Gone. The coin, the chance, everything! I asked my granddaughter to pee on the ground outside. She was seven years old and too dignified for that. I could see her discomfort all the way home. Poor girl.

In Europe, the problem is not cleanliness but economics. Toilets cost money everywhere, typically guarded by an elderly attendant who has heard every sob story and remains unmoved. No coin, no entry. You quickly learn to carry small bills at all times, or to order a coffee you don’t want just to earn toilet privileges. Between two people making several visits a day, you can easily spend $10 on nothing but the right to relieve yourself. Consider it a civilization tax.

I once took a group of Canadian ladies to China in the autumn of 1996. I had planned everything carefully. Hotels, transportation, itineraries, meals. What I forgot to prepare them for was the toilet. No squat toilet warning. No heads-up about the absence of toilet paper or running water. I suggested we use the toilet at the base before climbing the Great Wall. The smell alone was enough. One lady emerged pale-faced, sweating, panting: "What is the smell?!" I had no good answer. Some experiences cannot be prepared for.

In the summer of 1998, my husband and I took a Yangtze River cruise through the Three Gorges with a Canadian couple, close friends of ours. We booked the best cabins on the ship. Good service, step-out balconies, the gorges unfolding magnificently around every bend. Everything was perfect except for one thing: a persistent, unpleasant odour rising from the cabin toilets. We were told it was a sewer treatment problem, impossible to fully resolve on the ship. So there we were, paying for the finest cabins, spending as much time as possible away from them.

And then there is Japan.

In Japan, I am toilet worry-free. More than worry-free, actually. I look forward to it. Japanese toilets, even in railway stations, are spotlessly clean and completely odourless. Bidets are standard. Sanitary spray bottles sit beside the toilet for wiping the seat cover. And then there is the music box, which I consider one of the most thoughtful inventions in human history. Press a button and gentle music or the sound of flowing water plays, covering any embarrassing sounds from within. Your dignity, fully preserved

Knowing a clean, comfortable toilet is always nearby, I eat and drink freely in Japan. No rationing water. No anxious calculations about where the nearest facility might be. Pure freedom.

This brings me to Gatwick International Airport, where I stopped last August. An international airport is a country’s front door, its first impression on every arriving visitor. I walked into the Gatwick toilets expecting the standard of a leading world civilization and found something outdated, unclean, and genuinely smelly. This was not the Gatwick I remembered from years ago. I stood there thinking: if Japan can make a railway station toilet a pleasure, surely the United Kingdom can manage an international airport.

Apparently not.

A toilet, it turns out, reveals everything. My son once told me about a high school friend who has two small boys at home. Every day is a battlefield. The only place this man finds any peace is locked inside the toilet. I understood immediately. For some people, a clean private toilet is not a luxury. It is a survival strategy.

I have always treated my own bathrooms as seriously as any other room in the house. In the spring of 2004, I decided to quit my government job and move overseas for a change. At the office farewell party, a Canadian colleague gave me a framed photograph of Vancouver. She wanted me to remember the city. Though several moves from one home to another, I have held to this framed picture, and it has always find a place in one of my bathrooms. Every time I walk in, Vancouver’s beauty is right there waiting.

Which is why I completely understand what happened to a Chinese friend of mine. She once gave a framed photograph of the Great Wall to a Canadian friend as a gift. Months later, invited to the friend’s home for dinner, she was puzzled and upset to find her beautiful Great Wall photograph hanging in the powder room.

What she didn’t know is that in Canada and the United States, the bathroom is not merely a functional room. It is a personal sanctuary. People decorate it with care, hang art they love, tend to its smell and atmosphere. A Great Wall photograph in the powder room was a genuine compliment. It meant the colleague saw that room as worth beautifying.

My Vancouver photograph and her Great Wall, both hanging in powder rooms, both placed there with affection. Different countries, different philosophies, different standards. You learn all of this, eventually, one toilet at a time.

As early as the 1950s, the Chinese people’s dream was to go to the West, including the United States, Canada, and Europe, with the former two being the most popular. However, this was a mission impossible for ordinary Chinese people, except for dignitaries and professionals. Zhang Ailing, a renowned female writer, was one of them; she moved to the USA in 1955. In many cases, those immigrants sought refuge under specialized U.S. policies designed to assist “non-communist” intellectuals and refugees.

In May 1966, China underwent the Cultural Revolution, which threw the country into a 10-year period of violent social and political upheaval. With the passing of Mao Zedong and the overthrow of his government, the revolution subsequently ended in October 1976. During this 10-year period, intellectuals, capitalists, and dignitaries all wanted to escape China, but none of them could, because China was under a complete lockdown from the outside world.

In 1978, China launched the open-door and reform movement, a historic shift from economic isolation to global integration. Foreign money and companies started pouring into China along with international exchanges on academic and technical levels. Scholars and students saw this as an opportunity to step outside China and into the West. The earliest batch of overseas students to the USA and Canada from China were mostly sent by the state, which meant that after graduation or training, they were obligated to return to serve the motherland. My husband was sent to Cambridge University in 1986, and he returned to China due to a contractual obligation. Those who broke the contract and stayed behind did well both in their career and in their life. This proves the saying that “the early bird catches the worm.”

After the Tiananmen Square crackdown in 1989, another wave of emigration erupted. Young people were in despair and wanted to seek freedom in the West. This time most of them went abroad at their own expense or were subsidised by parents and relatives. My husband was among those scholars who applied to study for university degrees, the only way to get out of China during those difficult times. One year later, I took my son to join him in Canada.

For many Chinese people, the goal of immigrating to a foreign country has been to seek a better life. Owning a car and a property used to be a life dream. I remember when my younger brother came to my two-bedroom apartment in 1995, our first owned property, he commented: “You are living in a five-star hotel every day.” In the 1990s, Chinese living conditions bore no comparison to western standards. The real estate market was not open, properties were owned by the state, and three generations lived under one roof. When young people got married, they had no home but to live with their parents. One friend who taught at a law school moved in with his in-laws, who had a spare room the size of a storage closet. The room was so small that he had to cut the bed several inches short to fit it in. Some young couple and their parent shared the room, using a curtain to separate it into halves for privacy at night.

In the 1990s, along with the open-door policy and reform, the Chinese government sent officials abroad to modernize the country through learning from the West. Everything in the US and Canada was an eye-opener for them. They were surprised to see with their own eyes that ordinary people owned cars and properties, enjoyed beautiful nature, and experienced transparent governance, freedom of speech, and equal rights. Some of those delegates happened to be my classmates. I invited them my house; the envy and impression were written on their faces.

During the past two decades or so, China has undergone tremendous changes.

The Chinese people tend to be forgiving and forgetful. They forget the hardships of life, the Tiananmen Square crackdown, and the Covid lockdown, and they forgive the government and even feel grateful to it for providing a safe environment. Look at the US: there are political confrontations, gun shootings, crumbling infrastructure, and slow governance. Look at Canada: high taxes, an incompetent government, a flux of refugees and immigrants straining public resources, drug addicts on the street, and long waits or outright inaccessibility when it comes to free medical care. The most obvious pain felt by both Americans and Canadians is inflation, high grocery costs, and unaffordable housing. By contrast, China has seen the world’s most rapid infrastructure development. Key achievements include a 40,000 km high-speed rail network, 8 of the world’s 10 longest sea-crossing bridges, and advanced 5G, AI, and data center deployment. Meanwhile, the housing market has dropped drastically, food is incredibly cheap, and service is not only superb but convenient. My college classmate lives in Chicago but travels to Shanghai, her hometown, regularly. Here are some of her recent observations in a WeChat group chat: “I find online booking is much cheaper than in previous years. Cars are new and very clean most of the time; a 17 to 20 km trip costs around RMB 45 (US$6). Many people buy electric cars now and register online to offer rides. When I pay RMB 45, the platform takes a set fee, so how much does the driver make per hour?” “I ordered online sweet and sour ribs, Dongpo pork, and steamed eggs with rice. The whole meal cost only RMB 27 (US$3.50). It delivered in 30 minutes for free.” If you earn American dollars and live in China, you live like you’re in heaven. But one classmate questioned: “It seems too cheap to be healthy for the sector, if not the economy as a whole. There must be a huge oversupply of agricultural products, since demand for food has a natural limit. One can only eat so much each day.”

Some senior homes in China are modern, well-equipped, and clean. They may be unaffordable for the vast majority of local retirees, but for overseas Chinese, these homes are attractive mainly for their affordability, ranging from RMB 6,000 to RMB 20,000 (varies by single or double occupancy, assisted or non-assisted living). In comparison, Canadian and American senior homes cost double or triple that. In recent years, “community canteens” have sprung up. Many retirees dine at these facilities, paying a mere RMB 15 to RMB 30 a meal, so they no longer need to cook at home.

On safety: in the US, you worry about unpredictable gun violence, kidnapping, and political violence; in Canada, you worry about car break-ins, burglary, and lax law enforcement. In Europe, theft and pickpocketing are so rampant that tourists think twice about visiting. One classmate shared his experience in Shanghai: “When I arrived at the hotel, I found my wallet missing. As it contained credit cards, money, and ID, I reported the loss to the local police. Several hours later, they returned the wallet to me. The security camera footage showed that the wallet had slipped out of my pocket while I was getting out of the taxi. A street cleaner found it and took it home. The whole incident was recorded on a street camera. The police went to her home and asked for the wallet. She couldn’t deny it.” In China nowadays, everything is under surveillance. It’s easier to catch criminals at the cost of privacy.

These are the reasons that Chinese diaspora members who tried by all means to leave China decades ago are now pondering a return to retire, or at least envying life back home. There is a saying: if you are not against the government, you will live a happy life there.

However, what kind of regime do you prefer? Do you want to live in a place where life is easy and maybe happy, so long as you have money to spend, regardless of an autocratic regime? Or do you value democracy and freedom above all else? Though I choose the latter without hesitation, I also think the US and Canada need to think hard. They are lagging behind China in infrastructure, transportation, public safety, responsive governance, and the cost of living.

As someone who has lived and worked under both systems, I say this not as a matter of sentiment, but of belief: democratic accountability, however imperfect and frustrating, remains the only system that contains the mechanisms to correct itself.

When to Come

Timing matters. Vancouver has a split personality: rainy Vancouver and sunshine Vancouver are very different. The wet season runs from October to April, with November through January being the gloomiest months. If you come during this period, you may spend more time under an umbrella than under open skies.

The best months is late spring through summer. From May to September, the city is warm, dry, and luminous. Autumn is worth considering too, especially if you enjoy golden and red foliage. But spring deserves special mention: Vancouver has over 50,000 cherry trees, and when they bloom, streets, parks, and neighbourhoods turn pink almost overnight. Stanley Park, Queen Elizabeth Park, UBC campus, and neighbourhoods like the West End, Arbutus Ridge, and Graveley Street put on a display that rivals Japan’s famous cherry blossom season.

Getting Around

Vancouver’s public transit system, Translink, is reliable and covers most of what visitors want to see. Buses, SkyTrain, SeaBus, and water taxis connect the major attractions, and the Translink website (translink.ca) has routes, fares, and schedules. If you plan to venture further to Whistler or the Sky Walk, you need to rent a car. Cycling is another enjoyable option, particularly around Stanley Park and English Bay. Bike rentals are available through shops and street rental stations, easily found on Google Maps.

One Day in Vancouver

Start in Gastown, Vancouver’s oldest neighbourhood and a National Historic Site. The Victorian architecture, cobblestone streets, and the famous Steam Clock set the tone. It sits close to Canada Place, so it fits naturally into a downtown loop.

From there, make your way to Stanley Park, one of the great urban parks in the world. Walk or cycle the seawall, take in the views of the North Shore mountains and English Bay, and stop for a meal at The Teahouse, a seaside restaurant offering afternoon tea seafood and Canadian cuisine. After the park, stroll along Robson Street, Vancouver’s main shopping and dining artery, stretching from BC Place to Stanley Park. Known as “Vancouver’s Runway,” it offers over 100 global brands, local boutiques, and plenty of dining options. Don’t leave without trying a Japadog — a Japanese-inspired street hot dog that is a Vancouver institution.

Two to Three Days

With more time, head to Granville Island. This lively hub sits across False Creek from downtown, tucked under the Granville Street Bridge. There is a public market full of fresh food and local produce, street musicians, art galleries, craft shops, and a relaxed waterfront atmosphere. A pleasant way to get there is to start at Olympic Village and walk the seawall, then hop on a water taxi across.

For food lovers, a trip to Richmond will not disappoint you. This is Vancouver’s new Chinatown, with authentic regional Chinese cuisine representing Cantonese, Shanghainese, Sichuan, Hunan, Huaiyang, and many other traditions. If you want to understand Vancouver’s multicultural character, Richmond gives you a vivid taste of it. There are too many good restaurants to list, but a few personal favourites: Kirin for dim sum and Cantonese seafood, Top Shanghai Cuisine (Yi Zhi Ding) for a taste of Shanghai nostalgia, and Szechuan Tales Restaurant for anyone who loves bold, spicy flavours. Beyond Richmond, Vancouver’s food scene spans virtually every cuisine imaginable. A quick Google search with reviews will point you to whatever you’re craving.

Back in the city, Din Tai Fung at 1132 Alberni Street is worth a visit. The Taiwanese dumpling chain’s Vancouver outpost impresses with its size, decor, and refined menu. For something new, C Market Coffee at 195 E 36th Ave is a recently opened Korean-inspired café spanning over 5,000 square feet, a lovely spot for coffee and pastries. For casual dining, Palate Kitchen at 848 West Hastings is a good choice during a downtown tour. Housed in the historic Jameson House, it offers an innovative menu raging from breakfast, brunch, and dinner, with a warm and inviting ambience.

For gardens, Queen Elizabeth Park offers sweeping views of the city and mountains, and its Seasons in the Park restaurant serves Mediterranean-inspired food against that panorama. VanDusen Botanical Garden is another peaceful retreat. Vancouver, I would say, is a city of flowers.

Beaches

If beaches draw you, English Bay, Sunset Beach, Kitsilano Beach, Jericho Beach, and Spanish Banks are all within the city. Further out, White Rock Beach, White Cliffs in West Vancouver, and Deep Cove in North Vancouver are worth the short drive.

Mountains

The North Shore mountains are visible from almost everywhere in Vancouver, and they are accessible. Grouse Mountain and Cypress offer skiing in winter and hiking in summer. The Capilano Suspension Bridge and Lynn Canyon Suspension Bridge, both in North Vancouver, are popular with visitors and locals alike. For a grander mountain experience, Whistler is roughly two hours north . It is famous for skiing in winter and hiking and biking in summer.

Vancouver and its surroundings offer hundreds of hiking trails for all fitness levels. I recently spent six hours hiking the Burnaby Mountain Loop, covering 12 km — a rewarding experience for both body and soul. It is the kind of outing that reminds you why living close to nature is one of Vancouver's greatest gifts.

A Final Thought

Vancouver is a city where you can hike a mountain in the morning, eat exceptional food at lunch, walk a beach in the afternoon, and watch the sun set over the Pacific in the evening. It took me in as a newcomer in 1991 and has never stopped revealing new things. Come in the right season, eat widely, and get outside. The city will do the rest.

The past year has been a turbulent one for Canada-US relations. Tariffs, sharp words from Washington, and a growing sense among many Canadians that a trusted neighbour has turned its back on us. I hear it everywhere, on social media, at the post office, in casual conversation. “Why are you even going there?” someone snapped at me online after I complained about a bad flight experience returning from San Francisco. “Don’t travel to the US!”

I understand the frustration. Trump’s remark, that America doesn’t need Canada, and that they have everything we have, landed like a slap. It is like an elder brother suddenly flipping the table on a weak sibling. The hurt is real.

But the ties between our two countries are not so easily cut. Millions of Canadians hold dual citizenship, own property in the US, or have family there, as I do. Telling people to stop crossing the border ignores a reality that politics alone cannot erase.

Last year, when I needed to urgently send a document to the US, Canada Post warned me it might take far longer than usual to arrive to our next-door neighbour. So I drove 40 minutes south, crossed the border, and mailed it from an American post office. What struck me on that drive was how quiet the crossing had become. Where there used to be lineups of Canadian cars heading south for shopping and leisure, the lanes were nearly empty. At Vancouver International Airport, where US customs operates right inside the terminal, the queues had thinned noticeably. On my recent crossing in December last year, I validated my Nexus card. The officer was courteous, the process calm. The only new addition: fingerprinting and a facial photograph, neither of which were required before.

The empty lanes told their own quiet story.

I have spent enough time on both sides of the border to notice the differences, at least on the West Coast where I know best.

San Mateo sits in a part of California that feels, to me, genuinely liveable. Strangers greet you on the street. Neighbours look out for one another. I take evening strolls without a second thought. Amazon parcels sit on doorsteps untouched for hours. Cars parked overnight on the street are left undisturbed. There is no quiet anxiety when you pull into your driveway. Traffic on the freeways is heavy, but drivers are mostly courteous and rule-abiding. Public facilities of libraries, pools, parks are quiet enough that you can find a corner to read in peace any time of day. The swimming pool is not, as we say back home, a pot of dumplings.

The neighbourhoods themselves feel preserved. Most homes are bungalows, the kind that have largely disappeared from Greater Vancouver. There is no rush to demolish and rebuild, no towers sprouting on every block.

Vancouver is a different story. Old homes are gone, replaced by oversized new builds or cleared entirely for high-rises that now reach 60 storeys in some parts of the city. Public resources are stretched thin across a fast-growing population. I once borrowed a book from a San Mateo library, ran out of time to finish it, and looked it up at my local Vancouver branch when I got home. I was 46th on the waiting list!

On Vancouver’s streets, pedestrians learn quickly not to assume the right of way, even when the light is green. Car break-ins are common enough that locals know not to leave so much as a water bottle on the seat. We watch our surroundings when entering our homes, and we don’t leave deliveries unattended for even a few minutes. People don't greet strangers on the street, and even neighbours, riding together in the same elevator, stare blankly at the floor numbers.

None of this is meant as a verdict on one place over the other. Both cities have things to offer, and both carry their own complications. What I find myself resisting is the impulse, fuelled by political anger, to treat the border as a wall, or to pretend that ordinary life on either side can be reduced to a diplomatic dispute.

The people I meet in San Mateo are warm, neighbourly, and largely indifferent to the noise coming out of Washington. And the Canadians calling for a travel boycott are not wrong to feel what they feel. But feeling hurt and cutting off your brother are two different things.

I will keep crossing that border. The line may be shorter now, but the road still goes both ways.

As I finish writing this, news breaks that the US Supreme Court has blocked President Trump from using emergency powers to impose sweeping tariffs on most American trading partners. Does this mean the relationship will ease? That the two brothers will find their way back to each other? Perhaps. But these things rarely resolve as quickly as they unravel. We will wait and see.

Back in 2019, I visited Stonehenge in the English countryside and assumed it was the world’s one and only ancient stone circle. I had no idea that deeper into Scotland, on windswept islands I had never heard of, stood stone monuments even older than Stonehenge—monuments that would completely reshape what I thought I knew.

In August 2025, Virgin Voyages’ Scarlet Lady took me on a cruise of the British Isles with stops at two Scottish ports: Kirkwall on the Orkney Islands and Stornoway on the Isle of Lewis. In two days, I visited some of the oldest megalithic monuments in the world and heard legends that have been whispered across these islands for thousands of years.

When we pulled into Kirkwall, our driver Sam was already waiting, greeting us with a big grin and a thick Scottish accent. He told me that people here speak Gaelic, not just English. Later I noticed all the signs were bilingual—English and Gaelic side by side, the Gaelic text looking like a completely different language.

Edinburgh has medieval charm mixed with modern energy: the dramatic castle perched on volcanic rock, narrow cobblestone closes in the Old Town, the elegant symmetry of the Georgian New Town. Orkney is nothing like that. What I saw here was a windswept, treeless landscape: scattered cottages, desolate moorland, low hills in the distance, and herds of livestock dotting the fields. But Sam was fiercely proud of this place. “This is the heart of Neolithic Orkney,” he said. “We have the most preserved standing stones in the world—older than Stonehenge by nearly a thousand years.”

That day, Sam took us to the Ring of Brodgar, the Stones of Stenness, and Skara Brae.

The Ring of Brodgar (circa 2500-2000 BC) stretches 130 meters across—the third largest stone circle in Britain. Originally over 60 stones stood here; only 36 remain, encircled by a rock-cut ditch. In front of me spread a carpet of purple heather in bloom, mixed with patches of green grass and brown moorland. I walked slowly around the weathered stones, trying to imagine what happened here thousands of years ago. The silence was heavy. These stones had witnessed ceremonies and rituals, gatherings of people from across Orkney and beyond.

The Stones of Stenness (circa 3100 BC) were raised 5,000 years ago. The people who built this stone circle also dug a massive henge—a ceremonial enclosure with ditch and bank. Only four of the original twelve stones survive. Archaeologists believe the process of creating this monument may have been more important than the finished product itself. This is one of the earliest stone circles in Britain. After so many centuries of wind and storm, they stand silent yet steadfast, like guardians of time whispering secrets from the distant past.

After saying goodbye to those ancient megaliths, we drove to Skara Brae.

Skara Brae (circa 3100 BC) is a Neolithic village where people lived in stone houses for about 600 years. Some of the houses are remarkably well preserved—you can still see stone beds, dressers, and hearths built into the walls. Why the inhabitants left remains a mystery. The items they left behind suggest they departed suddenly, perhaps fleeing some disaster, though other theories say the settlement was gradually abandoned. Inside the houses, I could almost feel the hardship of their lives. Stepping outside, a gust of wind nearly knocked me over. Five thousand years ago, people endured this same fierce wind every single day.

For comparison: Stonehenge in Wiltshire, England, began construction around 3100 BC and was built in multiple phases over 1,500 years. Each sarsen stone weighs around 25 tons and stands 13 feet high. The stones are aligned with the summer solstice sunrise and winter solstice sunset. For hundreds of years, Stonehenge served as a cremation cemetery—yes, people in Neolithic times did cremate their dead, and around 150 individuals were buried there.

The next day, August 23, 2025, the ship arrived at Stornoway on the Isle of Lewis. Our driver and guide was Susan, nearly 60 but looking younger, and like Sam, deeply in love with her homeland. As Susan drove, I kept my eyes on the scenery: herds of cattle and sheep with thick coats scattered across vast grasslands. In the distance, the Highlands rose and fell in rolling waves. Mist and clouds drifted over the mountaintops, sometimes shrouding them completely, sometimes blown away to reveal a landscape both desolate and breathtakingly magnificent.

About 40 minutes later, I stood in awe before the Callanish Standing Stones. These stones form a cross-shaped circle built around 5,000 years ago—predating Stonehenge by several centuries. For at least 2,000 years, this was an important ceremonial site. Walking among the megaliths, I felt as though I could breathe in prehistoric air still lingering around the stones. Towering and silent, they stood firm against the wind like guardians from an ancient world. I closed my eyes and imagined people gathering here 5,000 years ago for rituals, stargazing, communal ceremonies. Their footsteps and prayers have long since vanished, but something of their presence feels etched into these stones forever.

I pulled out my phone and took a photo, hoping to capture this timeless scene. What I froze in the frame wasn’t just the shape of the stones—it was the echo of thousands of years of history and the profound silence of the land itself.

Susan told me there are at least 15 other stone circles nearby. The audacity of it struck me: hauling these massive stones without wheels or metal tools, doing it simultaneously across multiple remote island locations. It’s hard to imagine, hard to believe until you see them with your own eyes.

Searching the past and treasuring the present—isn’t that what travel is for?

One couple I know only sails Princess. Their loyalty earns them free laundry, internet, specialty dining, and invitations to the captain’s party. I take a different approach. I pick itineraries first, which means I’ve sailed Celebrity, Holland America, Azamara, Norwegian, Princess, and most recently, Virgin Voyages. This perspective lets me compare what each line actually delivers.

My recent voyage on Scarlet Lady through the British Isles gave me a clear read on Virgin Voyages: it’s a well-executed cruise experience for a specific type of traveler. Whether that’s you depends less on age than on what you want from two weeks at sea.

What Virgin Gets Right

Adults only, stricktly enforced. No kids under 18. The demographic skews younger - maybe 80% of passengers appeared to be in their 30s to 50s during my sailing. My husband and I, late-60s, were among the older passengers onboard. I only saw one person in a wheelchair the entire cruise. Compare that to Holland America, where half the passengers are in their 70s and 80s, and wheelchairs are common throughout the ship.

Dining without upcharges. Every restaurant is included. No specialty dining fees, no traditional buffet. You choose from The Wake (upscale steak and seafood), Extra Virgin (Italian), Gunbae (Korean BBQ), Pink Agave (Mexican), The Test Kitchen (experimental tasting menus), and Razzle Dazzle (creative Asian fusion that became my favorite).

The Galley works as Virgin’s food hall: sushi bar, burger grill, taco station, noodle bowls, panini bar, soup and salad, bakery. There’s 24-hour pizza and burgers, plus casual Mediterranean small plates, ice cream, and popcorn scattered around the ship. Room service delivers to your cabin if you don’t want to go out.

The bento boxes stood out - fresh, clean, well-composed. The desserts hit both taste and presentation, especially their signature “Scarlet Lady” creation. You book table-service restaurants through the Virgin app. Walk-ins work, but popular spots fill fast at peak dinner hours and on sea days.

The app runs everything. Daily schedules, dining reservations, activity bookings, ship announcements - it all happens in the Virgin Voyages app. No paper schedules slipped under your door or put on your bed. This saves printing, paper, and works fine if you’re comfortable with apps. If you’re not, or if you’re the type who forgets to check notifications, you’ll miss things.

Casual, modern vibe. No formal nights, no dress codes, no captain’s cocktail party, no port lectures, no Broadway-style shows. The entertainment leans toward acrobatic performances and loud music. You serve yourself - coffee, casual dining, whatever you need. Housekeeping cleans your cabin once daily instead of the traditional twice.

The design is relentlessly red (Scarlet Lady, Valiant Lady, Resilient Lady, Brilliant Lady - you get the pattern). Red hammocks on balconies. Modern, stylish interiors. No traditional cruise ship aesthetic. No library, no game room. If you want serenity and slow pace, the vibrant energy and scarlet color scheme might feel like it’s pushing you along.

Price includes what others charge for. Wifi is unlimited and included. Soft drinks included. Tips included (saving you the $17-20 per person per day that most lines add). The base price ends up competitive once you factor in what you’re not paying extra for.

What Virgin Gets Wrong

Embarkation is rough. I waited about two hours to board. Not enough check-in desks, unclear instructions, organizational problems. Virgin doesn’t have the embarkation process dialed in like established cruise lines do.

Disembarkation creates stress. The process felt disorganized and confusing. If you’re heading straight to the airport, this could make you nervous about your flight. We stayed overnight in Portsmouth, which gave us buffer room, but I’d worry about tight connections.

The app dependence has downsides. If you miss a notification, you miss information. There’s no backup system of printed schedules or prominent announcements. This works beautifully for app-savvy travellers. For others, it creates anxiety.

Case in point: Belfast was supposed to be a walk-off port where we could stroll into the city center. Virgin rerouted the ship to a smaller port requiring tenders. They sent an app notification asking passengers to book tender times. We didn't check the app until other passengers mentioned it. By then, the earliest available tender was 1 p.m. The ship departed at 6 p.m. After tendering, we'd still need a train to reach the city center - leaving almost no time in Belfast, which was a main stop for us on this voyage. We got on the 7 a.m. waiting list and lucked into spots when some passengers didn't show. Others weren't as fortunate.

Limited itineraries. Virgin currently sails the Caribbean, Mediterranean, British Isles, and Canada routes. That’s it. If your dream destination isn’t on that list, Virgin isn’t an option regardless of how much you like their style.

The energy level isn’t for everyone. The younger demographic, vibrant atmosphere, and modern aesthetic create a specific vibe. If you prefer the attentive, slower-paced service style of Holland America or Princess, Virgin’s independent, energetic approach might feel like too much.

Who Should Book Virgin Voyages

Book Virgin if you want a cruise without kids, don’t want to pay restaurant upcharges, prefer casual over formal, are comfortable with apps, and like a younger, energetic atmosphere. The value is genuine once you account for included wifi, drinks, and tips.

Skip Virgin if you need extensive hand-holding, want traditional cruise elegance, prefer staff bringing things to you rather than self-service, or if their limited itineraries don’t match your destinations.

I’m in my late 60s, outside Virgin’s target demographic. I still prefer Virgin to Holland America when the itinerary fits my plans. That tells you something about what they’ve built. Just know what you’re signing up for, and embark with patience.

At the end of last year, in December, we flew to San Francisco to visit them. From there, we traveled together to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, for a family vacation. We spent five wonderful days there. Joining us were members of our extended family, including our in-laws, which made the trip even more special.

After a five-hour flight, we arrived safely in Puerto Vallarta. By the time we landed, it was already evening, around seven o’clock. It was completely dark. There is also a two-hour time difference between San Francisco and Puerto Vallarta, so we were a little tired but excited to begin our vacation. We opted to take Uber to go to our hotel.

The Uber driver pulled up in a compact car that looked like it belonged on flat city streets, not mountain switchbacks. Eight of us needed to get up to the Grand Miramar: two sets of grandparents, my son and daughter-in-law, their girls at four and seven. We split into groups. I ended up in the small car with my son and the girls.

The road climbed steep and narrow, headlights catching hairpin turns ahead. The engine strained. I kept thinking about physics—weight, gravity, small engines pushed past their limits. What happens when a car this size carries people up a mountain at night? The girls bounced in their seats, oblivious. My son caught my eye, grinned. We made it, the hotel perched at the top with views over the bay, blue sky meeting blue water during the day, expensive homes terraced down the slopes.

The first time I’d been to Puerto Vallarta was a cruise stop, maybe six hours on shore. You see the Malecón, eat something, buy something, leave. This time we had five nights.

Mornings at the hotel felt serene in a way cruise ports never do. No ship horn blasting departure warnings, no crowd of tourists checking watches. Just the view and coffee and the girls running around before the day started.

Getting down the mountain meant more Uber rides on steep roads. The little cars kept coming. Each trip down, I’d settle into the back seat and keep quiet as drivers navigated the switchbacks, trying not to think about the drop. The climb back up felt even more precarious.

Most days we wandered the city itself. The Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe with its crown stood outlined against the sky. Along the oceanfront boardwalk, sculptures lined the route, each one different. We stopped at markets, turned down side streets just to see where they led, bought things we didn’t need. The girls pointed at everything, asked about everything. Loud questions, constant motion, the kind of energy that makes other tourists smile or wince depending on their mood. That’s what four- and seven-year-olds do.

But the real highlight came one evening when we took a boat to an island for the Rhythm of the Night show. Music played on the ride over, the water catching the last light. When we reached the private island, candles marked the pathways, hundreds of them. The show itself reminded me of Cirque du Soleil, acrobats doing things that didn’t seem possible, fire and aerial work and music building to moments that made you hold your breath. The girls went quiet for once, faces turned up toward performers spinning through the air. Even they understood something extraordinary was happening. Dinner came afterward, served right there on the island under the stars. The whole family together watching the same thing, reacting at the same moments.

We returned to that same island during the day on another trip. Some of us drank wine and watched the ocean. A few went swimming. The girls got loud again, riding donkeys and trying the zip line, shrieking the whole way down. Two different experiences on the same piece of land, night and day, literally.

The food mattered more when you had time for it. We ate at Tuna Azul, proper Mexican dishes that tasted nothing like what you get at home. Another night, Italian—pasta that the girls actually finished. Spanish paella at sunset one evening, the sky going orange and pink while we passed dishes around the table. Eight people, three generations, enough time to talk without rushing to the next thing.

On the sixth day, before heading to the airport to fly back home, we went to a rooftop Mexican restaurant called Casamar. We literally had a feast there! The food was so authentic that it was the best Mexican cuisine I have ever tasted, and it completely changed my previous prejudice against Mexican food.

That’s what five nights gave us instead of half a day: time to see how people actually live here, not just where tourists go. Time for the girls to get comfortable enough to try different foods, new experience and ask questions. Time for both sets of grandparents to handle the noise and chaos of small children without retreating to separate hotel rooms. Puerto Vallarta the second time became a place instead of a stop.

We flew home before Christmas, already talking about where we’d go next time with all eight of us.

The Grand Miramar sits at 1699 Carr. a Barra de Navidad if you’re looking for it.

“Mom, will you and Dad go to Japan with us?” he asked.

“Sure, but didn’t your family just visit Japan last year?”

“Yes, but we love Japan, and the kids really missed the animal cafés.”

Japan isn’t new to me either. I’ve visited the country three times already, and I even lived there for a full year between 1985 and 1986, studying Japanese and working part-time (アルバイト arubaito) in a trading company.

“OK, let’s go and have fun,” I readily agreed.

On April 18, Pete’s family of four departed from San Francisco International Airport, and around the same time, our flight took off from Vancouver International Airport. We were all heading to the same destination: Tokyo Narita Airport.

After a ten-hour flight, we reunited with hugs and cheers. I was especially happy to see my two lovely granddaughters!

This trip’s itinerary was entirely planned by Pete. He even generously offered to cover all of our expenses. Over ten days, our extended family visited Tokyo, Osaka, and Kanazawa. When the ten wonderful days came to an end, Pete’s family returned home—back to work and school—while my husband and I continued on to Kyoto and Nagoya before circling back to Osaka and Tokyo.

Since many people are already familiar with Japan’s major tourist attractions, I’ll skip the usual sightseeing highlights. Instead, I’d like to share some of my personal observations and travel tips about Japan.

Observations and Tips

Japanese people often lead busy and stressful lives. Men and women in business attire walk briskly, maneuvering through crowded streets and bustling train stations. Many leave home early in the morning, and working overtime is a common practice. If the boss is still in the office, employees usually stay as well—even if it’s time to go home and they have no urgent work to finish. This reflects a strong sense of workplace hierarchy and group loyalty. However, even after long hours at work, many don’t go straight home. Instead, they head to bars—often small establishments known as snack bars (sunakku)—to unwind. There, they drink, sing karaoke (karaokē), and chat with the female bar owner, known as the mama-san. This kind of socializing may serve as a way to release stress and temporarily escape the pressures of daily life.

Japanese women, regardless of age, tend to stand out with their distinctive sense of style. Their clothing is simple yet elegant. They generally avoid bright colors like red, purple, orange, or green. Instead, they favour subtle tones—black, white, or grey in various shades, paired with tasteful coordination. Their style is clean, casual, and pleasing to the eye. It’s neither rigid nor dull, nor overly dramatic, yet it carries a quiet charm that is uniquely Japanese.

For Japanese women, wearing makeup is as essential as washing their face in the morning. Most will not leave the house without applying cosmetics and tidying their hair. This practice is common across all age groups—from high school students to elderly women. It’s not unusual to see an older woman walking down the street with a perfectly made-up face and neatly coordinated outfit. Japanese women take pride in their public appearance, viewing a well-groomed look as a way of showing respect to others.

Japan’s cosmetics industry is known for producing some of the most diverse and high-quality beauty products in the world. Brands like Shiseido, SK-II, Kanebo, and Shu Uemura are internationally recognized for their innovation and effectiveness. Compared to high-end department store brands, many Japanese beauty products are not only more affordable but also highly effective.

Japanese drugstores may be labeled as pharmacies, but nearly half of their shelves are stocked with beauty products. Shoppers can find everything from facial masks, sunscreens, and makeup to hair care and skincare items—almost anything you can think of. In addition to cosmetics, Japanese drugstores also carry highly effective medicines, including cold sore ointments, fever-reducing pills, plasters for injuries, and more. These drugstores are immensely popular with both locals and tourists. They are everywehere and must-visit spots when visiting Japan.

One of the reasons Japan keeps drawing us back is the food. Traditional Japanese cuisine, known as Washoku (和食), has gained international popularity in recent years for its delicate flavors, rich variety, and aesthetically pleasing presentation. A hallmark of Japanese food culture is its emphasis on balance and health. A typical bento box or set meal often includes “three dishes and one soup,” thoughtfully combining rice, soup, meat or seafood, and vegetables.

Modern Japanese cuisine, however, also incorporates Western influences, creating fusion dishes like curry rice and omurice (omelette-wrapped rice) that still retain a distinctly Japanese flavour. When we arrived in Tokyo, it was very late at night and we were hungry, but all the nearby restaurants and fast food shops were already closed. We ended up having dinner at the hotel’s skylight bar. The menu was limited, and Pete suggested we try the curry rice. We ordered five portions—one for each adult, and one to be shared by the two kids. To our surprise, the curry rice was delicious. Japanese curry is quite different from Thai or Indian versions. It’s mild, slightly sweet, and savoury, with a thick, rich gravy. We all loved it and finished every last drop.

When traveling in Japan, you'll find no shortage of restaurants to satisfy your appetite. However, it's well worth seeking out a few popular, highly rated places to enjoy some of the country’s best dining experiences. We enjoyed almost every meal during our trip, but the ones we carefully selected based on reviews turned into especially savory memories. Even now, our mouths water whenever we talk about the delicious dishes we had.

On our first full day in Tokyo, we went for conveyor belt sushi—a fun and iconic dining experience. Between us, we devoured 45 plates of freshly prepared sushi, all at a very reasonable price.

One dish on our “must-try” list was Unadon (grilled eel over rice), a classic Japanese delicacy. Unadon is served in a large donburi-style bowl or rectangular box filled with steamed white rice and topped with fillets of grilled eel prepared in the kabayaki style, similar to teriyaki. The eel is glazed with a sweet soy-based sauce called tare, then caramelized over charcoal. For the most authentic experience, the eel is freshly killed and grilled on the spot, which makes the dish quite pricey but truly special.

Our most unforgettable dinner was a 14-course barbecued beef meal that offered both exceptional food and great value. I've included the link [https://ushigoro.com/] in case you'd like to share this culinary experience when you're in Osaka or Tokyo. It's part of a chain restaurant we highly recommend.

In Kanazawa, we visited the famous Omicho Market, which has been a vital part of the city's food culture for over 300 years, dating back to the Edo Period. We felt like “mice falling into a rice bucket”—there were so many tempting options that we wanted to try everything. Pete took us to a tiny restaurant tucked along Aokusamachi Road, run by an elderly couple—the husband cooked in the kitchen while the wife served the customers. The restaurant had only three small tables, so we had to squeeze in tightly, sitting shoulder to shoulder. But the sashimi donburi (rice bowls topped with fresh sashimi) we ordered were so delicious that we all agreed: this meal alone made the entire trip worthwhile.

Japanese ramen (ラーメン) is enjoyed by people of all ages and found almost everywhere across the country. Among the many ramen shops, ICHIRAN ramen truly stands out. ICHIRAN is known for its rich, natural pork-bone (tonkotsu) broth, which is carefully skimmed to draw out the ultimate flavor of pork without heaviness. Their specially crafted raw noodles are made from a unique blend of high-quality flours. In addition to the taste, the dining experience at ICHIRAN is unforgettable. Upon entering, you’ll encounter a vending machine where you select your order—choosing the soup base, noodle firmness, portion size, toppings, and add-ons. You’re then guided to a private booth with a small stool and a closed wooden window in front of you. When your ramen is ready, the window opens, your tray is passed through, and then it’s quietly closed. The combination of flavor, quality, and the uniquely Japanese solo dining setup makes ICHIRAN ramen a must-try. Don’t miss it when traveling in Japan!

In Japan, some of the most delicious food can be found in small, unassuming restaurants. This reflects Japan’s low-key culture, where the emphasis is placed on food quality rather than flashy appearances or large-scale operations. There is a preference for intimate, traditional dining environments that create a sense of warmth and authenticity. Many of these small establishments are family-owned, with some passed down through generations. Traditional Japanese cuisine places great importance on fresh, seasonal ingredients and careful, intricate presentation, bringing out the best in each dish and offering customers not just a meal, but a dining experience.

You’ll notice that there are no trash cans or dustbins on the streets, in trains, or in many public areas in Japan. Like the locals, it’s best to carry a small bag for your own trash until you find a place to dispose of it properly. Remarkably, despite the lack of public bins, there is virtually no litter anywhere. Cleanliness and hygiene are deeply ingrained in Japanese daily life, and especially evident in their public washrooms. Public toilets in Japan are impressively clean, odor-free, and well-equipped. Most feature bidet functions, sound-masking music boxes to reduce embarrassment, and sanitizing boxes to wipe toilet seats. This level of thoughtfulness and attention to detail is found everywhere. Unlike traveling in Europe or other parts of the world, I never have to worry about finding a clean restroom in Japan, which adds great comfort and ease to the travel experience.

From my observations, Japanese people are remarkably civilized and disciplined. They tend to be low-key, polite, punctual, and hardworking. Thoughtfulness and attention to detail are also their admirable traits. This is especially evident in the hospitality industry. Japanese hotels often provide a full range of toiletries in guest rooms—not just the basics like toothbrushes and toothpaste, but also extras such as face masks, hairbands, shoe polishers, bath salts, shower towels, slippers, and pajamas. These small touches show their meticulous care for guests' comfort.

I also noticed that in most restaurants, there is a box or bag placed under each chair for customers to store their handbags or personal belongings. This simple but thoughtful gesture creates a more comfortable and convenient dining experience, allowing guests to enjoy their meals without clutter or worry.

Japan’s railway stations can be confusing and overwhelming, especially for first-time visitors. You're often surrounded by briskly walking commuters heading in all directions, while you may find yourself standing still, trying to figure out which train to take or which entrance to use. Adding to the complexity, some rail lines and subways are state-owned while others are privately operated.

Understanding the seating system is also important. Reserved cars (shitei-seki 指定席) have assigned seats for passengers who purchase reserved tickets, while non-reserved cars (jiyū-seki 自由席) operate on a first-come, first-served basis. Some trains, like limited express services, offer both types of seating. Others—such as the Narita Express or certain Shinkansen lines—may offer only reserved seating, which can be confusing if you’re not familiar with the system. For non-Japanese speakers, this can be extremely frustrating. Here are a few helpful tips:

• Buy your tickets in advance at the ticket counter. Staff often speak basic English or can call over someone who does.

• Locate your train platform the day before, especially for early or long-distance trips, to avoid last-minute stress.

• Follow the colored floor markings, which guide you toward your specific line or platform.

Navigating Japan’s rail system takes a bit of planning, but once you get the hang of it, it’s one of the most efficient ways to travel around the country.

In recent years, visitors from all over the world have flocked to Japan, drawn by their love and fascination for the country and also by the weak Japanese yen, which has made traveling there more affordable. As a result, many famous tourist attractions have become extremely crowded, making it difficult to fully enjoy the experience or take good photos. To avoid the crowds, it’s best to visit popular sites as early as possible, the earlier, the better. When we visited Kiyomizu-dera and Fushimi Inari Shrine, we set out around 6 a.m. By the time we were ready to leave, large groups of tourists had already begun pouring in. Starting early not only helped us beat the crowds but also allowed us to enjoy a quieter, more serene atmosphere at these iconic landmarks.

These are just my personal, one-sided observations, but I hope they’ll be useful as you plan your own journey to Japan!

Buenos Aires, December 14-15, 2024

Buenos Aires was the final destination of our 31-day South America cruise. Lady Oosterdam arrived at the port around 8 a.m. on December 14 and would stay overnight, giving us two full days to explore the vibrant capital of Argentina.

As with most South American ports, pedestrian traffic was not allowed inside the port area, so complimentary shuttle buses were arranged to take passengers from the ship to the port entrance. The shuttles ran continuously every half hour throughout our stay.

Buenos Aires is Argentina’s largest and most cosmopolitan city, known for its well-preserved European architecture and rich cultural life. Since the 19th century, Argentina has welcomed millions of immigrants from all over the world, making Buenos Aires a melting pot of ethnicities and traditions. Often referred to as the "Paris of South America," the city’s grand boulevards, ornate buildings, sprawling green spaces, and strong European influences, particularly French and Spanish, make the nickname feel well deserved.

There is so much to see and do in Buenos Aires that two days felt far too short. Sadly, we didn’t have time to visit the world-renowned Iguazú Falls, which would require more than 15 hours of travel each way. Even within the city itself, the distances between key attractions were too long to cover on foot. So, we opted for a hop-on-hop-off city tour bus to get an overview and prioritize what we wanted to explore further. The full loop lasted three hours and cost $35 per person.

Riding on the top deck with English-narrated earphones, I enjoyed watching historic landmarks, iconic statues, ornate European-style buildings, and sleek modern skyscrapers go by. I was especially impressed by how much of the city was covered in greenery—tree-lined avenues, parks, and gardens.

Suddenly, a splash of colour caught my eye. We didn’t know where we were, but we decided to hop off the bus to explore. We had arrived in La Boca, the city’s most outrageously colourful neighbourhood.

La Boca has deep working-class roots. Located near the port, it became home to many Italian, Spanish, and Central European immigrants in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The neighborhood’s houses, many made of leftover ship materials, were painted in bright colours, a tradition started by artists in the 1960s. La Boca, especially its heart, El Caminito, is now a vibrant tourist attraction, buzzing with colour, music, and energy. Bright murals, rooftop decorations, and street performers, especially tango dancers, added a joyful flair to every corner. It was a visual feast!

I had learned from our cruise director that Tango, that elegant and passionate dance, originated in this very region—between Argentina and Uruguay—in the 1880s. It began in brothels and bars of port areas, performed to entertain sailors and travellers. Today, no visit to Argentina would be complete without experiencing a live tango performance.

Just as essential as tango is Asado, the Argentine-style barbecue. Though it may have been wiser to find a restaurant outside the tourist zone, we were hungry and couldn’t resist the delicious aroma coming from nearby grills. We sat down and ordered an asado platter—an enormous variety of grilled meats, including blood sausages, piled high on a platter that could have easily fed four to six people. My husband and I probably consumed more meat in that one meal than we usually do in a week! As we ate, a pair of tango dancers and a Latin vocalist performed right in front of our table—what a memorable experience.

One thing we learned the hard way: paying with a credit card adds a service fee, and tipping (5–10%) is expected in Argentina. Cash is usually the better option.

The downside of the hop-on-hop-off bus was the long wait between stops, about 30 minutes, so we switched to using Uber instead.

One of our stops was Plaza de Mayo, the historical and political heart of Buenos Aires. The square, founded in 1580, is surrounded by key landmarks, including:

• Casa Rosada (The Pink House): The official residence of the President. As I gazed at the central balcony, the song "Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina" echoed in my mind. I imagined Eva Perón, beloved by the people, giving her final speech from that very spot.

• Metropolitan Cathedral: This grand cathedral holds the remains of General José de San Martín, known as the "Father of the Nation," along with a tomb honouring unknown soldiers of Argentine independence. An eternal flame burns at the cathedral’s façade.

• The Obelisk: An unmistakable symbol of Buenos Aires, comparable in cultural significance to the Eiffel Tower in Paris or the Statue of Liberty in New York. It marks the location where the national flag was first raised in the city.

Argentina’s love for football is evident everywhere. Proud fans wore white and blue jerseys, still commemorating their recent World Cup victory in 2022, and football fields dotted the urban landscape.

As the day wound down, we witnessed a military troupe from the Regimiento de Granaderos a Caballo General San Martín solemnly march across the plaza toward the Pink House. Their presence added to the sense of national pride and security.

Just as we were calling an Uber to return to the ship, something unexpected happened. A splash of yellow liquid hit me. I looked up, there was no signs of rain or water from above, but I smelled mustard. A man quickly approached us with a stack of tissue paper, trying to help wipe off the yellow stains. That’s when we realized we had fallen victim to a mustard scam, a distraction used by petty thieves. Luckily, nothing was taken, and we got into the Uber as quickly as possible. The driver gave us a sympathetic look as we filled his car with the strong smell of mustard. Back on the ship, we looked like walking impressionist paintings, streaked in yellow!

December 15 – Farewell to South America

This was the final day of our unforgettable cruise. After 31 days at sea, immersed in nature’s beauty, enjoying delicious food and entertainment, bonding with new friends and being pampered by the ship’s dedicated crew, it was time to return to our normal lives until the next voyage.

Our flight wasn’t until 5 p.m., so we joined a half-day tour offered by Holland America, which included sightseeing and airport transfer. It was a perfect arrangement, as our luggage traveled with us.

The tour bus passed familiar landmarks we had seen the previous day and stopped at three new places:

• Recoleta Cemetery – One of the world’s most famous cemeteries, where generations of Argentina’s elite rest in peace. Each family tomb was like a small architectural masterpiece. The grave of Eva Perón is here, still adorned with flowers and tributes. As I walked through the serene paths, I found myself pondering mortality—where we go after death. I shook off the melancholy, not wanting to end the trip with sadness.

• Art Market – A lively space where local artisans displayed paintings, handmade goods and souvenirs.

• San Telmo – A charming neighbourhood known for its colonial buildings, antique shops, and tango-filled streets.

Finally, we were transported safely to Buenos Aires Ezeiza International Airport. As I looked around one last time, I whispered to myself:

“Goodbye, Argentina.”

At Sea - December 11 and 12, 2024

Following an exciting yet exhausting day on the Falkland Islands, we spent two days at sea, a break very much needed for rest and an opportunity for me to catch up on my journal entries.

Our 31-day South America cruise was gradually drawing to a close. After nearly a month aboard the Oosterdam, there was never a dull moment. Each morning, I woke up with excitement, eager for a new day and a new adventure. Still, I began to feel a touch of homesickness, missing my cozy nest and the familiar comforts of home.

Port talks were offered to prepare us for our final two destinations: Montevideo, Uruguay, and Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Before this cruise, I knew little about Uruguay. I was surprised to learn that it is considered the safest and wealthiest country in South America. Oosterdam would dock at Montevideo, the capital and largest city. The famous beach resort Punta del Este is often called the "Monaco of South America" due to its luxurious lifestyle, beautiful beaches, and cultural attractions.

Uruguay shares a border with Argentina via the General Artigas Bridge, an international road bridge crossing the Uruguay River. Argentina, the second-largest country in South America (after Brazil), boasts Buenos Aires as its capital. Known as the “Paris of South America,” I looked forward to discovering whether the city lived up to its name.

To sweeten our time at sea, Oosterdam hosted a Cake Show—an impressive array of beautifully decorated cakes in a variety of flavors. Nobody could resist the temptation. Passengers lined up to admire the display and sample a slice. When it was my turn, I chose a piece of chocolate cake adorned with adorable penguin biscuits.

Seated by a window overlooking the vast ocean, enjoying my sweet cake with a cup of bitter coffee, I pondered the meaning of travel. The dictionary defines travel as “going from one place to another over a distance.” Some cynically say, “Travel is going from one place bored by you to another place bored by others.” But for me, travel means leaving the safety of my nest to experience different parts of the world. It’s a chance to reflect on my values through unfamiliar situations and new encounters.

Some experiences make me more appreciative of my life back home, while others fill in the gaps of my knowledge. Travel is also therapeutic, bringing joy and relieving stress. Immersed in a new environment, curiosity replaces indifference, and excitement overtakes routine. During this journey, I felt delightfully detached from reality, enjoying a temporary life free from worries and sadness.

There are many wonderful quotes about travel: “To travel is to live.” “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” “Take only memories, leave only footprints.” “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.” I couldn’t agree more. I also think that travel often makes people wiser, more adaptable, and open-minded, while also expanding their worldview. The freedom to travel whenever and wherever I wish is something only retirement has made possible, which is why I call retirement is the golden stage of life.

Montevideo, Uruguay - December 13, 2024

This morning around 8 o’clock, I watched the Oosterdam slowly pull into the port of Montevideo. December is summer in South America, and the weather was intermittently sunny and cloudy—comfortably warm and perfect for a day of exploration. Free shuttle buses were already waiting at the dock to transport us to the port entry/exit point. From there, it was just a 10-minute walk to the city center. Today, our mode of transportation was simple: our legs and feet.

As we stepped out of the cruise terminal and crossed the street, we were greeted by friendly young people in green T-shirts. They spoke excellent English and handed out city maps, pointing out places of interest. As the cruise director had mentioned, Montevideo is considered one of the safest cities in South America, though it's always wise to stay alert when exploring an unfamiliar place.

Uruguay, known for its lush interior and beach-lined coast, is the second smallest country in South America, but the most powerful in football. Montevideo, the capital, offers a charming mix of architectural styles and historical landmarks dating back to colonial times.

We began our self-guided tour at the iconic Independence Square, once the site of a Spanish citadel. From there, we wandered into Ciudad Vieja, the Old City, where we saw colonial remnants like iron gates, old-fashioned street lamps, and historic buildings. Just off the square stands Teatro Solís, Uruguay’s most important and renowned theatre. Opened in 1856, it was named after explorer Juan Díaz de Solís, the first European to land in modern-day Uruguay. The building is magnificent both inside and out, though sadly it wasn’t open during our visit.

In the heart of Ciudad Vieja lies Plaza Zabala, built in 1890 and named after Bruno Mauricio de Zabala, the founder of Montevideo. Another highlight was the majestic Legislative Palace—one of the world’s most beautiful parliamentary buildings. Styled in Greco-Roman eclecticism, its façades, walls, and columns are clad in a variety of marbles from across Uruguay. Montevideo felt like an open-air museum, showcasing the extraordinary work of Uruguayan artists and architects. I sat on a city bench, imagining life during those early days.

As lunchtime approached, we stopped at a roadside restaurant and ordered ribeye steak, kale salad, and local beer, finishing with a cappuccino. The meal was satisfying and energizing.

After lunch, we were ready for more adventure. We decided to visit a botanical garden about 30 minutes away by Uber. However, due to our limited Spanish and some miscommunication, our driver dropped us off at a different destination: Parque Rodó. Though unplanned, it was a peaceful and pleasant park, featuring water mirrors, paths around a lagoon, tropical trees, and lush greenery. Sometimes, unexpected detours bring surprising rewards.

On the way back to the port, we stumbled upon the Gaucho & Currency Museum—an unplanned stop housed in the historic Palacio Jackson, a former Central Bank building. With free entry and time to spare, we decided to go in. The museum offered fascinating exhibits on the gaucho lifestyle, their close bond with horses, and their cultural legacy. It also displayed a collection of Uruguayan currency and artifacts related to the country’s financial history. It was well worth the visit.

Before reboarding the ship, we explored the lively Port Market, just across from the terminal. A must-visit for locals and tourists alike, it offered a sensory feast of aromas and sizzling grills. Although Uruguay has a long coastline and rich marine resources, the locals are avid meat lovers. We found ourselves surrounded by stalls serving grilled meats of every kind. Still full from our ribeye lunch, we couldn't resist ordering beef skewers and another round of local beer. The energetic atmosphere reminded me of the Time Out Market in Lisbon, Portugal.

Back on the ship, Lady Oosterdam hosted a themed dinner: Asado de Montevideo, celebrating the local flavours of Uruguay. We had more barbecued meats, including blood sausage, which tasted very much like the Portuguese version—another reminder of my time in Portugal.

The day ended with a satisfied appetite and another unforgettable memory from our South America cruise.

📍 At Sea, Passing Cape Horn – December 9, 2025

Though we were at sea today, my thoughts were still in Ushuaia, wishing we had lingered longer—doing nothing, just sitting on a bench soaking in the town’s purity and surreal calm. Such stillness is a rare luxury in our bustling urban lives. But the ship had turned, charting its way northward once again.

At 5:30 a.m., the bow of the ship opened for a scenic cruise past Cape Horn, one of the most iconic—and perilous—nautical landmarks in the world. We were now in Chile’s Magallanes and Antártica Chilena Region, and while the glaciers had faded from view, jagged, dramatic mountains took their place.

Cape Horn sits on Hornos Island, part of the southernmost tip of Chile's Tierra del Fuego archipelago, where the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans meet. It's also the starting point of the infamous Drake Passage—a stretch of ocean that’s claimed more than 10,000 lives due to its unforgiving seas.

Following the Cruise Director’s narration, I spotted the iconic red-and-white lighthouse perched at what felt like the end of the world. Manned by a family of four (plus a cat!), it’s a volunteer role that comes with free room and board—though not without isolation. The family had been living there for two years, with their contract recently extended.

The sea was unusually calm this morning. By the time the MS Oosterdam passed Cape Horn and entered the Atlantic, it was breakfast time. I grabbed a table at the Lido Café, enjoying coffee, a croissant, and fruit as the world floated by.

The rest of the day followed the ship’s energetic rhythm:

• 🎤 10:00 a.m.: Port talk on Port Stanley, Falkland Islands.

• 🍤 1:30 p.m.: Cooking demo—Grilled Shrimp with Polenta and Chimichurri.

• 🎨 2:30 p.m.: Watercolor class—learned to paint daisies with brush techniques.

• 🍽️ 6:00 p.m.: Dinner in the formal dining room. Vincent and I discussed our plans for Port Stanley—weather permitting.

• 🎶 7:00 p.m.: Enjoyed a performance by an Italian vocalist—his familiar songs made the evening extra special.

• 😴 9:00 p.m.: Turned in early. Tomorrow promised adventure.

📍 Falkland Islands – December 10, 2025

Before this cruise, I hadn’t known much about the Falkland Islands—a ruggedly beautiful cluster of isles in the South Atlantic Ocean. Now, I can say it’s one of the most unforgettable stops on our journey.

These remote islands are often visited by those headed to Antarctica or the Subantarctic Islands, but landings aren’t guaranteed. Only about 50% of cruise ships can disembark, as tenders must be used and winds are often too strong.

We were lucky. The sea was calm despite the clouds, and by 8 a.m., we were boarding tenders. During the ride, a Canadian couple from Chilliwack told me it was their second attempt to visit—their first was thwarted by strong wind. Today, they were beaming with excitement.

Although the Falklands are geographically close to Argentina, they are a British Overseas Territory. In 1982, a 74-day war erupted over the islands, with the UK reclaiming sovereignty under Margaret Thatcher’s rule.

We were advised at the port talk not to wear blue-and-white stripes, Argentina’s national colors. I had a blouse in that palette—but left it in the closet today.

Shore excursions booked through the cruise line were pricey—up to $400 per person. Wanting to see penguins and experience the island's culture and history as well, we opted to book with local operators. Once ashore, no haggling was needed—prices were fair.

The port welcomed us with clean, colorful houses, an efficient tourist center, and fluttering Union Jacks. The familiar language and orderliness gave me a sense of home.

A row of 4x4s awaited visitors for penguin excursions, some to Volunteer Point, a remote king penguin rookery requiring a rough, 2.5-hour off-road drive. Instead, we joined Jetty Tours for a broader island tour—just $40 per person. A budget-friendly choice compared to the ship’s $400 penguin tour!

🐧 The Falklands host three species of penguins, with over one million penguins and just 3,000 residents—you’re bound to see them! Due to a suspected bird flu outbreak, we had to keep a six-meter distance and disinfect our shoes. The sandy trek was challenging but so worth it—the penguins, set against snow-white beaches, blue waves, and wild yellow flowers, were absolutely mesmerizing.

📸 On our return, we visited Whalebone Cove and saw the wreck of the Lady Elizabeth. Built in the UK in 1879, she was damaged rounding Cape Horn in 1913 and never repaired due to costs. After years as a warehouse, she was blown to her current resting spot during a 1936 storm.

🍻 We later relaxed at a local clubhouse café, enjoying beers, chicken wings, and calamari. In the afternoon, we strolled the town, absorbing its very British feel—red phone booths, round post boxes, and the charming Christ Church Cathedral, the southernmost Anglican church in the world.

We visited:

• Victory Green with the SS Great Britain’s mast and the Liberation Monument (honoring 255 British lives lost in 1982)

• A bust of Margaret Thatcher, beloved locally

• The historic dockyard and museum, rich in wildlife, war history, and early exploration

  

• Government House, built in the 1840s, under renovation when we visited.

Though stunning, the Falklands aren’t for everyone. The UK government once gave away land to attract settlers. Now, it offers UK citizenship after three years of residence. The islands are heavily subsidized. There’s one school, and youth are guaranteed a free university education in the UK. Our guide, a Zimbabwean immigrant, spoke Queen’s English with good manners.

Of all the places we’ve visited so far on this 31-day South America cruise, the Falkland Islands have left the strongest impression. It’s a remote British enclave—with breathtaking views, adorable penguins, warm hospitality, and a distinct sense of place. An English village at the edge of the world. 🐧🇬🇧🌍

When I woke up this morning, the Oosterdam had already arrived in Punta Arenas. I stepped out of the cabin to check the weather—it was cold, but not windy, with the temperature hovering around 3°C. This is another tender port, and I’ve come to enjoy riding in small boats over rolling waves as it adds a sense of adventure.

Punta Arenas, our final stop in Chile, is located near the tip of the country’s southernmost Patagonia region, along the Strait of Magellan—a natural passage connecting the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. While it serves as a launch point for adventurers heading into the wilderness or even Antarctica, we are leisurely travelers, more interested in history, culture, and scenic walks. With a full day to explore, we set out to immerse ourselves in the city’s rich heritage.

Our first stop was the town center and the Plaza de Armas, where we admired the Hernando de Magellan monument and took in the surrounding colonial architecture. After a few snapshots, we continued uphill to the Mirador Cerro de la Cruz. Climbing the equivalent of three stories, we reached a lookout that offered panoramic views over the Strait of Magellan and Tierra del Fuego. The colorful houses nestled against the deep blue water created a picturesque scene that is so mesmerising.

Descending from the viewpoint, we passed charming homes, vibrant wall murals, and a quaint café before arriving at the Maggiorino Borgatello Museum. The exhibits offered insight into Patagonia’s flora and fauna, indigenous cultures, and early European settlers. I came away with a deeper understanding of this region’s layered history and the remarkable wildlife that call it home.

One site I debated visiting was the Cemetery of Punta Arenas Sara Braun, which spans four hectares and is considered one of the ten most beautiful cemeteries in the world. Despite my hesitation, curiosity won. The cemetery was serene and dignified—manicured cypress trees, ornate mausoleums, and elegant crypts lined the paths. Resting here are pioneers from Croatia, England, and Germany, as well as the final member of the Ona (Selk’nam), an extinct native tribe of Tierra del Fuego. I never imagined a burial place could resemble a stately garden. It served as a solemn reminder of life’s transience and the importance of honoring memory.

Punta Arenas is the cleanest city we’ve visited in Chile during this cruise. I felt completely safe wandering its streets, enjoying both the stillness and its charming surroundings. If there was one downside, it was that being a Saturday, most shops and businesses were closed, and the streets felt unusually quiet.

Back at the cruise terminal, I noticed a green steel clock standing near the entrance. Known as the German Clock, it serves as another marker of the German heritage in southern Chile.

At 6 p.m., the Oosterdam sounded its horn, signaling our departure from Punta Arenas, heading further south. I stood on deck, watching as the city’s silhouette faded into the warm glow of the setting sun—my silent farewell to Chile.

Ushuaia, Argentina – December 8, 2024

This morning, we woke to our preset alarm at 5:30 a.m. The Oosterdam had entered glacier waters during the night and was now cruising in and out of the vast Magellan Strait, passing through Glacier Alley into the Beagle Channel. Despite the icy cold outside, my excitement was high. We passed one glacier after another, with icebergs—some small, others massive—drifting on the crystal-blue sea. The scene was spectacular, an unforgettable experience of nature’s raw grandeur.

By noon, Oosterdam reached Ushuaia. Perched at the southernmost tip of Argentina—this port city marks the end of South America. Nestled among snow-capped mountains beneath a pale blue sky, Ushuaia greeted us with fresh, clean air that made me instinctively take deep breaths. My first impression was of purity and clarity—it reminded me of northern Europe.

Once ashore, a variety of excursion options awaited us: a catamaran ride to view marine wildlife and Magellanic penguins, canoeing in Tierra del Fuego National Park, a king crab gourmet experience, trekking, or a ride on the famed "Train to the End of the World." We chose a more intimate adventure, joining six fellow passengers from France on a private tour to Tierra del Fuego National Park.

Our drive took us through Ushuaia’s suburbs and across the Pipo River Valley. At Esenada Bay, we paused to admire a stunning view of Redonda Island, framed by the distant Chilean islands of Navarino and Hoste. The narrow road to the park teemed with wildlife and scenic beauty. We stopped at Roca Lake for a short coastal walk before continuing on to Lapataia Bay—the southernmost point in the world reachable by road, and the official end of the Pan-American Highway.

Tierra del Fuego National Park, just a few miles from Ushuaia, is Argentina’s only national park where mountains and forests meet the sea. At the park entrance, a sign read:

“The lovely landscape that surrounds us is full of life. The setting is the result of a long process in which water and rock fought for dominance over the planet’s surface (and still do), together with once-extensive massive glaciers. These were the main forces shaping this region over the past two and a half million years—a mere tick on the clock of Earth's long history.”

As we returned to town, a soft rain began to fall, casting a romantic and idyllic mood over the southernmost city in the world. We strolled through the streets, soaking in the atmosphere. On San Martin Street, the bustling main thoroughfare lined with shops, cafés, and local attractions, a festive caravan passed us—merry Christmas music played from the vehicles, and people dressed in cheerful costumes waved as they went by.

Then came a delightful surprise. At a street crossing, I spotted two familiar figures waiting for the traffic light. It was the Shanghai couple who had disembarked the Oosterdam in San Antonio. They told us they couldn’t resist missing Ushuaia—they had flown here just for the day. What a joyful coincidence!

Although it was December—technically summer in Ushuaia—the high latitude meant long daylight hours. By the time we returned to the ship around 7:00 p.m., the light still lingered. The Oosterdam was scheduled to depart at 8:00 p.m.

Standing on the gangway, I turned for one last look at the city. At this very moment, above the mountains, a rainbow arched across the sky, casting a gentle spectrum of colors over the rugged landscape. It was a fitting farewell to the "End of the World"—magical, serene, and completely unforgettable.

As I mentioned in an earlier diary entry, Chile boasts a long and narrow coastline stretching over 6,000 kilometers. After three days and nights of sailing on the Pacific Ocean, we were still cruising within Chilean waters.

This morning around 8 a.m., the Oosterdam anchored off Puerto Montt. As a tender port, the ship couldn't dock directly due to shallow waters or port limitations. Instead, passengers were transported to shore via smaller boats called tenders. Holland America Line has an efficient tendering process: passengers head to a designated waiting area—Rolling Stone Lounge—where they receive a card with a group number. When your number is called, it’s your turn to board.

The ten-minute ride on the tender was bumpy, but nothing we couldn't handle. Having learned how to explore ports independently while staying safe and alert, we had cancelled nearly all pre-booked shore excursions—saving a considerable amount of money. Knowing what we wanted to see in this region, we called an Uber as soon as we disembarked. Our driver, a young woman, didn’t speak a word of English. We showed her “Puerto Varas” on Google Maps. She nodded with a smile, and off we went.

After a smooth 30-minute ride, we arrived in Puerto Varas—a charming town nestled on the southwestern shore of Lake Llanquihue, offering breathtaking views of the snow-capped Osorno and Calbuco volcanoes, both still active. Osorno Volcano, in particular, is renowned for its striking resemblance to Japan’s Mount Fuji due to its perfect conical shape and snowy summit.

When we arrived, the sky was overcast, and the volcanoes were hidden behind clouds. While we waited for the weather to clear, we strolled along the lake and through town. “Puerto Varas” means “City of Roses” in English. Though it wasn’t rose season, the surroundings were stunning—German colonial houses, colorful flowers, turquoise waters of Lake Llanquihue, and the silhouettes of volcanoes towering above the lake created a postcard-perfect scene.

Why the German influence in a Chilean town? In the 1850s, the Chilean government encouraged German immigration, especially to the Lake District. That legacy is still visible today—in the architecture, culture, and cuisine.

As we walked further along the lakeside, we came upon a whimsical, fairytale-like building: the Pablo Fierro Museum. A fusion of Chilote and German heritage, this funky, creaky museum was designed and built by artist Pablo Fierro and completed in 2002. Its eclectic displays include cuckoo clocks, candy canes, vintage cars, antiques, and even the bow of a traditional fishing vessel. It’s a curious, charming tribute to the town’s cultural blend.

By then, the skies had cleared. Osorno Volcano finally emerged from its cloudy shroud—majestic and serene, just like Mount Fuji. Its symmetry and snow-capped peak made the wait worthwhile.

On our way back to the port, we stopped by a seafood market which has positive reviews for its freshness and variety. Stalls overflowed with king crabs, sea urchins, and all sorts of fish—many I couldn’t name. You could buy fresh seafood right there and have it cooked in a nearby restaurant. Tempting as it was, perhaps we’d been too well-fed aboard the ship—neither of us had much appetite. All I craved was a hot shower, a cup of tea, and a plate of fresh-baked cookies back on the Oosterdam.

Puerto Chacabuco, Chile – December 4, 2024

Oosterdam was scheduled to arrive in Puerto Chacabuco around noon today. As we sailed toward our destination, we were told to expect stunning scenery along the way. The Captain had even promised to open the bow at 8:00 a.m. for passengers to enjoy scenic cruising and photography. However, due to windy, rainy, and foggy weather, he announced a delay — the bow would now open around 9:15 a.m.

Not wanting to waste time, I headed to the World Stage Theatre to attend a talk titled “Sea Turtles — Nature’s Ancient Creatures.” Partway through the presentation, an announcement came over the speaker: the rain had stopped, and the skies were clearing. I left the “turtle” talk and made my way to the bow.

As soon as I pushed open the door and stepped outside, I was instantly captivated by the breathtaking views — rolling waves, pristine mountains, lush forests, and flocks of seabirds circling the ship. The fresh air filled my lungs as I immersed myself in nature’s wilderness. It felt magical.

Oosterdam anchored off Puerto Chacabuco at 11:00 a.m. As this was another tender port, the ship couldn’t dock directly. Customs clearance was smooth, and tenders were soon in the water, ready to transport passengers ashore. The staff were efficient and kind, always extending a hand to help us safely on and off the tender boats.

Our original plan was to call an Uber to Puerto Aysén. Although we managed to request one, we waited in vain for the ride to be confirmed — our first real difficulty with Uber during the entire cruise. We then attempted to catch a shuttle bus. After a short wait, one approached, but due to the language barrier, the driver couldn’t understand where we wanted to go. To make matters more complicated, we didn’t have local cash for the fare.

So we decided to explore the area on foot — and it turned out to be a delightful experience.

Though remote and isolated, Puerto Chacabuco is a hidden gem of Chile. Surrounded by lush green mountains, colorful wildflowers, and Lake Los Pales, the landscape was serene and picturesque. The homes were simple but with character — some made from corrugated steel panels. The residents appeared unhurried and unbothered by the outside world.

Along our walk, we spotted a few liquor shops selling homemade Chilean wines. Wandering through the quiet streets and natural surroundings, I had the strange but pleasant feeling that I had stumbled into the outskirts of Switzerland — the beauty was that comparable.

One particularly interesting observation: there were quite a few dogs roaming the town, yet they were clean, well-fed, and friendly toward strangers. I noticed the same phenomenon in other places further south, like Ushuaia.

Scenic Cruising – December 5–6, 2024

The following two days were devoted to scenic cruising as the Oosterdam sailed through the majestic Chilean Fjords, Sarmiento Channel, and the historic Strait of Magellan.

As we approached the Antarctic region, the weather turned noticeably colder and windier. The best place to take in the views and capture great photos was the ship’s bow, which remained open during the day as long as weather conditions weren’t extreme. Dressed in my warmest clothes, I found myself overwhelmed — my eyes and hands simply couldn’t keep up with the beauty surrounding me. I clumsily juggled my iPhone and binoculars, trying to absorb and record everything at once. Meanwhile, the Cruise Director narrated details about the landscapes we were passing, adding context and insight to the incredible sights.

An onboard environmental notice was announced:
“Preserve the natural wonders of the places we sail. Secure loose articles before stepping outside to prevent them from being blown overboard. Bring cushions and other lightweight items back from balconies when not in use.”

The Chilean Fjords — narrow inlets stretching from the Reloncaví Estuary to Cape Horn — offered breathtaking scenes of wild, rugged mountains and glacier-carved valleys. The Oosterdam cruised slowly, giving us time to truly soak in the untouched beauty of Patagonia. Many of these areas are part of national parks and nature reserves, a haven for adventurers and nature lovers alike. We spent an entire day weaving through these dramatic fjords.

In the Messier Channel, west of Patagonia, we came across a red capsized boat stranded since 1968, now used for target practice by the Chilean Navy. The Oosterdam circled the wreck so passengers could get a closer look — a haunting but fascinating sight.

At some point, we began passing through the Sarmiento Channel, named after the Spanish explorer Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa, who first navigated it in 1579–1580. Like other parts of the fjord region, this area is marked by a jagged coastline, snow-covered peaks, and inlets carved by glaciers. Towering glaciers spilled down to the sea, glittering in shades of blue. While I had a wonderful view of the sparkling ice formations, I wasn’t lucky enough to spot any of the local marine wildlife — such as Magellanic penguins, southern elephant seals, dolphins, or orcas — even with binoculars.

There were no obvious demarcations between the channels and straits — the scenery blended seamlessly into one vast, magnificent panorama. At some unknown point, we began crossing the Strait of Magellan. Before the Panama Canal was completed, this was a vital passage for steamships and sailing vessels navigating between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Today, it offers a truly unforgettable cruising experience, full of breathtaking sights and deep historical resonance.

Stay tuned!

At Sea – November 28, 2024

I didn’t know our exact location, but the clock had moved forward by one hour today. So, when we got up, it was already 8:30 a.m. As the number of sailing days increased, my appetite seemed to wane. For breakfast, I skipped the usual eggs and meat, opting instead for a yogurt bowl topped with a colorful assortment of berries, chia seeds, oatmeal, and walnuts. Of course, no morning is complete without a big mug of coffee.

At 10:00 a.m., I attended a port talk on Coquimbo (La Serena). The World Stage Theater was packed—if you didn’t arrive at least 30 minutes early, you’d likely be left standing. Holland America Line has a policy of offering only one live port talk per destination, with no replays available on the in-room TV. This made it all the more important to attend in person. These talks are essential for learning about upcoming ports of call—what to see, how to get around, and helpful tips for exploring on our own.

Even though we were at sea, I was as busy as a bee. I sat in on a presentation titled The Natural Highlights of Northern Chile by Dr. Michael Douglas. He also reflected on our previous destination, Peru, noting, “In Peru, the poor live on the hillsides with few facilities, while the wealthy live on the flatlands—the opposite of North America.” He added, “Lima doesn’t get rain, but fog and mist still manage to support vegetation.”

Right after that, we had another port talk—this time on San Antonio, one of our next destinations in Chile. I listened intently to information about places like Isla Negra, Paseo Bellamar, Humedales, and Valparaíso–Viña del Mar. Everything sounded so exciting, but we’d have to narrow it down to fit both our interests and time frame.

Today was American Thanksgiving. To celebrate, I wore my red dress for the first time since we boarded the ship and headed to the Vista Dining Room for a festive dinner. I enjoyed pumpkin soup, turkey with mashed potatoes, and, of course, pumpkin pie. As I soaked in the warm Thanksgiving atmosphere, I felt deeply grateful for my family, friends, and the beautiful life I’m blessed to live.

At Sea – November 29, 2024

The clock moved forward another hour today as our voyage continued toward Chile. I decided to take the day at a more relaxed pace—reading in the library, listening to music on the sundeck, and watching the waves dance in front of me. In between, I joined a line dancing class and even participated in a table tennis tournament.

Later, the crew put on an impressive towel animal show on Deck 9, which I found both creative and amusing. On some evenings, we returned to our cabin to find a towel elephant or monkey sitting on the bed—a playful and caring gesture that never failed to make us smile.

Coquimbo (La Serena), Chile – November 30, 2024

After two days at sea, the Oosterdam arrived at the Port of Coquimbo (City of La Serena), Chile, at 8:00 a.m. this morning. We were reminded that Chilean authorities are very strict about passengers bringing food ashore from the ship. To comply with regulations, we were asked to complete an affidavit confirming we would follow the rules. We were also instructed to carry the completed affidavit, a transit card, our ship card, and passport at all times while traveling in Chile.

Like other ports in South America, this was not a cruise terminal but a cargo harbor, so passengers were not allowed to walk within the port area. Fortunately, a shuttle bus service had been arranged to transport us from the ship to the port gate.

We shared an Uber with a couple from New York City to downtown Coquimbo, and were dropped off at the Plaza de Armas, the city’s main square. The 20-minute scenic ride cost only $5—such a great deal! Being a quiet Saturday morning, the town was still sleepy. In fact, it felt as though our presence intruded on the locals’ peaceful weekend. Nothing was open except the church and gardens. A nice, serene way to start the day.

Our next destination was the nearby city of La Serena, known for its iconic landmark: El Faro, a lighthouse located along the coastal avenue. Built in the early 1950s, it has become one of the most popular tourist attractions in the area. By the time we arrived around 10:00 a.m., the area was already bustling with both locals and visitors.

While browsing Google Maps, we discovered a Japanese Garden nearby—and what a beautiful surprise it turned out to be. As we strolled along its peaceful trails, it truly felt like we had been transported to Japan. Every detail reflected traditional Japanese aesthetics. The Japanese Garden of La Serena was a gift from Compañía Minera del Pacífico to promote cultural and tourist development in the Coquimbo region. Designed by Japanese architects and constructed between 1988 and 1995, it is the largest Japanese garden in South America.

After soaking in the elegant atmosphere of the garden, we headed to the magnificent Third Millennium Cross (Cruz del Tercer Milenio). This 83-meter-tall, 40-meter-wide concrete cross stands atop El Vigía Hill in Coquimbo. Construction began in 1999 and was completed in 2001. It is considered the tallest monument in South America, perched 197 meters above sea level and offering panoramic views of the region.

Two elevators are available to take visitors to the top, but unfortunately, one appeared to be malfunctioning—it was operating without a door and emitted a loud, unsettling squeak during its ascent. Fearing the possibility of getting stuck and missing the ship, we reluctantly decided not to go up.

It was a hectic yet fulfilling day—full of discovery, history, and beautiful moments.

San Antonio – December 1, 2024

The Oosterdam docked at the port of San Antonio just before 7:00 a.m., with departure scheduled for 3:30 p.m. We had considered visiting Santiago, Chile’s capital city, but since it’s more than two hours away by car—one way—we decided it wouldn’t allow enough time for a meaningful visit.

Instead, we opted to explore Concepción Hill, a popular tourist district in the city of Valparaíso, about an hour’s drive from the port. Valparaíso, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is renowned for its architectural heritage and rich, eclectic history. Wandering through its narrow streets felt like stepping into a living canvas. For centuries, artists have drawn inspiration from the city’s colorful houses, distinctive architecture, and the unusual buildings perched atop its 42 hills surrounding the bay.

Valparaíso is home to hundreds of poets, painters, musicians, and sculptors, making it a vibrant cultural hub. The entire area feels like an open-air gallery, with murals, graffiti art, and bursts of creativity everywhere. As we walked uphill and downhill through winding alleys, I was mesmerized by the vivid wall art and charming character homes painted in bold, joyful hues. The weather was spectacular—sunlight bathed everything in golden warmth, making the city sparkle.

Back at the port, about half of the passengers disembarked in San Antonio while new guests came aboard. We said our goodbyes to friends we’d met along the way, wishing each other safe travels and hoping our paths might cross again somewhere, sometime.

As for my husband and me, our adventure continued— further southward along the coast of South America.

At Sea – December 2, 2024

Chile’s distinctive shape—a long, narrow ribbon of land hugging the Pacific—boasts over 6,000 kilometers of coastline. After three days of sailing and two port stops, today was another peaceful sea day. Our next destination: Puerto Montt, still within Chile.

Stay tuned!

During this voyage, I learned that it never rains in Lima—the last recorded rainfall was about 600 years ago. Umbrellas and raincoats are practically useless here. Yet, despite the absence of rain, plants thrive, flowers bloom, and lawns remain lush and green. This is because Lima doesn’t lack water; it relies on the Rimac River, fed by the melting glaciers of the Andes. Though the city sees no rainfall, it is often enveloped in a misty fog that provides moisture and humidity.

I wrote about some highlights of Lima in my last post, however Lima’s experience continued and kept me fascinated in the next couple of days.

November 26, 2024

The ship departed Callao Port at 6 p.m. yesterday and arrived at General San Martín Port in Pisco, Peru, at 7 a.m. this morning. Seated by a window overlooking the bustling harbor, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, watching the sun’s rays shimmer on the ocean as we mapped out our plans for the day.

After our experience in Lima yesterday, we realized that with a bit of caution, navigating the city wasn’t as daunting as it first seemed. Feeling more confident, we decided to explore on our own today, using Uber and walking on foot.

The Museo Larco and the National Museum

Just after 10 a.m., our Uber driver dropped us off in front of the wrought-iron gate of an 18th-century viceroyalty mansion, home to the Museo Larco. A cobblestone path, adorned with cascading red and pink bougainvilleas, led uphill toward the entrance. Surrounded by lush gardens, the museum invites visitors to explore more than 5,000 years of ancient Peruvian history through a remarkable collection of pre-Columbian art.

Inside, the Museo Larco boasts an extensive collection of ceramics, textiles, and gold and silver artifacts, offering a deep dive into Peru’s rich cultural heritage. What sets this museum apart is its open storeroom, where visitors can wander through aisles of exhibits, gaining a closer look at the artifacts. After our visit, we took a moment to relax in the garden with a refreshing drink, soaking in the tranquil atmosphere.

Not far from the museum, we came across a park featuring a monument commemorating the 170th anniversary of Chinese immigrants’ arrival in Peru. Today, an estimated 5% of Peru’s population—about 1.2 million people—have Chinese ancestry. However, during my short visit, I didn’t come across anyone who appeared to be of Chinese descent.

Next, we called an Uber to take us to the Museo Nacional de Arqueología, Antropología e Historia del Perú, the country’s oldest museum, housed in the historic Palacio de la Magdalena in Pueblo Libre’s main square. Admission was free, and the museum's archaeological collection included an impressive display of pre-Hispanic ceramics, metal artifacts, funeral offerings, and intricately carved stone figures. In the museum’s backyard garden, we took a break, enjoying a quiet moment before continuing our day’s journey.

November 27, 2024

Our fifth day in Peru was an exhilarating encounter with nature—its raw beauty, wildness, and unfiltered earthliness.

The Paracas National Reserve

We set out early in the morning in a private jeep, heading to the Paracas National Reserve, an ecological sanctuary in the coastal desert. After half an hour on a rough, unpaved road, a breathtaking scene unfolded before me—an awe-inspiring blend of sandy earth seamlessly meeting the vast, shimmering sea. The Red Beach, with its striking crimson-hued sand and countless seabirds dotting the shoreline, was beyond words.

The desert landscapes here are equally mesmerizing. Supay Beach, known for its dramatic cliffs formed during the Eocene Period, showcases horizontal striations and marine sediment layers embedded with prehistoric fossils—silent witnesses to ancient geological history.

The sky was overcast, casting a hazy veil over the land. Pollution in the desert? Not at all. It was the misty fog, gently shedding droplets of moisture over this rainless terrain, sustaining both humans and wildlife. Birds of all species soared and chirped merrily. Though I couldn’t name them, this place felt like a dreamland for bird lovers.

The Ballestas Islands

Straight from the desert, we wasted no time embarking on our next adventure—a boat trip to the Ballestas Islands. Boarding a local vessel alongside a group of high school students and a British couple, fellow passengers from the Oosterdam, we set off toward what is often called “Peru’s Galápagos,” the country’s most important wildlife sanctuary along the coast.

Our helmsman skillfully maneuvered the boat as close as possible, allowing us to observe the incredible diversity of marine birds. The tour guide narrated in Spanish, describing the islands and their inhabitants, but realizing that we didn’t understand, a fellow passenger kindly stepped in to interpret. A Peruvian educated in the U.S., he graciously translated the guide’s commentary, enriching our experience and deepening our appreciation for the wonders of Paracas.

Throughout the ride, occasional applause and excited cheers erupted as we came face-to-face with sea lions, the Guanay cormorant, the Peruvian booby, and the majestic Peruvian pelican. The most thrilling sight, however, was the penguins! I learned that there are multiple species, and these were Humboldt penguins, a species native to the chilly waters of the Humboldt Current.

The Nazca Drawing - Candelabro

But the excitement didn’t end there. As we approached the coast, we were awestruck by the famous Candelabro—a massive geoglyph etched into the coastal hillside, reminiscent of the Nazca Lines. Who created this giant figure? What was its purpose? Some believe it was an ancient plea to the gods; others suggest it was a navigational marker or even a sign of extraterrestrial communication. To this day, its origins remain an unsolved mystery.

Farewell to Peru

By late afternoon, it was time to bid farewell to Peru. The Oosterdam was scheduled to depart from General San Martín Port at 4 p.m., but our hearts were still lingering in the Paracas National Reserve. As we made our way back to the ship, a sea lion resting on the dock seemed reluctant to say goodbye, as if it had followed us all the way to the port.

With the ship’s anchor lifted and its horn sounding across the bay, our captain took one final detour, circling around the Candelabro so we could marvel once more at this ancient enigma.

Lima had far exceeded my expectations, leaving me with unforgettable memories of its history, art, and natural wonders.

Goodbye, Peru!

November 24, 2024

The Oosterdam sailed into Callao Port around 2 p.m., where it would remain anchored for two nights. Callao, a coastal city on the Pacific Ocean, is part of the Lima metropolitan area and lies just 9 km from Peru’s capital.

For passengers’ convenience, Holland America Line (HAL) provided two shuttle bus services: Line 1 to the Cruise Terminal and Line 2 to Parque del Amor in Miraflores. The shuttles ran every 15 minutes until 8:40 p.m., with service resuming the next morning at 8 a.m. I must give credit to HAL for offering these shuttles free of charge—something I’ve heard other cruise lines start to charge for a fee.

As soon as the gangway was open, we wasted no time disembarking, eager to satisfy our curiosity. We took the Line 2 shuttle, which dropped us off at a designated spot in Miraflores. The ride took about 40 minutes, with light traffic since it was Sunday afternoon.

Miraflores is an upscale shopping and residential district. Its coastline is breathtakingly beautiful, and its modern high-rises are comparable to those in Western cities—a stark contrast to the scenes we passed on our way from the port, where impoverished communities live in mud huts on the hills. Nearby, the Larcomar Shopping Mall, built on a cliff with an open-air design, offers a variety of shops and dining options. However, our plan for the afternoon was to visit Barranco, just a 10-minute Uber ride away.

My perception of Peru had always been somewhat dull and drab, so the vibrant colors of Barranco took me by surprise. I was immediately captivated by its colorful street art, historic mansions, trendy cafés and bars, and boutique galleries—all set against a backdrop of colonial architecture and stunning ocean views. Here, the Peruvian artistic talent and Bohemian culture are in full display, creating a laid-back and romantic atmosphere. Nearly every wall was adorned with murals, whether beneath a tunnel or high up on a hill, and I loved every single one of them. In this setting, the locals seemed happy and content, while visitors appeared curious and relaxed. If you’re ever in Lima, Barranco is a must-visit!

By the time we returned to Miraflores, dusk was falling, painting an idyllic scene of nature in harmony with urban life—serenity amidst the city's hustle. We strolled along the boardwalk, soaking in the breathtaking sunset over the Pacific Ocean while waiting for the HAL shuttle bus to take us back to the Oosterdam.

November 25, 2024

Today was another fulfilling day in Lima. We took a full-day shore excursion called “The Best of Lima” to visit as many places of interest as possible during our short stay in this fascinating city.

Right off the gangway, we were led to a shuttle bus. The narrated drive from the port city of Callao introduced us to Peru’s rich history and culture.

We walked through the Old Town, where government buildings are located. Along the way, we passed some notable colonial palaces featuring wooden box balconies—an iconic element of Lima’s architecture that contributed to its designation as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Most of these balconies date back to the late 16th through 18th centuries, serving as a status symbol—the larger the balcony, the wealthier the owner. The wooden-screened balcony windows allowed residents to discreetly observe street activities while maintaining their privacy.

Our first stop was the Cathedral of Lima. Entering through the main gateway, the “Door of Forgiveness,” we stood in awe of the magnificent Churrigueresque altars and beautifully carved wooden choir stalls. I was amazed by the sheer number of side doors—14 in total—along with chapels, a baptistery, numerous religious artworks, and the tomb of the Spanish conquistador Francisco Pizarro. The grandeur of the cathedral was truly a testament to the power of faith.

Next, we visited Santo Domingo Convent, the oldest church and convent in Lima. Like many religious complexes in the city, it functions as a self-contained community with cloisters, courtyards, service areas, and communal rooms. Construction began in 1540, but it was later modernized into its present neo-classical style in the 18th century. The convent’s great hall, built in 1730, remains a masterpiece of ornamental architecture.

Our next stop was the renowned Gold Museum, a dazzling display of pre-Columbian artifacts. As I wandered through rooms filled with over 20,000 gold items collected by local businessman and art enthusiast Miguel Mujica Gallo, I was awestruck. The collection featured idols, crowns, scepters, and intricate filigree figures depicting everything from men and monkeys to birds and serpents. There were also exquisitely crafted necklaces, belts, wristbands, earflaps, pectorals, and shin protectors—a true treasure trove of Incan artistry. This museum is an absolute must-see for anyone visiting Peru.

When it was time to eat, we were taken to a local restaurant for a buffet lunch, which was an eye-opening introduction to Peruvian cuisine. The spread featured a wide variety of traditional dishes known as “criollo” cuisine, accompanied by the country’s famous cocktail, the Pisco Sour, a national drink made with pisco, lime, egg white, and bitters. However, the dish that stood out the most for me was ceviche—Peru’s national dish. Made with fresh seafood marinated in lime juice, it reminded me of Japanese sashimi, except with a sharp citrus twist that awakened my taste buds.

Finally, it was shopping time at the colorful Indian Market. I found myself lost among the bustling stalls filled with traditional Peruvian knitwear, silver jewelry, woven textiles, and ceramics. Like many visitors, I couldn’t resist picking up a few alpaca sweaters, blankets, and even some yarn to take home. Peru is renowned for its high-quality alpaca products, and this was the perfect place to find authentic pieces.

During the scenic drive back to the pier, we passed some statues that reinforced the city’s charm and cultural richness. On the dark side though, as we neared the pier, worn-out houses, littered streets, and expressionless faces came into view once again—a stark contrast that served as a reminder of social inequality.

The night concluded with a performance titled "Un Perú Para Todos," presented by a group of local dancers and singers. This vibrant showcase of Peruvian culture was the perfect way to end an unforgettable day in Lima.

Around 8:00 this morning, the Oosterdam arrived at Salaverry Port in Trujillo, Peru. The ship was scheduled to depart at 5 p.m., continuing its journey to Callao (Lima), where we would arrive the following afternoon. There, we would have three days and two overnights to explore this ancient and historically rich country on the western coast of South America.

The first thing I noticed after stepping out of my cabin was thousands of beautiful birds flying around and perched on the rocky shoreline—an incredible sight! Bird lovers would have been thrilled by this natural spectacle.

One key takeaway from yesterday’s talk was that South America, despite its rich history and vibrant culture, has not heavily invested in tourism infrastructure. Many of the ports on our itinerary lack adequate facilities, and Salaverry Port was no exception. As a commercial cargo port, it has no cruise terminal, and passengers are not allowed to walk freely within the port. We had two options: take the Holland America Line (HAL) shuttle bus (free ride) to Plaza de Armas, where we could hail a taxi or Uber, or join a shore excursion ($30/person) that would transport us directly from the gangway to the city centre. We opted for the latter.

The ride from the port to downtown Trujillo took about 45 minutes. Along the way, I saw unfinished buildings and streets littered with rubbish. The visible poverty and underdevelopment were striking, making me appreciate the privileges of life in Canada even more.

I didn’t understand why many some Peruvians to live in houses without roofs. Our local tour guide explained that this is quite common in Peru, especially in urban areas. Homeowners often leave their houses and buildings unfinished—exposed rebar, unpainted facades, and open top floors are a frequent sight. The primary reason for this is to avoid or delay paying property taxes, which are typically assessed on completed structures. Another reason is the deeply ingrained cultural mindset of continuous home improvement. Rather than constructing a fully finished house all at once, many Peruvians prefer to build gradually, expanding and enhancing their homes over time as resources allow.

Upon reaching Trujillo’s main square, the drabness of the journey gave way to vibrant colours. The city centre was lined with stunning colonial buildings, including the cathedral, City Hall, the offices of the Universidad Nacional de Trujillo, and grand mansions that once belonged to patrician families. The historic Hotel El Libertador stood proudly among them. Trujillo revealed itself as a city rich in history, culture, and tradition.

Although the shore excursion coach had only brought us to the city centre, we still had time to visit the Chan Chan archaeological site. Located about five kilometers away, we decided to take an Uber, which cost just 10.98 Sol (about USD $3).

The Citadel of Chan Chan, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, was the breathtaking capital of the Chimu Empire, boasting remarkably advanced infrastructure. The Tschudi Palace, in particular, was adorned with intricate friezes and decorative motifs. Known as the largest city of mud, it is estimated that between 30,000 to 60,000 residents lived there more than 700 years ago. Today, the ruins of Chan Chan stretch across the desert, where wind and rain continue to erode some parts while others remain intact or are undergoing restoration.

Trujillo is home to even more ancient wonders, including the Temples of the Sun and Moon at the Mochica archaeological site on the northern coast. Unfortunately, due to time constraints, we had to leave them unexplored—something to look forward to on a future visit.

That night, we had Peruvian food for dinner. I found myself digesting not the food, but what I experienced during the day, which will become another valuable memory in my life.

If you have the chance to visit Trujillo, here are some tips to help you prepare for your trip:

1. Museum and Site Hours: The closing times for museums and other attractions in Trujillo can vary, so it’s a good idea to check online before planning your visit.

2. Transportation: Public transportation in Trujillo is basic, but Uber is available and offers very affordable prices.

3. Long-Distance Travel: If you're taking a taxi or Uber to a distant site like Chan Chan, it's a good idea to keep the driver for the return trip. It's often difficult to hail another ride in remote areas.

4. Currency: There's no need to exchange your money into Sol (the Peruvian currency), as USD is widely accepted—just be sure to pay in cash.

5. Safety: Trujillo is generally safe for tourists, but, as with any destination, it's always wise to stay alert and take basic precautions.