We woke up to the gentle rocking of the ship and the promise of what should have been a perfect beach day at Half Moon Cay, Holland America's postcard-perfect private island. Since we last visited in February, the island has been hitting the gym — lots of new construction and upgrades. Half Moon Cay is basically leveling up like a tropical Pokémon. Still tender boats only, though. No pier. Maybe by the time we're retired. 😄
Weather report: 75° air, 75° water, and 75° "why don't we move here permanently" vibes. 🌤️ Unfortunately, the morning didn't start as sunny for Aimee.
Her Body Chemistry Filed a Complaint
Aimee's body chemistry woke up, thought about last night's Crow's Nest cocktail medley — wine, cocktails, mystery spirits — and said: "We decline." She's been recovering from mixing what amounted to an entire bar's worth of options. Poor thing.
Meanwhile, I'm feeling surprisingly good. Probably because I stuck to beer and wine — the most stable cruising combo in existence — and drank enough water to hydrate a small cactus farm. 💧 Even with the ship rocking like it was doing nighttime Zumba, my sleep score came in at 85, which I consider a major life achievement. (No waffles at breakfast, though. I mourned briefly. 😔🧇)
Paradise in Timeout
This morning's tender situation was wild: two Holland America ships sharing tender boats to the island. Picture a polite, well-organized, Dutch-themed traffic jam on the water. But by the time we finished breakfast, Aimee had taken a turn for the worse. She was sick most of the morning, so instead of heading to the island, we curled up in the room and watched paradise from the balcony like sad tourists in timeout. I could literally see the beach we'd planned to relax on. Right there. So close. Mocking us. 🥲
While Aimee slept, I caught up on several back issues of The Economist — because nothing says "Vacation!" like reading about global economics while staring at a tropical island you didn't actually get to visit. We still needed our steps, so later I grabbed both Garmins and hit the deck, walking lap after lap like a determined mall-walker. Ended with 12,400 steps. I celebrated with a Heineken Zero, keeping things dry out of solidarity with Aimee's condition. Also snagged pizza, because I'm burning calories at an elite cruise-athlete level (I assume).
British soil, better beaches. Turks & Caicos is a British Overseas Territory — so tomorrow we technically set foot on British soil, just with way better weather.
Grand Turk is the capital island, home to Cockburn Town and some of the clearest water in the Caribbean. The islands sit on the third-largest coral reef system in the world, which is why the water looks Photoshop-level unreal.
Fun fact: astronaut John Glenn splashed down near Grand Turk in 1962 after orbiting Earth — which is why the cruise port has a space-themed attraction. 🚀
A day spent indoors yields no turtles, real or printed. The engine idles. Tomorrow: a new island, a new country, and hopefully a new stomach for Aimee.
So yeah — today didn't go as planned. But tomorrow is a new day, a new island, a new country. We'll get this vacation back on track. ❤️🌴