Hawaii… I Thought I Was Going to Discover an Island. I Felt Something Much Deeper

7 to 10 February 2026 – At Sea

It has already been a month since I left Genoa. Happy to have had a good night’s sleep, and also happy that reception contacted me to ask whether everything had gone well and whether there had been less noise. Yes, I slept well… So it was in an almost euphoric mood that I prepared to have breakfast, followed by my 45-minute step workout. I felt as though I were flying. No conference that day, but instead a briefing on the excursions planned for March. Yes, for MSC, we were already in March… in Australia… and then Asia.

Looking Back on the First Month

I am taking advantage of these days at sea to reflect on my first month aboard the Magnifica. To be honest, my feelings are rather mixed. I arrived full of hope, with memories of my 2025 cruise in mind… and the desire to experience those same feelings again.

• Seeing some of the staff again has been a real pleasure. There is something comforting about returning to a familiar environment, almost like coming back to a place I already know: Camelia, the restaurant teams, the photographers, the entertainment staff… on the surface, it feels like a homecoming.
• My cabin, despite its location at the back of the ship and some noise, is gradually becoming my refuge. An essential space where I can reconnect with myself.
• I also rediscover some of my 2025 rituals, especially the espresso at the bar on Deck 5 with Rossana. That simple “Good morning, Madame Annick, an espresso lungo?” feels comforting… even if the Italian atmosphere from before is missing.
• At the buffet, there is still plenty of choice, and I am happy to see Saurabh Dhawale again. On the other hand, the rear terrace I loved so much has disappeared, replaced by the paid Butcher restaurant. As for the freshly squeezed orange juice… the machine is out of order far too often. On that point, I have to admit: I am disappointed.
• At the Verdi restaurant, after a difficult start, I eventually find a lovely table with my Canadian friends (Al, Kenzia, Bob, Claire). And Vikash, always so attentive, makes those moments even more enjoyable.
• Some excursions stand out, such as Cabo San Lucas or Los Angeles, even if not all of them leave such a strong impression. The organisation seems more structured this year.
• The evenings are more complicated: many of the shows are ones I have already seen, and above all, there is that one-hour gap before the after-parties, which completely breaks the rhythm.

After a month, despite my positive nature, I can feel a difference compared with 2025. The atmosphere seems less fluid, less natural. The evenings never really come alive, and the pace does not suit me. As a result, I often spend my evenings in my cabin.

So the overall impression is mixed: there is comfort, familiar routines, good moments… but also this vague feeling that something has changed. In one month: four gala evenings, plenty of entertainment… and just one after-party. Something does not quite add up.

And if… if I had to put a number on how I feel, I would say 70% enjoyment. It is neither regret nor real disappointment, simply an honest observation. I have found that enjoyment mostly on land. In those moments when something lights up inside me.

First, in Cartagena: a free, warm energy that felt almost effortless. The music, the colours, the smiles… that feeling of being welcomed without conditions. Then Cabo San Lucas: the warmth of the Mexican people, their infectious joy, their genuine ability to live in the moment. A simple generosity, but one that left a lasting impression. And finally, San Diego. From the moment we arrived at the port, before I had even stepped off the ship, my attention was captured by an imposing presence: an aircraft carrier transformed into a museum. Impossible to ignore. Something powerful, almost silent… something that commands respect. The aircraft lined up on the deck, motionless yet still filled with momentum, create the strange impression that they could take off again at any moment. You can feel the memories, the power, the weight of the past. This is not simply a place you visit; it is a place you feel. It left a profound impression on me, moved me, amazed me. And then, almost as a contrast, there was Venice Beach and, above all, Santa Monica. There, everything becomes lighter. Your steps, your thoughts, even the way you see yourself. Santa Monica is a breath of fresh air. There is a softness, a carefree spirit floating in the air. People live outdoors, laugh, move forward without rushing. You simply let yourself be carried by the light, by the ocean, by that simple and natural sense of freedom. I felt a genuine lightness there, rare and precious. These stopovers reminded me why I travel: to feel, to be moved, to marvel.

My goal for this month of February is clear: go to the after-parties. Dare a little more. Stop allowing other people’s looks sometimes heavy, sometimes unkind to have any power over me. Choose myself. Take my place. Even alone. Especially alone. Because this journey is not only geographical. It is also profoundly personal.

And it all begins with the gala dinner. Michel and I decide that we will dine together at each of these special dinners. A way of changing our habits. And since these evenings take place every week, it is always such a pleasure to spend them together. Luckily, we run into the Food and Beverage Manager at lunchtime. Finding a table is not always easy, so this little conversation comes at just the right time. When evening comes, knowing there will be a selfie with the crew members, I put on my most beautiful long dress, a pastel blue gown that complements my complexion. Jimmy Choo heels to complete the look. I love those moments when you feel ready, aligned, completely yourself.

After the show entitled Le Ciel de Paris, I dream of a Paris beneath the stars, a magical Paris… What can I say about walking up the steps of the amphitheatre, with the eyes of so many women fixed on me? But as I pass them, I stand even taller. I own it. I want to exist. I walk with my head held high. I then join Michel at the bar on Deck 5, where he offers me a cranberry juice, before we make our way to the restaurant where we are expected. The maître d’hôtel leads us to a table for six, just for the two of us. We point out that it is far too large. He then turns to Michel and says mischievously:

• “I suppose that if you want a romantic table for two, it’s because you have some secrets to confess to each other?” Very seriously, I reply:
• “This will stay between us, I trust you… but I’m pregnant, and I was planning to tell him tonight. So yes, it was important. But how did you guess?”

We burst out laughing. The dinner goes wonderfully well. We tell each other about our craziest adventures, the people we have met on board, the most unlikely situations… An exceptional moment, simple and full of companionship. Then, overcome by tiredness, we return to our cabins. Me, exhausted from the day’s exercise. Him, still slightly slowed down by the gout that continues to cause him pain. A beautiful evening. One of those that stays with you.

On this beautiful day of 10 February… Taking advantage of a brief ray of sunshine, I film my video for @Canal83, lucky timing because between the strong gusts of wind and the light rain… it is complicated. Still driven by that same desire to make people dream… Then, towards the end of the evening, an announcement: we will remain in Hilo until late into the night. Excellent news for many passengers, who will therefore be able to have dinner in town and enjoy a little more of the local atmosphere. For me, however, it changes nothing. I remember that MSC Cruises had cancelled my excursion even though I had already paid for it. So I had asked Christophe and his wife whether they had planned anything in Hilo. And then, the icing on the cake: I discover that my friend from Montpellier will be joining us too… PERFECT!

On the programme: volcanoes, waterfalls, the Japanese garden… paradise! Needless to say, I immediately said yes… Oh, I almost forgot… I have to turn my watch back another hour… now 11 hours behind Paris.

11 February 2026 – Hilo – Hawaii

I have had a sore throat for a week now… a whole week of coughing. Paracetamol and honey have become part of my daily routine. Fortunately, I found a saviour. Her name is Rossana Yaba, the manager of the bar on Deck 5. A few days ago, she offered to make me a “Ginger” to ease my cough and soothe my throat. Intrigued, I asked her what was in it. Her answer: ginger, honey, lemon… and vodka. Wow, what an explosive cocktail! Honestly, I did not really believe it would work… and yet, she was right. A real little magic potion! Although I won’t even tell you about the hot flushes, especially at two of those a day. I will thank her with a gift; she certainly deserves it. I think this will only be the second time I have gone on an excursion with someone from the ship. Usually, when I am travelling alone, I prefer to book through MSC Cruises; it is simply easier. But I trust Christophe. We know each other a little, as he was already on board in 2025. The weather forecast had predicted rain… and rain is exactly what we get. Fortunately, it is not cold. So, shorts or trousers? I hesitate. Seeing quite a few people already wearing trousers, I decide that would probably be the wiser choice. There is absolutely no way I want to end up with another sore throat!

I have a more substantial breakfast than usual, knowing that I will be with people who are used to eating later. We are meeting at 11 a.m. outside the port. And it is a good thing I did, because we will not eat anything all day. The adventure begins… First, a 30-minute wait for the shuttle, then we head to the airport to pick up the rental car. Fortunately, Christophe and his wife have the organisation perfectly under control, between Waze and everything else. In pouring rain, we set off towards the volcanoes, deep in the heart of Hawaii Volcanoes National Park. When we arrive, there is a little smoke, an enormous crater… Impressive, certainly, but I cannot say I am overwhelmed with excitement. We even explore an interesting underground cave, but without any real sense of wonder. I keep smiling. And then, suddenly, everything changes. Twenty kilometres farther on, the rain stops abruptly. The sky clears as if by magic. In front of us: an unreal landscape. Miles and miles of solidified lava stretching as far as the eye can see. Some of these ancient flows, marked by time, are more than a thousand years old. And there, something happens. I feel as though I have entered another world, completely captivated by this mineral universe. Almost trapped… but in the most peaceful kind of trap. A profound sense of calm washes over me. I feel completely relaxed. It is difficult to explain. It is not simply a landscape. It is an energy. A presence. One thing is certain: something happened inside me as I stood before those endless miles of lava. I glance at the health tracker on my phone… wow, already 12,000 steps! But in the distance, a magnificent cliff catches my eye. Huge waves crash against it with incredible force. The temptation is too strong. We stop.

The waves come rolling in from far away, immense, swollen with an ancient force. They crash against the black cliff as though trying to awaken the memory of the rock. Each impact makes the air tremble. It feels as though the ocean is speaking, telling a story older than the world itself. The cliff, born from solidified lava, still bears the traces of fire. Everything is black. A deep, almost unreal black, a black that seems to absorb the light and suspend time. You can feel that the earth once burned here, that fire flowed like a slow river before turning to stone for eternity. And then there is the blue. An intense blue, shifting, alive. With every wave, the water explodes into sprays of turquoise and cobalt. The dark cliff begins to shine as though it were breathing. Reflections dance across the volcanic rock, transforming this austere landscape into a true marine cathedral. The contrast is breathtaking: ancient fire frozen in stone, and eternal water returning again and again to caress it, to challenge it. The scale of the place is overwhelming. You feel tiny, as though standing at the heart of a primordial world, where the elements meet without compromise. The black lava and the blue waves seem to be speaking to one another, one motionless, the other endlessly moving. And faced with such a spectacle, all you can do is stand there, suspended in time, with the feeling that you are witnessing something sacred: the meeting of fire and water, played out again and again for eternity. Then we get back into the car, and the rain begins again… heading towards “Rainbow Falls”. A fine, persistent, almost tropical rain. It seems to be part of the scenery. I had imagined something different. I had thought: I’m going to swim, let myself get soaked beneath the waterfall, come out with my T-shirt dripping wet, and laugh a little at the cool water falling from the sky. I had this carefree image in my mind. But the reality is different. The waterfall is… black. Not dark. Black. The water, laden with volcanic earth, falls with a dense, almost opaque force. You cannot see the bottom. You cannot make out anything beneath the surface. It is a mass in motion, thick and mysterious. We had not expected anything like this. And yet… it is magnificent. There is something raw, something wild about it. The waterfall does not try to seduce. It imposes itself. It crashes down with authority, with a deep roar that resonates in your chest. All around us, the vegetation is almost impossibly dense. A deep green, saturated by the rain. Gigantic trees rise towards the sky, so tall that you cannot even see where they end.

Their trunks seemed endless. Vines, ferns, exposed roots… everything breathed humidity and life. We felt tiny. And then, looking at the signs, I realised that several accidents had happened here. Many people had died. This beauty is not harmless. It is powerful, unpredictable. The black water, above all, commands respect. You quickly understand that it is not something to play with. I did not get my wet T-shirt moment. I simply stood there, watching. Listening. Feeling. Beneath the rain, facing this dark waterfall surrounded by an almost endless jungle, I understood that some places are not meant to be conquered… but contemplated. I was exhausted… all that walking… I thought we were going back to the ship, but Christophe suggested visiting the “Liliuokalani Gardens”, a magnificent Japanese garden. I said yes, and I did not regret it. What a wonderful idea. After the raw power of the volcanoes, after the crashing waves and the darkness of the waterfalls, after that vast expanse of lava, deep matte black, some surfaces smooth, others torn, jagged, almost aggressive, the Liliuokalani Gardens are a breath of fresh air. The moment you enter, time seems to slow down. Your steps become slower, almost instinctively.

The arched bridges curve elegantly above the peaceful ponds. The water is smooth as a mirror, disturbed only by the discreet movement of a fish or the gentle fall of a petal. Everything is harmonious. The carefully pruned pine trees lean gracefully, as though bowing to welcome each visitor.

The stones, positioned with precision, seem to tell a silent story. Nothing is left to chance, and yet everything feels natural. The green is soft and soothing. You can hear the wind moving through the branches, the delicate rustling of leaves, the gentle lapping of water against the banks. Even the light seems different here, softer. Sitting in front of the pond, I feel lighter. The turmoil inside me begins to fade. My thoughts slow down. This garden is not spectacular. It does not have the overwhelming scale of the cliffs or the power of the volcanoes. It offers something else: serenity. It is a place that does not seek to impress, but to restore balance. A place where you gently reconnect with yourself. A place where the soul can finally rest.

It is time to return the car. The day has been intense, rich, almost unreal. In the car park, we cross paths with other cruise passengers still carrying the rain and volcanic landscapes with them. The shuttle takes us back to the MSC Magnifica, ready to set sail. I warmly thank Alain and his wife for organising this exceptional day. It is 7 p.m. when I return to my cabin. A quick shower to wash away the fatigue, the black earth, the kilometres still weighing on my legs… and then I head to the amphitheatre. Michel is waiting for me there. Tonight, a troupe from Hilo has come aboard to perform. And very quickly, I realise that this is not simply “another show” on the cruise programme. It is a gift. From the very first notes, something changes in the atmosphere. The dancers move forward with grace and dignity. Their gestures are not simply choreographed: they tell a story. The story of their land, their ancestors, the ocean and the fire we had contemplated only a few hours earlier. Their hands trace waves, flowers, the wind. Their hips move to an ancestral rhythm. Their expressions are intense, proud and radiant. You can feel that they are not dancing to impress, but to pass something on. The musicians bring an almost palpable depth to the room. The percussion resonates in our chests, while the voices rise with a gentle power. We may not understand every word… but we can feel their soul. And that is when I realise something. After walking across the lava, gazing at the black cliffs and the dark waterfalls, these people give Hilo a human face. They embody the island. They carry its living memory. It is no longer simply a place I have visited. These are people I have encountered. So yes, I believe it is important to pay tribute to them. For their generosity. For their authenticity. For sharing far more than a performance: a fragment of their identity. And so the day comes to an end, not with the noise of the ship departing, but with the tenderness of a silent “thank you”.