Halfway to 100: Reflections from the Water
Some journeys begin long before the ship sets sail. This one — from Québec City to Boston aboard the Norwegian Gem — began in spirit, in ancestry, and in the heart. The Tarot cards I pulled before we left — the Ace of Cups, Ace of Pentacles, and Nine of Cups — spoke of joy, abundance, and fulfillment, a promise that came alive in every sunrise, every wave, every laugh shared along the way.
From the moment we stepped aboard, the Gem felt like a floating world of possibility — not quite my usual rhythm ( like a Vegas hotel on the sea!), yet somehow perfectly designed for us to play, explore, and celebrate.
It was, in the best sense, an “adult summer camp” — filled with endless activity, indulgent meals, and laughter echoing down long hallways as we slowly learned to navigate bow and stern, port and starboard. By the final days, we could walk the ship like pros, though perhaps with a bit more sparkle and spa glow than when we began.
Almost every morning, we opened our eyes to the soft gold of the horizon, our balcony facing east became our sanctuary. Dressed in the ship’s soft waffle-weave spa robes, still warm from our many pilgrimages to the thermal suite, we carried that serene glow out into the morning air. Coffee in hand, we watched the sun lift itself from the Atlantic — a daily benediction. Each sunrise felt like both a beginning and a remembering, a connection to renewal and the opportunity to begin again.
Ani’s 50th birthday was the trip’s shining heart. A multiple-time cancer survivor, Ani radiated the kind of joy that can only come from knowing the value of each day. Her phrase — “halfway to 100” — became our mantra of optimism and awe. On that day, as we hiked through Rockwood Park by the Bay of Fundy, learning about the tides and history of the region, the world felt vast and generous. That night, dressed to the nines, we danced to our favorite Latin jazz band, celebrating not just a birthday but life itself — messy, miraculous, musical life.
My mom’s presence added another layer of grace to the trip. Her ongoing recovery with cutting-edge, DNA-targeted medicine felt like a quiet miracle. Watching her take in the ocean air, sipping coffee with that calm strength she carries, I saw the Ace of Pentacles made real — a symbol of new life, grounded in science and faith alike. Gratitude pulsed through every wave we crossed.
During the trip, we learned that Mom’s dad, Earnest Beauregard “E.B.” Caffarel, traced our roots back to the Acadians — the French-speaking settlers of Nova Scotia who later became the Cajuns of Louisiana. That discovery cast the whole journey in a new light. No wonder we felt such a deep connection to this region — to the misty coves of Halifax, the French charm of Charlottetown, the very soul of the Maritimes. Walking those harbors felt like walking ancestral ground, as if the land itself was quietly whispering, welcome home..
Click here to read more about the history of our Acadian ancestry.
Each port became its own little love story.
In Charlottetown, we met the spirit of Anne of Green Gables — imagination, independence, and the artistry of small-town creators who infuse beauty into everything they touch.In Sydney, we found warmth in cinnamon lattes and the world’s biggest fiddle, a joyful ode to music and maritime pride.
Halifax brought an unexpected reunion with Frances — five miles of walking, laughter, and shared stories, capped with a vegan feast near her home. Her giant dog and near-giant cat seemed to bless our afternoon coffee ritual in her backyard, while a car tour of her city wrapped the day in friendship’s easy magic.
Then, in St. John, we stood in awe at the Bay of Fundy’s dramatic tides — nature’s own metaphor for life’s rise and fall, its steady rhythm of loss and return.
Between adventures, the ship’s spa became our sanctuary. Steam, salt, and serenity softened every edge of stress. Three or four treatments later, we emerged pampered and peaceful, our bodies remembering how to rest. The Ace of Cups had promised emotional renewal, and we received it fully.
Even the ending — the delayed flights, the improvised hours in the Boston airport, the clever water taxi detour that turned logistics into an adventure — held the flavor of the Nine of Cups: joy that lingers, unbothered by imperfection. Everything became part of the story, folded into our collective memory like laughter after dessert.
As I look back, I see the Tarot’s truth shining through it all. The Aces were our new beginnings — fresh chapters of health, hope, and deepening love. The Nine of Cups was our reward — the deep contentment that comes not from perfection, but from presence.
This trip was more than a cruise; it was a celebration of survival, connection, and the simple gift of being alive together. The sea gave us what it always gives those who listen: perspective, renewal, and a reminder that joy is both a choice and a practice.
