Bound for New Zealand
20 February 2026
I mentioned that while Queen Mary 2 is a beautiful, even luxurious ship, she’s seeming outdated in many ways, so I was happy to find out that Queen Mary 2 is scheduled for a major, “substantial” refit in early 2027, according to company press releases. This mid-life overhaul is expected to take place between March and May 2027, ensuring the flagship liner continues its transatlantic service with refreshed interiors and technical upgrades.
The upcoming 2027 refit is anticipated to be a major “remastering” similar to the significant 2016 renovation. The project aims to maintain her status as a premier ocean liner and modernize internal systems. While she received updates in 2023, the 2027 project is considered a key “mid-life” investment to extend her service life, with experts suggesting she could operate for another 20–30 years. ANOTHER 20-30 years! She’s already 24 years old, but apparently built to last!
On a side note, a Cunard staffer just knocked on my door and came in to replace the Cokes and Diet Cokes in my minibar, which their records show were about to expire. I had never thought about Cokes expiring, but interesting that they are so rarely bought from the minibar that they can expire!
That’s today’s report. New lecturers came aboard in Tahiti, much less interesting than the ones we had earlier. Yes, I’m on a world cruise and still managing to complain! Here’s our upcoming route…
21 February 2026
Today I attended 4 presentations. The first was by a Cunard crew-lady who told us a bit about Tauranga, which will be our third stop in New Zealand. She admitted that there’s not a lot to do there. I suspect Tauranga just has a good chamber of commerce that managed to recruit us to stop there and spend money. The Bowlins and I will probably just get off the boat and go looking for food! So many of these destinations offer active excursions like hiking and snorkeling. I’m past the point of enjoying activities other than bus tours and restaurant stops or wine tastings.
Next I attended a lecture by an Australian specialist in dental forensics. She’s the one who identifies bodies based on dental records and postmortem exams and x-rays. Right down my alley! In the 45 years I practiced dentistry, I always wished I could help a family find closure by identifying someone through my dental records. But no, not to be. The closest I ever got was a call from the county sheriff once, looking for records on someone who had died in a house fire. Unfortunately, the deceased wasn’t one of my patients, so I couldn’t help.
Next was a great talk by a retired US Navy captain. He’s a wave expert. David Bowlin and I have been wishing for a storm at sea to press through, rather than the calm Pacific we’ve had so far. After seeing some of the photos and videos this navy man showed of really big waves, rogue waves, I think David and I should leave well enough alone! He showed one image of a US Navy ship that plunged so deep into a wave trough that the bow broke off the ship when it turned up toward the next wave crest. My cabin is in the bow of QM2. I’d like to arrive home with the whole ship attached!
The final lecture was by an Australian woman who spoke to us yesterday about “the greatest generation,” those people born between 1901 and 1927, the people who fought in a world war or two, endured the Great Depression, people of extreme resilience, patriotism, and selflessness. They are credited with saving the world from totalitarianism and building the modern world.
Today she spoke about “the silent generation,” born between 1928 and 1945. The term was coined by Time Magazine in 1951, and highlights their reputation for caution, conformism, and respect for authority during the McCarthy era. Key values include thriftiness, loyalty, and a strong work ethic. She reminisced about the music, dance, inventions and wonderful life they made for themselves.
22 February 2026
We’re now half way on our voyage from French Polynesia to New Zealand. My days involve reading my book/napping, eating, and the lectures they offer daily. For some reason, I’m finding it very hard to read my book while gently swinging in the hammock on my balcony. I fall asleep halfway through every page! My cabin is close to the bow of the ship, and on the balcony I hear a non-stop series of sounds, beginning with a loud roar like a waterfall, as the bow of the ship rises out of the water then crashes down into the water, producing a big bow wave. The bow wave sends churning water out to the sides of the ship, sounding like a loud wave striking a beach.
I’m amused by this sign on my balcony door. The British politely call them “cigarette ends” rather than butts. Really, I read they usually call them fag ends. The sign no doubt dated from when smoking was allowed in the cabin as long as you didn’t pitch the remnants into the sea.
Since we will arrive on the island of Mauritius on April 5, I’ve started reading, again, Patrick O’Brian’s novel, The Mauritius Command, about the British Navy during the Napoleonic wars. It’s the fourth book of O’Brian’s magnificent 20-book “Master and Commander” series, and this will be my 4th time to read it, but I want to be fresh on the Mauritius area before we arrive there.
Today we enjoyed another great lecture by the retired US Navy captain, this one about whales, and after lunch, while the Bowlins attended a painting class, I attended another forensic dentistry lecture. This one was about when she, the lecturer, helped with identifying victims of the December 26, 2004 tsunami that killed over 228,000 people in Thailand and nearby countries. She said most of the non-Thai victims were from Sweden and Germany, two countries that love to vacation in Thailand, for some reason, probably because it’s friendly, beautiful, and cheap! She explained how they dealt with such overwhelming numbers and it was quite interesting.
She’s a dentist from Sheffield, in central England, who in recent years has lived in New Zealand and currently in Australia. She has worked many major disasters, including airplane crashes and earthquakes.
Here is a video I made last night, showing QM2’s big dining room for we commoners. The rich folks in the more expensive cabins and suites have their own dining rooms and they try not to mix with those of us in steerage. The Bowlins and I opted for “open dining” on the second level of the dining room. We just arrive any time and they find us a seat. The lower level is for people who chose to eat at the same time, and at the same table with the same people, every night.
Today I also discovered that there’s a room on Deck 12 where you can watch, through a window, the crew steering the ship. The signs said no photos, but I found one online that some outlaw posted, and it represents what I saw. Like an airplane cockpit, but more so, I’m sure it’s heavily fortified. You can imagine the damage that could result from, for instance, terrorists aiming a 300 million pound ship, at full speed, toward some coastal city.
As much as I admire the designers of Queen Mary 2, I can guarantee you that no two men will ever stand, behind rubbing behind, to use both these QM2 men’s room urinals at the same time!
23 February 2026
(there will not be a 24 February…)
I realized it days go. We continue to travel west, losing an hour at each time zone we cross. We’re still in the Hawaii time zone, 4 hours behind Pocahontas, because we’ve mostly been traveling south since leaving Hawaii, but as we turn more to the west, we’ll keep getting farther and farther behind Pocahontas time as we cross more time zones. Were this to continue, eventually we’d arrive back in Pocahontas, but a day earlier than local time! That won’t do.
Enter the International Date Line. As we cross it tonight, we advance our clocks forward one full day. At 11:59 p.m. it will still be 23 February, and 2 minutes later it will be a minute past midnight on 25 February. A whole day lost. I’m worried about missing a day of my blood pressure pills! Be sure to open the image below and read the caption, which explains a bit more about the day that never was!
As you already know, I am an outlaw for having a hammock on my balcony. I’ll add another to my growing list of offenses. The signs in my room say that throwing anything overboard is strictly prohibited. On some nights I pick up my supper in the buffet and enjoy it in my room while I watch the news on TV. Sometimes, yet another sin, I pick up more than I can eat, or, more likely, the beef I picked up was too tough to chew (apparently, if there even IS tender beef on this ship, it’s reserved for the people in first class), so I wait until after dark, when nobody can see it clearly, then pitch the leftovers over the balcony.
Luckily, my balcony is directly over the water. David and Linda’s higher balcony would drop down onto the lifeboats, but from my room I can safely feed the fish. Of course, no fish is likely to see a hunk of beef dropping by, the fish having been scattered by the 300 million pound ship that just crashed through their world, but I like to picture that inedible hunk of beef, or English sausage, sinking a few miles to the bottom, where some weird carnivore, one that lives in total darkness, will enjoy it more than I did.
On another subject, I can hold my tongue no longer if you, dear reader, are to know of a significant daily part of a world voyage, that being the zombies.
For whom would you expect to see on a voyage of three-plus months! Not many young or middle-aged people can take 100 days off for a vacation, or afford the expense, which is sinfully significant. So I am on a ship of retirees, and many of them walk like the zombies on The Walking Dead. A few of them LOOK like the zombies. Judging from facial expressions, I’m convinced that a few of them have no idea where they are.
At least one reminds me of Tim Conway’s Old Man character on The Carol Burnett Show, walking/shuffling along at a snail’s pace. Some of them have what I suspect are paid companions, younger people given a free trip in exchange for helping the old folks get around the ship, as well as helping when ashore. Good for them. It shows that, if one has the desire and the money, one can continue to travel and enjoy the world until near the end! Or, conversely, if one is lucky, one can get a free world trip by being helpful until the oldster goes to bed at 7 p.m., then head off to the ship’s disco. QM2 does have one, I’m told. I wouldn’t know. I’m in my room by 7 p.m.
25 February 2026
I’ve realized that, much of the time as I walk around the ship, I’m smiling. If I could purr like a cat, I would. This is very uncharacteristic of me, as I generally don’t feel, much less show emotion, but, apparently, I’m actually happy and enjoying my trip. Who would have thought?
I’ll attach my favorite meme below. I’d be the dog in this scenario, but I’m sure there are some unhappy cats somewhere on the ship, tired of sailing.
Six days out from the enchanting island of Mo’orea, I’ve FINALLY stopped playing in my mind the song Bali Ha’i from the show “South Pacific.” We arrive New Zealand in the morning.
So far, the only really bad thing since we left home is that they seem to have run out of chocolate ice cream mix. Maybe they can find some in New Zealand. Fingers crossed!
From my balcony, I just saw a frigate bird, also called a man-of-war bird, I suppose because they are mean as hell. I saw one the day before we arrived Tahiti, and now I’ve seen one the day before we arrive New Zealand. On my first visit to the Galápagos Islands, I got to see a frigate bird grab a blue-footed boobie in mid air and shake it until it dropped the fish it had caught. The frigate then shot down and retrieved the fish before it hit the ocean. As I said, man-of-war bird and mean as hell.
Current ship’s time is 8:50 Wednesday morning. My computer tells me it’s 12:50 p.m. TUESDAY in Pocahontas. I’m so confused! Noting else to report today. No good lectures to attend. Truly a lost day, stuck at sea with no chocolate ice cream.