Travel changes a lot at once: where we sleep, what we eat, and what happens next. For Hiro, who is autistic, I wanted familiar things woven into those new experiences. On our cruise, we settled into a rhythm of breakfast, swimming, a nap, dinner, and dancing. The ship was a new environment, but our days had a familiar pattern—with plenty of free ice cream cones along the way.
We started our mornings at the buffet, where Hiro mostly ate pancakes and sausage. Finding breakfast foods he enjoyed gave us a familiar starting point before heading out for the day.
Around 11 a.m. to 1 p.m., we spent time at the aft pool. That distinction matters: the main Lido pool was packed. The aft pool also had easy access to pizza or chicken strips, which made snacks convenient. After swimming, Hiro took a nap before our evening plans.
At 5:30, we started getting dressed for dinner. When the onboard candy shop opened at 6:30, Hiro could pick up a treat before our sit-down meal. He loved ordering pizza and nuggets, raising his goblet for “cheers,” and finishing with chocolate cake and ice cream. After dinner, it was time to dance.
We used a visual schedule, like the ones we use in ABA therapy, to help Hiro understand what came next. Pictures showed our daily rhythm: breakfast, swimming, snack, nap, dinner, and dancing. It brought a familiar tool from home into a brand-new environment.
I also packed tumblers and bento-style containers so we could take snacks back to our cabin. Familiar foods, room for rest, and a predictable rhythm helped us enjoy the trip at Hiro’s pace—with flexibility when plans changed.
On our first Carnival Radiance cruise from Long Beach, we stayed onboard during the Catalina and Ensenada stops. I wanted Hiro to have the day to enjoy the ship at his own pace. With fewer people at the pool while others were ashore, he had more space to swim.
Our familiar rhythm—breakfast, swimming, snacks, a nap, dinner, and dancing—gave our days structure without scheduling every minute. Now every time we’re in Long Beach, Hiro thinks we’re getting on a boat. Apparently, this is our routine forever.