The park was alive before the sun had even started to set. Groups of young people glided in on bicycles, bottles clinking in backpacks, laughter spilling ahead like the soundtrack to a spontaneous summer festival. Within minutes, the lawns became a patchwork of circles, bikes stacked nearby. Everywhere I looked, more groups were forming, their numbers swelling across the park.

Then, as if on cue, the circles began to stir. People stood, lined up, and began coordinated movements. I commented to my husband that maybe these were exercise groups, or perhaps line dancers. 

Another night, we discovered the Tenth Avenue Arts Center, a small downtown theater, and saw an original musical called Wulfeater. It’s written by Brian and Danisha Jenkins, with music and lyrics by the Jenkins and Julia Roskopf, and choreography by Christian DePaul and Roskopf. The whole production was an immersive, interactive experience set in the fictional world of Cleveland, digging into themes of capitalism, oppression, and patriarchy. At times, it felt like we were sitting in the bar with the characters, watching their lives unfold.

The music was raw hard rock, the acting was sharp, and even the intermission became part of the story. By the end, the whole audience was on its feet, cheering the characters as they fought to take their lives back, even as some clung to the comfort of the status quo. It was thought-provoking and unforgettable. As director Brian Jenkins shouted: “Welcome to the Wulfeater, mother f*ckers…Are you ready to have some fun?” The answer was definitely yes.

My husband and I sat down on a shaded log for a water and snack break, watching their antics for a while. These mischievous little thieves were clearly here for a reason...  

Hikers came and went, and those who stopped to jump in the water would lay down their backpacks and leave them unattended.  No one worried about theft, at least not from people. But the monkeys? They were watching.

These clever little monkeys would watch the people, and as soon as someone went swimming, the monkeys would dart down, inspect the bag, and, if possible, open it. Some of them even knew how to work zippers!  

By the time the swimmer noticed, the monkeys had already snatched what they could and taken off, just as the person came running up the beach.

At our table sat six men—fathers and their adult sons—cheerfully recounting their day’s fishing trip. When my husband stepped away to get more beers, one of the men leaned in quietly and asked, “Are you two here on holiday or trying to escape?”

I laughed out loud. He smiled playfully, shrugged, and said, “Well, judging by your accents, it could go either way, and I don’t want to offend. You might have a gun!”

My husband came back to the table just as my Kiwi neighbor and I were laughing it up.  I shared his question and answer with my husband, who immediately started laughing too.  From then on, we were friends. The men shared stories of their annual fishing ritual, with The Shucker Brothers as a must-stop before heading home, and staying connected until the following year.

We were learning how open, friendly, and fun the Kiwi people are.

As the sun dipped lower, we strolled along the Bondi Promenade and cut over to Campbell Parade to find a spot to relax before heading back to Coogee. There were plenty of places to choose from, but, true to form, we found the best dive bar and joined in the revelry. Chuck Trailer’s Bondi Beach was exactly the kind of spot we love.

It felt like home, like being back in San Diego’s Mission or Ocean Beach. Laid-back, beachwear-friendly, and full of good energy.

The best part? The spinning wheel.

The cardboard roulette-style wheel had numerous “prizes”, with highlights including a free drink, food discounts, a time-out, and a shoe drink.

We got to witness all of them. Let the fun begin!

I saw the birds ahead and the water splashing and told my daughter to get ready. Jax had sensed them long before we saw them. He suddenly jumped up and paced, anxious but excited. He came to me, and I thought he wanted to look over the edge—but he didn’t. Not yet.

Then the dolphins came. Hundreds—maybe thousands—jumping, racing, playing in our wake. My daughter’s family lit up with joy. Jax, still whining, finally came to the rail and looked over. His tail wagged. His ears popped back up. And he started that high-pitched whine he uses when he’s thrilled. Like when we approach Dog Beach or Fiesta Island—his "I can’t wait" sound.

My husband knelt beside him while Jax leaned over the rail, tail wagging, eyes wide. He’d look out, then come boop my hand, like he was saying, “Are you seeing this?!”

As the light began to soften, we hopped in the car and drove toward Hampden Bridge, crossing over the Kangaroo River and turning onto Bendeela Road just as Alex had advised. Almost immediately, we saw what we’d hoped for—kangaroos! Troops of them dotted the open fields, grazing in the golden hour light. My husband pulled over so I could hop out, take some photos, and just soak it in.

A little further on, as we passed some homes tucked back from the road, I saw them—two wombats munching away in someone’s front yard. I doubt the homeowners were thrilled, but I was absolutely giddy.

Little Italy is full of charm, and you can find just about any style of Italian cuisine—from casual trattorias and cozy pizza takeout spots to upscale dining. We popped into The Market by Buon Appetito, an Italian grocery and café. The aroma alone was enough to tempt me, but somehow, I walked out without a single item. That’s a personal record.

Just when I started to worry, Captain Kyle steered us south, and as if on cue, we could see hundreds of birds.  As we approached, the magic happened!

Dolphins. Thousands of them. We were suddenly in the middle of a megapod—common dolphins feeding, leaping, and surrounding our boat in every direction. As we entered their controlled chaos, they seemed to welcome us, some darting alongside the R.I.B., others weaving beneath it.  They!  Were!  Everywhere!

It started with a cough.

Just a little more than usual, but enough to worry us. We were a day into a cruise, and my husband—who has a serious lung disease—was starting to feel worse. I had packed our trusty small traveling pharmacy, which usually gets us through colds, stomach bugs, and sleepless nights. But this time, it wasn’t enough.

On our way out of the National Park, we encountered a young couple hesitant to cross a bridge. A family of white-faced capuchins—small but known as the most aggressive monkeys in Costa Rica—was leaping along the handrails and into the trees surrounding the bridge.

The dominant male was separated from his females and juveniles by the bridge, and we four stood at the bridge’s entrance, in his view, blocking their path.  We hadn’t even stepped onto the bridge, and he was already yelling at us.

The male monkey intimidated the couple, but my husband and I had already had close-up experiences with these monkeys throughout our Costa Rican adventures. We always respect them and their habitat and know how to walk past without incident.

I was alarmed to see a brown appendage slowly move into the fold of the white bath towel on the rack before me. I thought it was a tarantula, and I had seen one of its eight arachnid legs.

Despite my urge to pee, this seemed more important to tend to. I crept out of the bathroom and woke my sleeping husband.

He looked at me sleepily as I explained that something was on the bathroom towel. I described what I saw and exactly what I needed from him: bravery to move the towel and see what we were dealing with.

My darling husband is not used to me asking for help with these things. At home, I take care of spiders, geckos, snakes—anything other than roaches—on my own. But this was different. We were in Costa Rica.

We woke early the next day to the distinct and loud call of yellow-throated toucans right outside our room. I leapt out of bed and ran to the patio—completely naked. My husband, long used to my spontaneity, handed me a robe and joined me to admire the birds.

My husband froze. His eyes glazed over—no doubt flashing back to every time I’ve tripped, stumbled, or face-planted over the years.

He didn’t want to go any farther. But the girl had already marched up and was waiting politely. I wasn’t about to be rude. My loving husband knew better than to argue when I’ve set my mind to something, so he asked me to leave my bag on the first step before climbing. I did, and carefully ascended, him right behind me, ready to catch me if I fell.

We thought we were sailing from Rome. Instead, we stumbled into Civitavecchia—a quiet, cobbled port town that seemed unremarkable at first glance. But over two nights filled with late-night piazzas, local wine, and unexpected charm, this little ancient city became one of our favorite travel memories.

What was supposed to be a simple train journey through northern Italy turned into a scenic detour, a taxi hunt in a sleepy mountain town, and a reminder that sometimes, the best stories come from the plans that go sideways. From Civitavecchia to Tirano, with a little help from kind strangers and a lot of patience, our adventure unfolded—just not exactly how we mapped it.

Having cruised for over ten years, I’ve learned many ways to sail and explore the world while staying within a budget and not missing out on the fun. From budget-friendly excursion ideas to money-saving pointers while onboard the ship, these easy tips will help you get the most out of your trip without breaking the bank. 

With the rising costs of travel, knowing how to save money on cruise fares and related travel can make your cruise experience even more enjoyable. Beyond cruise fare special sales and booking years in advance, there are other ways to make cruising even more budget-friendly.