At home, my eating routine is unpredictable at best—hurried breakfasts (or more likely, just a latte), bird-like lunches, and hangry takeout orders punctuated by the occasional dinner party or restaurant blowout. The idea of sitting down for three civilized meals a day—all by myself—was hard to fathom. 

After checking into my room—unpacking three weeks’ worth of luggage into a walk-in closet, I turned on the mandatory ship safety video and poured myself a glass of the chilled Montaudon champagne waiting for me. Alicia, one of my suite hosts, popped in to say hello with a smoked salmon canapé on brioche and a rundown of the laundry and housekeeping routine. Yes, I could get used to this. 

Starting to feel more at home (and peckish), I brought my laptop out to the pool deck, connected to the ship’s Starlink internet, and ordered grilled red snapper and a salad. A few minutes into editing a story for our next issue, the ship’s bar manager Alfredo appeared with a tray of the cocktail of the day: a citrusy, spritzy concoction of Aperol and vodka. Don’t mind if I do. 

I closed my laptop and took a bite of fish: carefully seasoned, crispy skin, off to a strong start. On the deck above, a stylish couple around my parents’ age caught my eye. The woman, dressed in an oversized tan blazer and dark jeans like me, smiled and waved. When I waved back, she walked down the stairs to say hello. “Kat?? I’m Sandy Fenton.”

A friend had mentioned that her mom Sandra, a longtime travel writer and host of the podcast Let's Talk Travel would also be on this voyage. 20 minutes into my first solo meal, here she was, warmly inviting me to join her and her husband, Stew, for lunch or dinner, “any time!”

While an opulent buffet is served each day starting at 6:30 A.M. in the ship’s Colonnade, I opted out of social breakfasts and took morning meals in my suite. I knew I would be crossing time zones and needed to stay tethered to my team back in New York. Ticking my breakfast order off a door hanger before bed each night helped me stay anchored to their schedule. 

Each morning, I scrambled out of bed to let in a smiling, astoundingly nimble room service attendant who would unfurl a crisp white tablecloth over my glass dining table as the sun eased up to the horizon. I’d perch on the sofa, blurry eyed and in my jammies, watching them set polished silver and goblets of juice and ice water. 

Onboard roastery aside, I found myself oddly homesick for my at-home coffee routine—a daily dance of grinding espresso, warming milk, and feeding the two insistent cats at the center of my universe. So after the first day, I pivoted to tea, alternating through the galley’s pretty packets of sencha, Moroccan mint, Darjeeling, and English breakfast in an effort to create a new, slightly less jittery, little rhythm. 

I'm not much of an egg girl these days, and while I sampled a few of the fancier options along the way—delicate Swedish pancakes, lox on a crisp bagel, and soothing steel-cut oats swirled with honey and cream—most mornings, I kept things simple. Whole wheat toast with butter and Marmite. Plain yogurt. Fresh fruit: grapefruit, berries, or most often pineapple, unwaveringly sweet and perfectly ripe. In Puerto Vallarta, our first port stop, I stopped into the supermarket to buy a few local hot sauces to bring home. Midway through the trip, I ditched the souvenir plan and started sprinkling them over my morning fruit for a spicy-salty pick-me-up. This became part of the ritual. 

I quickly came to relish the quiet formality of these early solo meals. My roomy, wood-paneled suite—larger than my first three New York City apartments—opened onto a wide balcony where I’d finish my tea and scroll through my inbox as the ship glided through the Pacific.

Even on a fully “working holiday”—Seabourn’s Starlink connection is almost annoyingly reliable—most afternoons onboard were far more serene than my ordinary at-home scramble. Our Panama Canal itinerary included plenty of at-sea days, leaving me ample time to lunch onboard. I went back more than once for my day-one poolside special—grilled catch of the day—and a crisp glass of white. Other times, I ordered shrimp cocktail, Caesar salad, or a rare New York strip au poivre to enjoy in the quiet of my suite between calls. On days when I had more time, I slid into the jewelbox of a sushi restaurant on Deck 8, ordered gyoza, a miso salmon bento, or a plate of crab maki and an icy scoop of yuzu sorbet or a refreshing green tea and sake cocktail. 

In Huatulco, Mexico, I wandered into town on a Wednesday between video calls and had ceviche on the beach with my feet in the sand, watching local families splash in the surf. After lunch, I picked up some colorful Oaxacan textiles in the mercado, and waved at a few familiar crew members also enjoying a few hours of free time on land.

In Puerto Vallarta, I signed on for a catamaran excursion to Yelapa, crossing the Bahía de Banderas in the morning light while the crew passed around café de olla, pastries, and fresh fruit. When we docked in the sleepy fishing town, I sipped an enormous michelada beside the town’s trickling waterfall and met Thim and Trevor, fellow Seabourn travelers from Southern California staying on for an even longer voyage—all the way to Lisbon. We bonded over seafood recommendations and by sunset, Thim and I were moseying down Puerto Vallarta’s sculpture-lined Malecon and pulling apart garlicky grilled lobster, the cathedral’s belltower chiming overhead in celebration of Palm Sunday.

On Seabourn, it’s common to receive printed invitations to dine with others on board. Senior crew members, entertainers, and other passengers are keen on preserving this retro ritual, using it both to make new friends and to reconnect with old ones.

One morning early in the trip, I participated in a little midday “Seabourn Conversation” in the Grand Salon, hosted by Chris Harley, the ship’s cruise director. After we chatted through a few of my “food editor-approved” travel tips and I shared some SAVEUR updates, several guests—mostly longtime SAVEUR readers and adventurous food lovers—came up to say hello. An effervescent grande dame in sparkly eyeglasses and a blonde pixie cut rolls up on a motorized scooter to introduce herself with a gentle Bronx accent. “I’m Annalee,” she told me. “I’m retired now, and I live in Palm Beach, but I worked in the restaurant business in New York. Thank you so much for bringing this magazine back.” 

A friendly couple from Texas, Paul and Barb, couldn’t wait to tell me about their favorite unsung barbecue spot. Marcel, a widower from Basel, Switzerland, traveling solo for the first time in years, asked if I’ve yet made it to his hometown to eat at chef Peter Knogl’s 3-Michelin starred Cheval Blanc—I haven’t, but promised Marcel I would look him up when I finally do. 

A few nights later, I was seated next to Marcel at a solo traveler dinner. He told me about the early days of his hometown’s now splashy art fair, his beloved late wife, and their many happy years of cruise travel. His relaxed warmth gave way to Swiss precision when it came time to order wine. After a bit of back and forth, the somm presented us with a Bordeaux, earning a satisfied nod from my new friend.

Back in my suite, there was an invitation to join Paul and Barb for dinner at Solis, Seabourn’s ultra-luxe Mediterranean restaurant; a few days later, the head of guest services rang to ask if I’d like to join Annalee for dinner in the ship’s main dining room. My dance card has never been livelier.

Midway through my journey, I had certainly settled into a rhythm. I kept up with my early morning wakeup calls; I borrowed a mat from the gym and started closing out each workday with some solo yoga on my balcony—except on the days when I skipped out on fitness in favor of a scoop of amaretto gelato. And I was making friends more quickly than I have in years. 

I spent a rare drizzly day in and out of the hot tub in the Retreat, the ship’s reservations-only spa deck. Tucked into a private cabana, Sandy, Stew, and I sipped green juice cocktails and shared steak sandwiches, burrata salad, and fries. And the night before our canal passage, I was officially welcomed into the cool kids’ club: I returned to my room to find an invite to a private afternoon cocktail and caviar party in Annalee’s forward-facing room—an Owner’s Suite that afforded sweeping views of our passage.

As we made our way through the canal’s massive locks, I chatted with a group of friends our host had gathered up along her own solo trip. I met two more New Yorkers there (a young personal injury lawyer traveling with his sassy mom), and a pair of no-nonsense New Englanders—an IT professional from Kenya and a private-label root beer manufacturer from New Hampshire, two lovebirds who’d met years ago on a Jamaican scuba diving trip, each on their own solo vacation.

As I was leaving, Annalee sent me off with a honeysweet ataulfo mango and a jar of pink peppercorn honey—treasured gifts from her shore excursion from Puerto Quetzal, Guatemala.

I dined again that night in Solis—this time with Sandy and Stew, by then my shipboard mom and dad. We shared a watermelon salad, white bean cassoulet with grilled baby artichokes, a bubbling pot of bouillabaisse, and the showstopping Cocotte Lutée Grand-Mère, chef Franck Solis’ ode to his grandmother’s tarragon chicken, baked until silky and tender under a flaky, golden pastry lid.

Annalee and I had bonded over a shared, New Yorkery sense of adventure and early on agreed we’d explore Cartagena (the second-to-last stop of our trip) together. I had come prepared for this particular port, having reached out to food stylist and SAVEUR contributor Mariana Velásquez, who splits her time between New York and Colombia. Mariana has impeccable taste, so I knew her list of neighborhood cafés, ice cream shops, restaurants, and boutiques would be priceless. 

Seabourn’s excursion coordinator arranged for a private transfer to take us on a scenic tour past the vast Castillo San Felipe de Barajas and into Cartagena’s vibrant El Centro. Along the way, our driver pointed out the home of the late Gabriel García Márquez and the grand old walls of the Charleston Santa Teresa hotel before dropping us at our first stop: Nia, a chic bakery-café recommended by Mariana. Annalee ordered brioche with passion fruit jam and butter; I opted for a croissant stuffed with guava paste and salty costeño cheese. We sipped our coffee and soaked in the local vibe, snapped photos of the pastry and gelato cases, and then wandered the flower-lined Old Town streets, popping into Mariana’s favorite clothing and design shops along the way.

Eventually, Annalee spotted a wide-brimmed black-and-white straw hat on a street vendor’s cart and asked our driver to help her coordinate a purchase. She struck a pose, pulling the wide brim down over one eye, and asked me to take a photo to send to her son and granddaughter. As the tropical afternoon heat began to beat down, she also bought us a pair of cold, young coconuts from another vendor and we loaded back into our blissfully air-conditioned van.

The night before we arrived in Miami, back on the pool deck, Annalee and I tapped our toes to one last night of live music, caught up with some of our onboard pals, and promised to stay in touch. Sunburned and sleepy, I skipped the formal dinner, wrapped myself in a robe, and ordered caviar service to my room—an off-menu, IYKYK tip from Sandy—as the sun sank beyond my balcony. Later, I wandered back out to the pool deck, transformed for the evening into Earth & Ocean, the ship’s most intimate and low-key restaurant. I crunched away at a Belgian endive salad studded with blue cheese, walnuts, and apples, then tucked into a soothing bowl of strozzapreti with spicy sausage and smoked tomato. In 19 days at sea, it was one of the only dinners I spent alone. I didn’t mind at all. 

To mark this voyage’s end, SAVEUR’s editor-in-chief Kat Craddock hosted an afternoon of cocktails and conversation aboard Seabourn Encore in Miami, this voyage’s final port of call. Read the event recap here.