Savouring the Sea Days: What a Transatlantic Journey Taught Me About Slowing Down

By: Jenni Fielding

(Note from Holland America staff: Please enjoy this post from Jenni Fielding, a.k.a. Cruise Mummy, a guest of our recent transatlantic voyage.) 

Travel today often feels like a race. Early starts and packed itineraries, all in the pursuit of seeing as much as possible in as little time as we can manage. 

It’s exciting, of course. But all too often, we return home feeling as though we need a vacation to recover from the vacation. 

A transatlantic cruise offers something entirely different. 

When I booked a Holland America cruise with nine sea days, I wasn’t entirely sure how it would feel. It sounded peaceful, but also unfamiliar. I wondered whether I might miss the rhythm of port days, or struggle to fill the time. 

What I discovered instead was something far more valuable: the rare opportunity to slow down, and to truly savour the journey. 

On most cruises, the itinerary shapes the experience. Each day brings a new destination, a new plan, a new sense of purpose. You wake early, prepare to go ashore, return in the afternoon, and begin again the next day.

A Holland America transatlantic crossing gently removes that structure.

With few ports to anchor the schedule, the days begin to unfold differently. There is no urgency to wake up at a particular time, no need to rush through breakfast. Time feels open and unclaimed.

On more than one morning, we stayed in bed until late, with nowhere to be and nothing pressing to do. The usual sense of “making the most of the day” quietly disappeared, replaced by something far more restful.

It is a rare kind of freedom.

Without the pull of destinations, the journey itself becomes the focus. The ship is no longer a means of travel, but a place to be fully present.

At first, I approached each day with the instinct to plan. I scanned the daily schedule with a pen in hand, circling activities and quietly worrying about missing something.

But gradually, that feeling softened.

There was no need to fill every hour. No sense of missing out if I chose to do very little. Many activities repeated throughout the day – a watercolor painting class offered two or three times per day, talks and workshops more than once. There was always another opportunity, which made it easier to let go of the need to plan everything.

Instead, the simplest moments began to feel the most rewarding.

A quiet walk around the Promenade Deck with the sound of the ocean beside me. A coffee in the Grand Dutch Café, enjoyed slowly without distraction. Sitting in the library with a book or settling into a daybed and watching the horizon drift by.

Some afternoons were spent entirely in the cabin, watching movies, ordering room service, and simply enjoying the view. It felt indulgent in a way that busy itineraries rarely allow.

Days were no longer measured by how much we accomplished, but by how they felt.

With so much time at sea, small routines began to take on a new meaning.

We returned to the same places each day, not out of habit, but because we enjoyed them. Games of table tennis became a daily ritual, and we grew unexpectedly competitive. Shuffleboard on deck offered another simple pleasure, often accompanied by easy conversation with fellow guests.

There was also a growing sense of familiarity with the crew. Without the constant movement of port days, there was more opportunity to connect. Each morning, I found myself chatting with Ampa in the buffet, who knew exactly how I liked my bagels toasted.

These small, personal moments added warmth and character to the experience.

When time slows down, you begin to notice – and appreciate – the details.

In many ways, this journey redefined what luxury means.

It wasn’t about constant entertainment or high-energy experiences. Instead, it was about freedom. The ability to move through each day without pressure or expectation felt quietly luxurious.

There’s an indulgence in being able to pause, to linger, and to simply be present. To enjoy a meal without watching the clock. To spend an afternoon with no fixed plan. To feel the gentle motion of the ship and allow it to slow your pace.

Evenings carried the same sense of ease. Entertainment was always available, but there was no need to plan ahead. You could wander from one venue to another, discovering live music, a show, or a quiet lounge as the mood took you.

This is a different kind of luxury. One that’s less about doing more, and more about needing less.

A Holland America transatlantic crossing isn’t for everyone, and that’s part of its charm.

It suits those who appreciate the art of leisurely travel. For those who enjoy reading, reflecting, and taking time to notice the details. Anyone seeking a genuine break from the stresses of everyday life and the chance to disconnect.

For travelers who prefer busy itineraries and a steady stream of new destinations, it may feel too quiet.

But for those willing to embrace a slower pace, it offers something increasingly rare.

Looking back, the most memorable part of the crossing was not a single moment, but the feeling it created.

A sense of calm. Of space. A depth of true relaxation that can’t be found in a 15-minute hot tub dip or a 60-minute massage.

In a world where travel often feels rushed, a Holland America transatlantic journey invites you to do the opposite. To slow down. To pause. To savour each day as it comes.

And somewhere between departure and arrival, you may find that the journey itself becomes the most rewarding destination of all.

Author’s Bio:

Jenni Fielding is the founder of Cruise Mummy, a leading UK cruise publication. Drawing on more than a decade in the cruise industry and over 50 sailings, she shares thoughtful insight and expert guidance for travelers at sea.