I Passed My Princess Certification. What It Means for Booking Your Cruise
I want to tell you I finished my Princess Cruises certification with grace and quiet confidence.
What actually happened is I finished it at 9:47pm on a Thursday, in the same chair I've been in for three straight weeks, muttering itinerary codes like a very tired auctioneer.
But I finished it. And now that I've caught my breath, I actually want to talk about why this matters — not just for me, but for you.
Here's the thing about being a travel advisor nobody tells you: it's not one certification and you're done. It's an ongoing rotation. Train on a vendor, open bookings for that vendor, repeat. Princess was next up. Royal Caribbean's training is the one after that. It never really stops, and honestly? I like it that way. I'd rather know a cruise line inside and out before I hand you a quote for it than fake my way through a brochure.
So what does finishing Princess actually change for you? Now, I'll be able to book individual Princess cruises for you directly, not just our hosted group trips. If a Princess itinerary has been living rent-free in your head (two, in particular, have been living in mine — this is the part where I say: tell me about it.
I won't pretend the studying was glamorous. It was a lot of modules, a lot of coffee, and one memorable moment where I 100% forgot which ship does the Panama Canal and which one doesn't. But it's done, and I'm already looking at my next research project — which, fun fact, isn't even for me this time. A friend asked me to help plan an African safari, which is a completely different kind of trip than anything I've booked before, and I am so here for it. More on that as it develops.
If you've got a Princess cruise you've been quietly Googling at midnight, you're in excellent company. Just wave — I've got tabs open for you too.
And if Alaska has been the one calling your name specifically? Our 2027 hosted group cruise is still open. Come find out what everyone keeps talking about. Send me an email Tracy@harmonyhorizon360.com and we can chat.
Or you can fill out this short form and I will create you a quote—Alaska Qualification Form — Harmony Horizon 360 Travel
Other posts that may interest or inspire you:
What We're Actually Looking For in a Short Caribbean Cruise (Trip Not Booked Yet) — Harmony Horizon 360 Travel
Alaska Cruise vs. Caribbean Cruise: Which One Is Right for You? — Harmony Horizon 360 Travel
Should We Plan a Mediterranean Cruise? (Asking For Myself, At 11pm, With Seventeen Tabs Open)
It's 11:14pm. Jamie is asleep. I am not asleep. I am doing the thing where I open one cruise line's website "just to look," and ninety minutes later I have seventeen tabs open, a spreadsheet I didn't mean to make, and a very strong opinion about balcony cabins on the port side.
This is how it always starts. Not with a decision. With a spiral.
Here's the thing — we've actually done the Mediterranean before. A cruise with friends, years ago, before Reset & Roam was even a phrase I said out loud. We ate our body weight in bread. We got lost in a way that was charming for the first hour and character-building for the second. We came home different, in that quiet way good trips do that to you.
So you'd think going back — again by ship — would be the easy part. It is not the easy part.
Because now I'm the person who plans other people's dream trips for a living, which means I am incapable of just looking at a cruise itinerary and going "sure, that looks nice." I am looking at port days and mentally scoring them for pace. I am asking whether seven ports in seven days is a vacation or an endurance event. I am doing this at 11pm on a Tuesday for a trip that is not booked, not planned, and not even fully agreed upon.
Jamie's official position, when I bring it up over dinner, is "sure, let's do it," delivered with the same enthusiasm he'd use to agree we should probably clean the garage eventually. Supportive. Vague. Not actually helpful.
So here's where we actually are, honestly:
• We know we want to go back.
• We do not know if it should be a cruise or a slower land trip, round two.
• We do not know when — 2027 is spoken for with Alaska, so realistically we're talking 2028.
• We are considering if we do cruise it, wanting fewer ports with more hours in each one, not the itinerary that brags about hitting five countries before breakfast.
That last one is the part that actually matters. Because the question underneath "should we plan a Mediterranean cruise" isn't really about the Mediterranean. It's the same question that's underneath every trip I help plan: are we building a trip that fits how we actually like to travel, or are we building a trip that looks good on paper?
Gentle pace and an exciting trip aren't opposites. Tonight I'm saying it to myself, with seventeen tabs open, trying to believe it applies to my own vacation and not just everyone else's.
I don't have an answer yet. I have a spreadsheet, a sleeping husband, and a trip that's still just an idea we keep circling back to. That's honestly where most good trips start — not with a booking, but with somebody staying up too late, still curious.
If you want to follow along as we actually figure this out — cruise or no cruise, 2028 or someday — that's exactly what the Roam newsletter is for. I'll show my work, tabs and all.
Join the Newsletter if you want to stay informed on our travels, both past and upcoming.
What We're Actually Looking For in a Short Caribbean Cruise (Trip Not Booked Yet)
We almost booked a cruise with eleven days' notice.
I'd like to tell you that's normal for me. It is not.
Back in July, a couple of friends floated the idea of a spontaneous short Caribbean cruise sometime in August — nothing fancy, just a few easy days before summer wrapped up. I got excited fast. Ports, cabins, all of it. My brain went straight to "we could actually do this."
Then real life did the thing real life does. Schedules didn't line up. PTO got complicated. "Wait, can everyone actually go?" caught up with us before we could pull the trigger, and the August cruise quietly became the August cruise that I did not go on.
Here's the part I didn't expect: instead of shelving the idea, I kept thinking about it. Except now it's not the original friend group — it's looking more like someone else might come along instead. Different trip, same itch.
And honestly? Slowing down by accident made me think a lot harder about what I actually want out of a short cruise than the fast version ever did. So here's where we've landed, at least for now:
● Short enough to still feel like a real break, not a whole vacation commitment — thinking 3 to 4 nights
● A port list that doesn't feel like we're just checking boxes to say we went somewhere
● Something we would actually enjoy, not just tolerate because we picked it
● Room to change our minds without losing a deposit — we're still very much in the "just looking" phase
● A genuine test of whether short cruises are even our thing, or whether we're secretly sea-day people who need more time to unwind
Nothing about my brain does "spontaneous" gracefully, by the way. I found that out the hard way when "let's just book something!" turned into me cross-referencing embarkation ports against everyone's schedules within twenty minutes. Some of us peaked at chaotic-planner energy a long time ago.
But here's the real thing underneath the joke: even a "let's just try it" trip deserves the same breathing room as a two-week one. That's the whole point of Reset & Roam — it's not about maximizing every trip, short or long. It's about making sure the trip actually feels good, even the impulsive ones. Especially the impulsive ones.
So we're not booked. We're not close to booked. But we're figuring it out in real time, and I'm going to keep hashing out the messy middle — ports, cabins, whether we are actually into any of this — in the Roam newsletter before any of it makes it to the blog. If you want in on the unpolished, still-deciding part of trip planning, that's where it's happening.
How We're Choosing Excursions for Alaska (Or: The Great Glacier Nap Debate of 2027)
Here's a text I got last week from someone on the Alaska trip:
"Should we do the glacier hike or the boat that just... looks at the glacier? Also can we do both? Also I might just want to stay on the ship, is that allowed?"
Yes. Also yes. Also, obviously yes.
This is basically every conversation I've had for the last month, and I love every one of them, because it means people are finally starting to believe me when I say gentle pace and exciting trip aren't opposites. They fight it at first. Everyone does. There's a little voice that says if you're not doing All The Things, you're wasting the trip. That voice is a liar and I'd like it removed from the group chat.
The Three Excursion Speeds
When I build the excursion options for a hosted trip, I sort everything into three lanes. Not "easy, medium, hard." That's not the axis that matters. The axis that matters is: how much of your day do you want to spend being a person who does things, versus a person who exists near beautiful things?
Lane 1: Boots On — you're hiking to Mendenhall Glacier, you're on the zodiac, you're doing the thing with your whole chest. This is for the days you woke up feeling like a main character.
Lane 2: Close Enough — a shorter walk, a scenic train, something with a bench nearby at all times. You still get the glacier. You just also get to sit down near it.
Lane 3: The Balcony Option — coffee, a blanket, and the audacity to watch Alaska go by from your room while everyone else is on a bus somewhere. This is not giving up. This is called "vacationing correctly."
Every port on this itinerary — Juneau, Skagway, Ketchikan — gets an option in all three lanes. Nobody has to justify which one they pick. Nobody has to pick the same one as their spouse. That's the whole permission slip, remember?
The Part Nobody Tells You About Group Excursion Planning
The hardest part isn't the excursions. It's that everyone assumes there's a "right" answer they're supposed to find, like there's a version of this trip where they did it correctly and a version where they didn't.
There isn't. There's just the version where you got to see Alaska in the way that actually felt good to you. Some of my favorite trip memories are the ones where I bailed on an excursion at the last minute because I was tired, sat on the balcony, and watched a glacier calve into the water while eating a room-service sandwich. Nobody handed me a certificate for the hike I skipped. I didn't need one.
So when you're looking at the excursion list for this trip (or any trip), here's my actual advice: pick based on how you want to feel that evening, not on what looks best in the recap. Tired-happy is a completely different feeling than wiped-out-regretful, and only one of them is the goal.
What We're Still Deciding
Also, confession: some ports, I don't pick an excursion at all. I've spent an entire day in Ketchikan just wandering, shopping, and checking out the area. That counts as a full vacation day. There's no gold star for productivity on a trip that's supposed to be about resetting, and I'm not handing one out. So when you fill out the qualification form for this trip, that's where the real conversation happens — I'll send you actual quotes and options built around what you want your days to look like, not a one-size-fits-all list. Boots On, Close Enough, Balcony Option, or "nothing, thanks, I'm reading" — you choose. That's genuinely the whole point.
Speaking Of This Trip...
In case you missed it: we officially have six cabins booked for the Alaska hosted cruise — Royal Princess, round-trip Seattle, June 2027. Which means this isn't a someday anymore. It's a real ship, with real people, already debating glacier logistics via text message, which is exactly the energy I want for this whole trip.
If you've been eyeing this one — or you just like reading about a trip before committing to anything, which, relatable — hop on the interest list. No cost, and it gets you first access before we open the remaining cabins.
🚩 Join the Journey — Harmony Horizon 360 Travel
More Alaska planning content all week — packing gear, and the budget conversation nobody wants to have out loud. See you next Sunday.
Related Links:
Caribbean vs. Alaska — Which Cruise Actually Fits Real Life Better? 💛
We were docked in Juneau when the storm rolled in.
One minute it was overcast and moody in that gorgeous Alaska way — the kind of light that makes everything look like a postcard you'd actually frame. The next minute the sky just decided it was done cooperating.
When we got back on the ship, I noticed something strange. One of the other cruise ships — a big one — had been pulled from port. Not at the dock anymore. Just floating across the way, like it had quietly excused itself from the conversation.
Nobody made a big announcement about it. It was just gone.
Alaska is like that. Breathtaking and a little humbling, sometimes in the same ten minutes.
The Caribbean, on the other hand, is not subtle about anything — including its cab drivers.
In St. John's, Antigua, Jamie and I got into a taxi and our driver pulled confidently into an intersection where there was very clearly cross traffic coming. The other cars stopped. Our driver did not. He just kept going. Smiled the whole time.
We laughed. Then I grabbed the door handle. Then I laughed again.
Two completely different cruises. Two completely different versions of "well, that happened."
So which one is actually better? Honestly? Neither. They scratch completely different itches. And if you've ever found yourself Googling this at 11pm trying to decide — this is the post I wish I'd had.
The Vibe: What Each Cruise Actually Feels Like
🔗 Alaska
Alaska feels like a wilderness documentary you're somehow inside of. Glaciers. Bald eagles. Water so still it looks fake. You spend a lot of time just standing at the railing not saying anything, because talking would feel weird. You don't want to interrupt it.
The Caribbean feels like exhaling. Warm air the second you step off the ship. Bright colors everywhere. The whole pace of it is slower and sunnier — and not just because of the weather. There's something about a Caribbean port that gives you permission to just be on vacation.
Neither vibe is wrong. They're just different answers to the question of what you need right now.
The Weather Situation (Honest Talk)
Alaska weather is genuinely unpredictable, and you have to make peace with that before you go.
You can pack layers and rain gear and the right shoes and still end up with a glacier tour that's foggy, or a port day that's cold and drizzly. That's not a failure. That's Alaska. The ship that quietly left the Juneau dock in a storm wasn't a catastrophe — it was just the cruise version of "the mountain doesn't care about your itinerary."
The Caribbean has weather too. It's hot. Sometimes humid. There's a hurricane season to work around. But day to day? You mostly know what you're getting. The sun is going to show up. The water is going to be warm. You're not going to need to layer.
If weather unpredictability stresses you out — that's useful information, not a reason to skip Alaska entirely. Just go in with the right mindset.
Pacing: Where You'll Spend Your Energy
Alaska cruises tend to be more active. The ports beg you to get out and do something — whale watching, glacier hikes, floatplane tours. You can take it slow, but the scenery kind of dares you to engage.
Caribbean cruises have more room for doing absolutely nothing, and that's not an insult. Sometimes nothing is exactly what you need. A beach chair, a drink with an umbrella in it, and three hours where nobody needs anything from you? That's a legitimate vacation.
First-Timer vs. Been Around the Block
If someone asks me which cruise to do first, I usually say Caribbean. More accessible, more forgiving logistics, eases you into cruise life without the weather anxiety.
Alaska gets better the more comfortable you are with cruising — not because it's hard, but because you'll enjoy it more when you already know how to pace yourself. When to sleep in. When to skip an excursion. How to build in breathing room.
But there are no wrong answers. Plenty of people do Alaska first and never look back.
So Which One Is Right for You?
Caribbean is probably your trip if you want warmth and ease, you're newer to cruising, rest is the whole point, or weather predictability matters to your peace of mind.
Alaska is probably your trip if you want something that genuinely moves you — if you're up for a little unpredictability in exchange for views that will wreck you in the best possible way.
And if you want to do either one without figuring out all the logistics yourself — that's what I'm here for.
Travel It With Us
I'm building the interest list for a hosted Alaska cruise in 2027 right now. Independent exploration, optional group hang time so we can all share stories from the day. I handle the planning — you just show up.
Caribbean is coming too. Drop your name on the list and I'll keep you in the loop on both.
🔗 Join the Journey — Harmony Horizon 360 Travel
We Went to a Reds Game With Braves Fans. The Waiter Saw It Coming.
We walked into The Alcove for brunch — me and Jamie in full Reds gear, our friends in full Braves gear — and our waiter took one look at our table and said, "Well, I hope you all have fun at the game today."
Then he pointed at us.
"And I hope you two have more fun."
Sir. We have never felt so seen and so threatened at the same time.
That moment set the tone for the whole day. Which is honestly the best thing I can say about a baseball trip — that it had a tone. That it felt like something. That by the time we walked into Great American Ball Park that evening, we were already having the kind of day you tell people about later.
The Reds still lost, for the record.
But we had a really good time getting there.
How We Did Cincinnati
This is the part where I tell you that Cincinnati is a full city with great food and a beautiful riverfront and you should stop flying past it on your way somewhere else.
We started at The Alcove for brunch, and it was exactly what a pre-game brunch should be — pretty, relaxed, the kind of place where you linger a little longer than you planned because the atmosphere earns it. There are better ways to start a game day. I haven't found them.
(This is also where the waiter incident happened, and I will be telling that story forever.)
From there we made our way to Sam Adams Brewery for drinks — because if you're going to spend an afternoon with people rooting for the wrong team, you might as well do it with a beer in hand. Good call on our part.
Then dinner at Cincinnati Lager House, which had a full dining room and a view of the Ohio River that genuinely stopped conversation for a second when we sat down. Busy the way a good restaurant is busy — alive, not chaotic. And if you go, look for the base plaque by the host stand. It's one of those details that reminds you the whole city is in on this.
View from rooftop of Cincinnati Lager House
The Game
Great American Ball Park is one of the most underrated stadiums in baseball. I will say this every time until people believe me.
The Reds lost. Our friends were delighted. Jamie and I were dignified about it, mostly.
What I will say is this: there is something genuinely fun about watching a game with people who are rooting against your team — as long as those people are people you actually like. The banter is better. The stakes feel lighter. You stop watching the scoreboard so much and start watching everything else.
The river. The skyline. The very serious man somewhere nearby who definitely had a scoring notebook.
That's the trip.
The Comeback That Mattered
Here is the part I need the Braves fans to read carefully.
The Reds won the next day.
Not swept. We were not swept. Whatever hopes our friends had of a clean series sweep evaporated, and Jamie and I were completely gracious about it.
We said nothing.
(This blog post is the only thing we're saying.)
Great American Ballpark. View from section 528.
Why This Kind of Trip Works
I started the Baseball City Trip series because I believe the game is the excuse, not the destination.
The destination is brunch with a waiter who takes one look at your table and already knows how your day is going to go. It's drinks at a brewery with people you don't get to see enough. It's a river view at dinner and a base plaque that makes you smile before you even sit down.
The Reds may break your heart. The city won't.
Want to Plan Your Own Cincinnati Trip?
I've got a full guide — where to stay, how to build the day, what to do beyond the game.
👉How to Plan a Cincinnati Reds Weekend Trip
And if you want something to take with you — a planner built specifically for baseball travel, with space for every city you visit — I made that too.
👉 The Away Game Planner — $14.99
👉 Join the interest list for future Reds road trips
The waiter at The Alcove was right. I hope you have more fun.
Tracy is a travel agent and the founder of Harmony Horizon 360, a travel brand built around slower, more intentional trips for real people. She grew up in Cincinnati and has feelings about the Reds that she considers completely reasonable.
What a Sea Day on a Caribbean Cruise Actually Looks Like (When You Stop Trying to Fill It) 💛
I used to think sea days were the days you just got through.
Like, okay, no port today, guess I'll find something to do. Wander the ship. Eat too much. Wonder why I'm not relaxing when I paid actual money to be here relaxing.
It took me embarrassingly long to figure out that I was doing sea days completely wrong.
—
Here's what nobody tells you before your first cruise: sea days are not the filler between the good stuff.
Sea days are the good stuff.
Or at least, they can be. Once you stop trying to schedule them like a port day with no port.
—
The moment I finally got it
We were somewhere in the Caribbean — I want to say it was day three — and I had a loose plan. Maybe the pool. Maybe a class. Maybe that thing on deck I kept walking past.
I did none of those things.
I found a chair on a quiet part of the deck, got a drink, and just... stayed there. For a long time. Long enough that Jamie came looking for me. Long enough that I watched the water change colors as the light shifted. Long enough to have an actual thought that wasn't connected to a to-do list.
That was the day I understood what sea days were actually for.
They're not for doing. They're for coming back to yourself.
What a sea day actually looks like for us now
We don't plan sea days the same way we plan port days. That's the whole secret, and it sounds obvious when I say it out loud, but it genuinely took a couple of cruises to land there.
Here's what a good sea day looks like in real life — not the brochure version:
A slow morning. No alarm. Room service coffee or a walk to the buffet depending on how ambitious we feel. We don't make this decision in advance. That's the point.
Some version of movement, but only if we want it. Sometimes that's the gym. Sometimes it's walking a few laps around the deck and calling it done. Sometimes it's neither and that's fine too.
A chunk of time with nothing scheduled. This is the part people fight. We are conditioned to fill empty time. Resist it. The empty time is where the good stuff happens — the real conversations, the napping that actually restores you, the moment you look up from your book and realize you feel genuinely calm.
One thing that sounds fun, not one thing that sounds productive. Trivia. A cooking demo. The pool. A movie. Something that has no purpose other than enjoyment. This is harder than it sounds for people who run on output.
Dinner with no rush. Sea day dinners are some of my favorites. Nobody is tired from walking ten thousand steps through a port. Nobody is sunburned and dehydrated and pretending they're fine. Everyone just shows up and enjoys the meal.
—
What I stopped doing on sea days
Filling every hour because I felt guilty about "wasting" the day.
Making a list of ship amenities to hit like I was checking off a port itinerary.
Worrying about whether I was relaxing correctly. (Yes, I did this. No, it did not help.)
Comparing my sea day to anyone else's sea day. Some people want to be at the pool with a frozen drink by 9am. Some people want to read for six hours. Both are correct.
—
The thing about sea days and real life
At some point during our last sea day I caught myself looking around for something to do. That low hum of shouldn't I be somewhere? Checking something?
And then it hit me — I hadn't felt that in hours.
My body had gotten so quiet it didn't know what to do with itself. And for one very confused second, that felt alarming.
And then I laughed. Because that feeling — that weird, unfamiliar stillness — that's what rest actually feels like when you've been running on empty long enough to forget the difference.
That's the whole Reset & Roam thing in one day, honestly. Travel isn't always about going somewhere. Sometimes it's about finally stopping long enough to arrive where you already are.
—
If you've been on a cruise and found yourself restless on sea days, try something on your next one. Make one plan. Just one. And let the rest of the day happen.
You might be surprised what shows up when you stop trying to fill the space.
—
Thinking about experiencing this for yourself on a group cruise? I'm in the early planning stages of a hosted group sailing and would love to have you along. → Join the interest list
What Alaska Did to My Sense of Time (And Why I Keep Thinking About It) 💛
I ordered reindeer sausage from a café in Alaska because the sign on the door told me to.
Not literally. But it was RIGHT THERE, and I am not the kind of person who walks past reindeer sausage and does nothing about it. That is not how I travel. That is not how I live.
It was amazing, for the record. Slightly smoky, a little sweet. I think about it more than I should.
That moment — seeing something unexpected and just going for it — is kind of the whole story of Alaska for me. I went in knowing it would be beautiful. I did not expect it to be the kind of beautiful that makes you go quiet without meaning to. The kind that makes you put your phone down not because you remembered to, but because you forgot it was there.
I kept waiting for a lull. You know that feeling on a trip where you've done the big thing and now you're just killing time until dinner? I kept bracing for it. It never came.
The wildlife showed up like it had somewhere to be and was just passing through — which, it turns out, it was. The history was layered and surprising and kept making me want to ask more questions. The people we met, both locals and the folks we cruised with, were the kind that make you think why don't I know more people like this at home? And the scenery kept delivering in a way that felt almost unfair. Like Alaska knew exactly what it was doing and had absolutely zero humility about it.
In Juneau, we had one of the best excursions of the whole trip — the kind that hits every note without you being able to explain exactly why afterward. (If you want the full breakdown of our favorite stops, I wrote about those here.) And then, the moment the excursion ended, the sky opened up. Not a sprinkle. A full, dramatic, Alaska-is-done-with-you-now downpour. We made it back to the ship. Others from different excursions weren't so lucky — the storm came in fast and not everyone got back before it got serious.
We stood on deck watching the rain and I thought: we timed that perfectly and it had absolutely nothing to do with us.
That's travel. You plan everything you can and then you stand back and let the weather decide the ending. Alaska is very comfortable making that call for you.
I talk a lot about intentional travel — slower pacing, breathing room, trips that actually feel good instead of just looking good. Alaska didn't require me to try for any of that. It just was that. There was nowhere to rush to. No FOMO. The place itself had this quality where the urgency I carry around at home simply didn't make the trip with me. I've written before about why travel isn't our escape — it's how we maintain our marriage and Alaska was the clearest example of that I've ever had.
I came back slightly more patient. Slightly more willing to look at something without immediately thinking about what comes next. I noticed when it started to fade — that slow exhale that Alaska gives you — which is how I knew it had been real.
I'm in the early stages of putting together a small hosted group cruise to Alaska for 2027 — because I want to bring people there who need exactly what I got. Not the reindeer sausage specifically. (Although truly, do not rule it out.) But that feeling of being somewhere so genuinely big that your regular-life problems shrink down to a manageable size. Where you can't rush the glacier. Where the wildlife is on nobody's schedule but its own.
If you've ever thought Alaska someday — I want to hear from you. Because someday is a lot better when you're not going alone.
Want to be first to know when spots open up? Reset and Roam interest list. I'll reach out personally when we're ready.