This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Kaisu Koskela, 48, a postdoctoral researcher on digital nomads. It has been edited for length and clarity.
I’ve been a digital nomad for 15 years, so Nomad Cruise had been on my radar for a while. What began a decade ago as a relocation cruise for remote workers has grown into something much bigger — twice-yearly trips that feel like floating community conferences.
As a researcher and policy advisor on digital nomadism, I was especially curious. After some deliberation, my partner and I booked the 27-day Pacific crossing from Seattle to Sydney.
Neither of us had ever been on a cruise before. It felt exciting, but also overwhelming.
Once on board, we quickly found our rhythm
Something was always happening: talks on life and work, meetups, and workshops. All of that was just the nomad program. The ship added even more, from cabaret shows to talks on local history. We also had full days ashore in places like Honolulu and Samoa.
Starlink WiFi made working easy, and I met people in all kinds of fields, from AI to videography. But it was a long route, and no one was overly focused on productivity, including me.
I’d planned to finish an article but never got to it, and honestly, I didn’t mind. I was there for the experience.
Everyone leaned into their overlooked hobbies
The 230 passengers felt like a true snapshot of the nomad world. The youngest passenger was 23, and the oldest was in their 60s, but the majority were in their 30s.
The cruise is set up as a peer-learning conference: passengers give talks and share their expertise for free. I spoke about digital nomad visas and helped people one-on-one afterward. In return, before I got onstage a performance coach prepped me for my talk, and a designer explained a confusing part of my chart. Everyone gave something.
I was surprised by how many passengers weren’t nomads yet. They’d come for inspiration. Some were so enamored by the idea of location independence that they quit their jobs on the spot, pushed over the edge by burnout and encouraged by others to go freelance and build something of their own.
A common theme kept coming up: Don’t stay tied to an employer who’s breaking you down.
As the days passed, we created more together. In the first week, someone formed a choir. I joined, and we rehearsed on every sea day before performing a full concert with professional lights and sound. I’ve had to sacrifice very little to be a digital nomad, but singing in a choir is off the table. Having one of my hobbies back for a month felt incredible.
Meetups took off just as easily. I posted one for speed puzzling and ended up playing with a group that included someone who’d competed in the World Puzzling Championship. What started as a fangirl moment became real technique training.
The community was big enough that no matter how niche the interest, someone else shared it.
Cruise tourism is a hard nut to crack
Life onboard was easy — the staff were wonderful, and the vibe felt warm. But being a “cruise tourist” on land felt different
Vanuatu, an island archipelago in the South Pacific, was our final stop. It was also a new country for me. There, we were dropped on an otherwise uninhabited island where bars and food stalls had been set up just for us. Technically, I’ve now been to Vanuatu, but I had no contact with local life. I didn’t love that.
Cruise stops are short; you’re usually back onboard by 4:30 p.m. Early in the trip, after docking in Hawaii, we rushed around Maui trying to see everything. It felt pointless, a YouTube video would’ve given me the same overview.
We’d cracked the formula by the time we reached Savusavu in Fiji. It was a real town with a market, and we just wandered, with no agenda. I preferred those stops; even a tiny slice of local life beats racing through a checklist.
A bucket list adventure worth paying for
The remoteness of the Pacific was surreal. Seattle to Hawaii took a week; Hawaii to Samoa took another 16 days with no land, no ships — just ocean and the occasional pod of dolphins.
There was even a Crossing the Line ceremony for first-time equator crossers. We had to kiss a fish and jump into the pool. I loved it.
Nomad Cruise was expensive — €4,300, or about $5,000 each — so we thought hard before booking. We chose a basic cabin with a window and ate like royalty.
Alcohol was extra, though happy hour made wine about $6 a glass. Onboard purchases came with an automatic 18% tip, plus a crew appreciation fee of about $17 per day. But reaching these destinations on our own would’ve cost more, and once we were on the ship, I stopped thinking about money; everything felt free.
Leaving after a month on the cruise felt surreal; the community bubble was hard to step out of. I loved the people, the sunsets, and even the small things like watching the weather and birdlife change across the ocean.
I’m sure I’ll cross paths and deepen connections with some of the people I met on board. We shared something special.
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