Heading to Barbados

11 to 14 January 2026 – At Sea

I had really hoped to make the most of these four days at sea to find my bearings… or at least, I believed I would. For now, I could not exactly say I was jumping for joy. The atmosphere felt a little heavy.

Was it because of the many couples on board, often elderly? The lack of sunshine? Or perhaps that strange feeling of déjà vu… I was thinking in particular of the evenings in the amphitheatre, which never quite managed to carry me away. And then there was something else. A more physical sensation, almost dull and deep. Whenever I lay down on my bed, strong vibrations ran through the cabin. Everything moved. The ship breathed, vibrated, lived, perhaps a little too close to me. Fortunately, the many hours I spent exercising helped me fall asleep. Being alone forced me to be stronger, to stay on course, and to rely only on myself to find my balance.
After speaking with other passengers, I learned that it was probably due to the location of my cabin: on the 12th deck, at the rear of the ship. So, every morning, after my early workout, that precious moment just for me, almost vital, I would stop by reception to report the issue and try to have it resolved.
After dinner with my Canadian couple, I decided to go back up to my cabin, choosing to skip the Elvis show in the amphitheatre, yet another “déjà vu”. It also seemed more reasonable, just in case a technician wanted to come and check the problem. Even though my request had been properly recorded, I thought it best to stay in the cabin, just in case. But despite two follow-up calls to reception late in the evening, no technician came to inspect anything.

So, on that beautiful Monday morning, 12 January, after my workout and breakfast, I went once again to reception, hoping that things would finally move forward. The only solution offered was to change cabins. I sincerely hoped my request would be taken into account. Even though, deep down, the idea of moving all my carefully unpacked belongings did not exactly thrill me. But travelling alone also means that: knowing how to adapt, being flexible, and moving forward no matter what, towards a little more comfort… and perhaps, at last, towards a hint of a dream.
Off I went to Massimo’s conference, which I absolutely did not want to miss, followed by my first English class, reserved for people who could already express themselves. I hoped it would be a real opportunity for conversation, perhaps even a small personal challenge. But the room was too small, too noisy. Everyone was talking at the same time, voices blending, overlapping, making it impossible to concentrate. Very quickly, I resigned myself to the fact that I would not be returning there either.
All in all, I concluded that the only places where I truly felt good were the gym and the lounge.
By late afternoon, I had finally been heard. A message slipped under my cabin door informed me that I needed to go as soon as possible to visit another room. I did not walk, I flew…
This cabin was on the same deck, but a little farther away from the machines, which was what mattered most to me. Thirty minutes later, I was emptying my wardrobes and moving into my new cabin, 12182. Happy but exhausted, I could no longer feel my arms or my legs.

When my friend Michel called me to join him at the show, I declined. For me, the evening continued with dinner at the restaurant… alone this time. None of my Canadian friends were in sight. I could not understand it.
Even so, I kept my spirits high, and especially my smile, when a beautiful plate of cheese was placed in front of me, accompanied by a glass of wine. A soft feeling of happiness instantly came over me. At last… real cheese from home. Familiar, comforting flavours, almost capable on their own of telling the story of France. I savoured the moment with delight, watching in the distance as the ship’s lights reflected on the black immensity of the sea.

Even so, I kept my spirits high, and especially my smile, when a beautiful plate of cheese was placed in front of me, accompanied by a glass of wine. A soft feeling of happiness instantly came over me. At last… real cheese from home. Familiar, comforting flavours, almost capable on their own of telling the story of France. I savoured the moment with delight, watching in the distance as the ship’s lights reflected on the black immensity of the sea.
Although it was still early, I was happy to return to my cabin. For the first time in a long while, I felt that simple and precious pleasure: settling comfortably into bed and opening a new Musso novel, ready to be carried away into another story, somewhere between sky and sea.
But as I entered my cabin, a surprise was waiting for me.

Placed delicately on the desk was a bracelet. Beside it, a document that read: “You are part of Team Earth. Meeting tomorrow morning at 11:15 for the World Games.”
An amused smile immediately lit up my face. I already knew the atmosphere of these games on board. The previous year, I had been part of Team Fire. Between challenges, bursts of laughter and team spirit, the memories were wonderful. At last… this new adventure was beginning under the best possible signs. And it was already starting with the pleasure of enjoying this new cabin.

Having moved the clocks back another hour, I woke up at 6:00 a.m. But it did not matter; my night had been restorative. After breakfast and Massimo’s conference, I began telling myself mentally, “You see, it was just a cabin problem… now everything is going to be absolutely fine.”
At the end of the morning, with the brown bracelet in hand, I joined my World Games team. The other teams, Earth, Air and Fire, were already in place. The competition had begun.
The challenge consisted of keeping a ball trapped between the heads of two people from the same team and moving forward together across a course filled with cones. It was not easy, but I joined in, and we won that round. For the next challenge, I had to bring my belts: the idea was to create a gigantic chain using all the belts from the team. A completely improbable moment… and terribly funny.
The rest of the day unfolded peacefully, between sunbathing, sport, dinner at the restaurant with my Canadians, and above all Carmen, Bizet’s exceptional opera.

Another hour lost that night… I was beginning to lose my footing. Four in the morning. I dozed intermittently until 6:30 a.m., unable to fall properly back asleep. Eyes open, mind elsewhere, I eventually gave up.
I went to the buffet for breakfast, then to the gym at 7 a.m. I attended a stretching class, a first for me, before following it up with my usual hour of training. In theory, that should have set me up perfectly for the day. But reality quickly caught up with me.
During Massimo’s conference, I caught a chill, sneezing and sniffling constantly. Later, even my time in the sun did nothing to change it. That dull, persistent tiredness weighed down my evening. Only one thought obsessed me then: not going to dinner, even less joining the amphitheatre for the evening show, but simply finding the arms of Morpheus.
8:00 p.m.: back to the buffet.
9:00 p.m.: in bed. Finally.
And I had to be in good shape, because the next day we would be docking in Barbados for the visit to Bridgetown. But it would also be the long-awaited reunion with my friend Lyrie, who was passing through Barbados. I could not wait to see her again, to hold her in my arms.

16 January 2026 – Bridgetown – Barbados

After a hearty breakfast at the buffet, I took the time to enjoy an espresso at the bar on the fifth deck. But that morning, something was missing. My Italian friends from 2025 were no longer there to share this ritual that had become so familiar. The coffee suddenly felt quieter, almost nostalgic, filled with memories still so close… A little pang in the heart. Sniff. I then made my way to the amphitheatre, where we were expected at 10:30 a.m. for the MSC excursion. Around me were mostly French passengers, all impatient to leave, already turned towards this new day of escape. As I sat quietly at the back of the bus, a very elderly woman, walking stick in hand, came and sat beside me.

Surprised, I gently asked her, “Why didn’t you ask the guide for a seat at the front? It would be much easier for you…”
She replied in a small, hesitant voice, “I didn’t dare…”
Without thinking any further, I got up to ask the guide to find her a more suitable seat.

But the bus, ready to leave, had to wait a few extra minutes, and immediately some passengers began to grumble. Already annoyed by the schedule, this request seemed to bother more than a few of them. How sad it can be sometimes to see so little patience towards the fragility of an elderly person.
I then tried to leave that slightly bitter moment behind me. After all, the journey had only just begun. There was no point letting those tensions spoil what promised to be a magnificent day.

And as soon as we arrived in Bridgetown, all those thoughts almost immediately disappeared.

Barbados opened itself to me like a promise of softness and escape. The warm Caribbean air gently caressed our faces, the colourful houses seemed bathed in light, the palm trees danced in the wind… and already I felt that this island was going to carry me into an atmosphere outside of time.
The discovery continued towards Saint Philip, where a sumptuous residence revealed the elegance and history of the island. Each room seemed to tell a fragment of the past, bathed in light and serenity. Farther on, the tasting of Barbadian rum awakened the senses: deep aromas, ancestral know-how, and that delicious feeling of tasting the very soul of Barbados.
As the roads unfolded, I discovered several majestic churches, including Saint John, perched facing the ocean, and Saint Jeanne, both filled with calm and spirituality. In Holetown, the historic cradle of the island, time seemed to slow down, between the turquoise sea and memories of the first steps of modern Barbados.
But it was at Saint Joseph Beach that the magic fully happened. There, a huge rock rose in the middle of the water, dominating the waves, powerful and mysterious. Faced with that raw spectacle, I was seized by the wild beauty of the ocean, a moment forever engraved in my memory.
The visit ended with Saint Andrew, more authentic, greener, offering another side of the island, far from the bustle, where nature reclaims its rights. Bridgetown and its surroundings offered me far more than a journey: an enchanted interlude, between culture, nature and emotion, which I will keep in my heart for a long time.

However, what mattered to me more than anything, those long-awaited reunions with my friend from Saint Martin, Lyrie, ultimately could not happen. Nothing. No network to communicate, a late lunch on her side… the obstacles piled up, relentless. That meeting I had imagined so often, almost carried like a lifeline throughout the journey, slowly slipped away, leaving me with a feeling of incompletion and deep disappointment.
It was only by video call, much later, when I arrived back on the ship, that we were able to see each other. A presence on a screen, fragile and insufficient, where I had hoped for a real embrace. A bond maintained, yes, but from a distance, and with a heart a little heavier.

Since I had returned from my excursion fairly early, I took the opportunity to rest for a while in my cabin before joining my friend Michel at a cocktail event for solo travellers, to which we had been invited.
Wow… I truly did not expect to see so many people. In the end, there were many single travellers on board, from all nationalities. MSC had done things perfectly: Michel and I were welcomed with a glass of prosecco in hand, in an elegant and carefully orchestrated atmosphere.
And yet, despite the flawless organisation and all the efforts made to help us feel comfortable, something did not quite click. Surrounded by many older single travellers, I found it difficult to fit in. Too many faces seemed already fixed in a routine that was not mine. The spark was missing, that light touch of madness I was still searching for.
And even though I fully accepted my 64 years, I did not recognise myself at all in that gathering. Michel felt exactly the same way.

So, after about thirty minutes, we decided to slip away discreetly. The evening ended simply at the buffet, before we each returned to our cabins, our hearts a little elsewhere, with the feeling that this place, despite all its luxury and kindness, was not made for us.

17 January 2026 – St George’s – Grenada

After a hearty breakfast and filming my videos, it was late in the morning when I joined the bus to set off and discover this city of a thousand spices. Happy to see that the excursion was in French, I was especially delighted by the presence of Italians on board. It promised a wonderful atmosphere, smiles in abundance, and that lightness I love so much… “Remember 2025.”

Grenada appealed to me straight away. One detail stood out everywhere: the flags, numerous and colourful, carrying a breath of independence and strong identity. The island seemed to speak, telling its story in the open sky.
We discovered Grenada aboard open buses, very pleasant, filled with warm air and light. This time, the excursion was in French, but above all marked by a joyful Italian presence. And there, everything changed. Laughter burst out everywhere, the atmosphere was light, lively, spontaneous. Nothing like my first excursion with French passengers, where I had not really found my place. Here, people talked, moved, lived.
Fort Frederick awaited us on the heights of the island, majestic. From up there, the view was simply spectacular: Grenada revealed itself in all its splendour, bursting with colour and contrast. An incredibly green, lush island, scattered with intensely coloured flowers. Millions of flowers, it seemed. I saw exotic fruits in abundance, generous mango trees, and even little crabs emerging from the ground, like a mischievous wink from nature. Everything was alive.

Then we arrived at Grand Anse Beach. An almost unreal setting. The sea, the magnificent beach, and those multicoloured cars gliding across the water like racing boats, a completely crazy scene. The sky was a little unpredictable, slightly rainy, but that took nothing away from the beauty of the place. Quite the opposite: it gave the atmosphere an almost cinematic quality.
We also discovered a very beautiful church, filled with calm and serenity, before ending at the spice market, a true explosion of scents, colours and flavours. Grenada truly deserved its nickname as the island of spices.
By the end of the day, one thing had become obvious to me. I went directly to the excursion desk. I wanted to change. Change buses, change energy, change atmosphere. I explained that for all my upcoming paid excursions, I now wanted to go with the Italians.
The person at the excursion desk looked at me, a little surprised, and asked if I spoke Italian. I replied with a smile, “No, I’m just taking lessons… but I love the Italian atmosphere. And many of them speak English. I want to laugh, move, live. I don’t see myself in the French buses.”
And in that precise moment, I knew that my next discoveries would take place to the rhythm of that joy.

Since dinner was not until 6:30 p.m., I decided to go to the gym to get myself a little energised for the evening. Shortly afterwards, I received a message from my friend from Montpellier, who was also on the ship, inviting me to join her for dinner at the Yacht Club.
I declined her invitation, convinced that it was more appropriate to honour the commitment I had made with the two Canadian couples. I regretted that choice almost immediately.
When I arrived at the restaurant, I understood that, once again, I had been wrong: I was alone at the table. Alone, facing an empty seat, with that slight pang in the heart we know all too well when we realise that, in the end, we were not expected.

The disappointment was there, discreet but real. Still, I decided not to lose face and stayed for dinner. The waiter, attentive and delicate, seemed to understand my solitude and showed touching kindness. In barely thirty minutes, the meal was over, more out of obligation than pleasure.
I then went to the Caribbean show. It was splendid, bursting with colour, music and life. But despite all that energy, my heart was not in it. I applauded, smiled at passers-by, but it all rang a little false. I was simply putting on a brave face, waiting for time to pass.
I kept telling myself that tomorrow would be a better day. So I ended the evening in my cabin, a book in hand, searching in the silence for a little comfort.