This, my friends, is what life is all about.

For those of my readers who are a bit rusty on their European geography, Malta is an alluring little nugget quietly basking year-round in the Mediterranean sunshine, a few hops south of Sicily. For such a diminutive island (or, 3 islands, actually), it has robust history of rubbing shoulders with great empires of the east and west – think, Phoenicians, Romans, Ottomans, Arabs. And if my parochial-school upbringing still serves me well, it’s one of the few European countries to garner a mention in the Bible - which perhaps explains the Maltese people’s strong Catholic bent. I’ve been told the islands are very proud of their 365 churches – one for each day of the year.

History aside, I confidently left Hamburg armed with little more than a carry-on bag, great sunglasses, a snort-worthy Bill Bryson paperback, and a confirmed reservation at the luxe Hotel Phoenicia. Malta experts will assure you: you don’t need much more.

Several hours and 1 connection later, Lufthansa flight 4128 touched down in Luqa. It did not escape my attention that the Malta International airport is cleverly designed to maximize the arrival impact to the visitor by immediately requiring one to step outside: as the airplane door is flung open, the weather-worn northern European stumbles onto the stairs descending to the tarmac, pauses for a moment to allow one’s eyes adjust to 500% more sunlight than usual - gasps at the stunning, stark blue Mediterranean sky above and rich limestone landscape below – and involuntarily cries “ Malta! WOW, MALTA!!!!!”

Ok, maybe that was just me.

I admit, I’m an easy target for the Maltese Travel Bureau. I’m totally beguiled by Malta and its people, having spent a glorious week there about a decade ago. Pure delight and anticipation coursed through my veins during the 15 minute taxi ride to my 5-star hotel which I had quietly booked without consulting my more frugal-minded husband. The Hotel Phoenicia is the grand dame of hotels in Valletta; it exudes a quiet, assured elegance that is not contrived. I appreciate its tasteful appointments, the lobby’s sparkling chandelier, the fabulous pool, and of course the enthusiastic flirtations of the 60-something bellman.

Having risen earlier than the roosters, I conceived a notion of taking a long and satisfying nap to prepare myself for the festivities. This, fair reader, was not to happen. With my “travel diva” sensors on full alert, I knew I could not waste precious hours in slumber. A small chat with the bellman allowed me to outline my program: I wanted ‘insider Malta’, and I wanted it in 90 minutes or less. This fine chap gave me a knowing nod, whipped out his cell phone, and 6 minutes later produced driver “Tony”, who would prove to be at my service for the duration of my trip. Tony assured me of his qualifications: he spoke no fewer than 6 languages and had an impressive grasp of the history of Malta. I duly appreciated his comfortable, air-conditioned Mercedes taxi, and was soon to learn of his trained eye for women’s clothing (having owned several dress boutiques at one time), which proved handy in the hours to come.

Our whirlwind tour included the Upper Barracca Gardens in Valetta, which command an unparalleled view over the Grand Harbor, plus an incredibly scenic drive through the winding streets of the “Three Cities”. A dash through the yacht harbor, a slowdown by the sites of the “Water World” and “Midnight Express” movie locations, a detour through a thoroughly decked-out village celebrating a “festa” that weekend, a cruise by Fort Rinella and Kalkara’s hidden beach, and then probably a few other things I’ve forgotten, and back to the Hotel Phoenicia with ample time to prepare for the evening’s main event.

Tony cast a bit of fear into my heart when I asked him to drive me to the wedding that night. He replied “Certainly! But, what are you planning to wear? You know, in Malta people dress very formally for weddings. You must have a gown fit for the Oscars!” My eyes widened with concern as I envisioned my knee-length wrap dress still stuffed carelessly in my carry-on. Oscars? Gown? Panic set in, and I promptly fled into the hotel to consult with the concierge. After listening with raised eyebrows to my obvious lack of preparation, she sternly instructed me to go put on my dress with all accessories and return to the lobby for further inspection.

With all the moxie I could muster, I sashayed back into the lobby 10 minutes letter in full regalia. I appreciated the approving stares of passing menfolk, but knew that a more stringent test would soon be administered. Upon my approach, the concierge brightened considerably and said with an almost unsettling amount of surprise “my, you look quite nice now!” (and how did I look before?!) “Very smart, very stylish. Maybe this will be ok. But you still should have brought a gown. Unfortunately, all the stores are closed for the day, and so this is your only option.”

My pocketbook breathed great sighs of relief at the latter statement, and I resolved for future international wedding attendance to obtain appropriate dress code consultations well in advance.

At 6pm sharp, a more freshly-scrubbed Tony arrived to pick up a more fully-coiffed, bejeweled, and babed-up me. His bushy eyebrows raised in surprise as I approached the car. “My dear! I almost didn’t recognize you! You look fantastic! The dress suits you perfectly. The line is perfect. The color is perfect. You will be fine!” While perhaps he overstated the situation a wee bit (it was, really, just a wrap dress, and you can’t very well hide the effects of having undergone childbirth under that…), I took it that the Maltese ascribe a high value to wedding attire, and so I was pleased that I would not totally embarrass and dishonor my family name.

Upon our early arrival at the church in San Pawl tat-Targa (yes, that’s a name of a town), I tried to mingle casually with the other 600 guests while awaiting the bride. My very clever opening line, as I strode up to a friendly-looking Finnish gal and her handsome, chain-smoking Italian boyfriend, was “why are we all standing outside?” This garnered a few shrugs, but at least I’d found a friend. Mari expressed wonder at knowing 600 people to invite to one’s wedding (her comment was “I’m from a small Finnish town near the Russian border. We do things a bit differently out there.”).

Soon enough, everyone was comfortably seated inside (I panicked a bit over identifying the “bride side” vs. “groom side”, but it seemed to be more of a free-for-all seating plan), and sparkling bride Maria and dashing brother Joseph made an elegant appearance in a white vintage Rolls Royce convertible. This was my first experience with an authentic Catholic mass wedding, and I (as well as the other foreign guests – hailing from no fewer than 19 countries) was grateful that it was conducted in English. Admittedly, I was a little disappointed that the priest didn’t come in with the powdery, fragrant swinging incense thing, but I guess they’ve modernized. Those mundane thoughts quickly vaporized when brother Joseph (a world-renown opera singer - seriously) took the stage to sing “Ave Maria”. Mind you, this was sort of akin to having Gauguin paint a picture for your living room. It was absolutely heart-stopping. People stopped breathing. Even the birds stopped chirping. All of nature paused to listen for 5 glorious minutes.

And then, about another 90 minutes later (mind you, this was Catholic MASS), the priest finally pronounced them “Man and Wife”, and after a very chaste kiss the newlyweds and their 600 guests poured outside to generally rejoice, snap photos and sneak a few quick smokes.

Now, all this has been leading up to the star of this report: The Reception. Under heaven and earth, there has surely never been a wedding reception like this one. I suspect even the legendary Wedding at Cana (with all that water-to-wine business), if measured up against The Reception, would be found sorely lacking. As I entered the luxurious, antique- and art-filled Villa Arrigo, my travel diva sensors missed no detail. My approving eyes swept over the tasteful furnishings, the glove-clad servers, the hand-carved banisters, the white rose arrangements. But, there was more: we were escorted outside into the immaculately maintained, romantically-lit Marquee gardens. After I was able to tear my gaze away from the gorgeously uplit fountains, I noticed the real, no-fake-stuff-here SWANS gliding gracefully across the marbled pool. I gasped at the perfect ice sculptures (this, I have only seen in movies), then strolled over to the stunning hilltop view of the lights of Malta. All this wedding “shock-and-awe” piqued my appetite, and I spent several bewildered minutes trying to decide between the lobster table, the caviar table, the sushi table, and the made-to-order wrap table. Someone thrust a glass of Taittinger in my left hand and a canapé in my right, and I had to resist falling to my knees and thanking God Himself for bringing me to this once-in-a-lifetime event.

As I was chatting up some of the pink-bedecked bridesmaids, Joseph appeared out of nowhere with a bottle of champagne in one hand (“champagne” would prove to be an important theme for the rest of the evening – truly, I have never seen such a quantity of fine golden bubbly!), 2 glasses in the other, and firmly escorted me off to his secret “VIP” lair up on the hill. Note, as a rule, I don’t get to spend a lot of time in “VIP” lairs, but this was a refreshing exception. In said lair, stylishly-clad guests lounged about on stone benches, sipping endless glasses of bubbly and beckoning the wait-staff to keep our canapé trays full. I accepted all hospitality gratefully, and settled in for an entertaining evening of jovially tasteless Italian jokes (helpfully translated to English by Joseph’s friend Anton) and the type of general banter that arises between old, old friends. Little beknownst to me, I was sitting amongst folks with impressive musical pedigrees: Joseph, of course (a regular at the Met), several of his friends who comprised a popular Maltese rock band called Winter Moods, and who I perceived to be the “Mick Jagger” of Italy – Riccardo Cocciante. This quiet, gentle man with very wild hair was accompanied by an elegant and ever-watchful wife – clearly having beaten off a few groupies in her day.

The evening really got started when the brass band took to the stage and started sending dance vibes through the audience. And, much to everyone’s absolute delight, Joseph grabbed a microphone for an impromptu concert. Not much later, our tranquil Riccardo – apparently having had a firecracker stuffed into his belly button - burst onto stage with dance moves and sounds of which I haven’t heard the likes of in years. This musical dream team was further augmented by talented members of the Winter Moods, and the crowd truly went wild!

This brings me to a topic which I have been sorely remiss in discussing: the Bride and Groom. Maria, our blushing bride, looked to have jumped out of the pages of Modern Bride, with perfectly coiffed hair, a spectacular dress, a sparkling smile, and the genuine glow that is emanated only by a truly in-love bride on her wedding day. Groom Ian looked equally dashing – as dashing as a man can get when standing next to such an all-eclipsing beauty – and they delighted their guests by dancing on stage as Joseph-and-team regaled us with the pop hits of America & Italy. Throughout the evening, Maria had managed to accomplish something that few brides can pull off: the ability to greet each of her 600 guests as if THEY were the special, beloved guest of the evening. I calculated that if she spent only 1 minute speaking to each guest, it would take a mere 10 hours for her to cover her entire guest list. Good thing Maltese wedding receptions last a very, very, very long time.

One of the highlights of the evening was meeting, and having a surprisingly articulate conversation with, Joseph’s 3-year-old son, Xandru (pronounced “shandru”) – decked out head-to-toe in a white suit that stayed startlingly crisp and clean throughout the festivities. We like to joke that Xandru is my daughter Sophie’s future husband in the making, so I regaled the poor lad with stories about my brilliant daughter. He, somewhat bewildered, asked “but, where is she? Does she want to come play?” and I had to explain that she was at home in Germany. He winningly replied “Oh. Is that far?”

Sadly, all good parties must eventually come to an end – although this one, as it turned out, was not destined to end until strains of dawn appeared in the sky. At 2:30am (after many telephone calls pushing back the pick-up time “just another hour…”), my driver finally drew the line and called to say “it’s now or never, lady”. Since taxi drivers are quite difficult to come by in the middle of the night in suburban Malta, I bid sad “adieus” to the bride, Joseph, and many new friends. I had now been awake for nearly 23 hours, and I had a plane to catch the next morning. On my way out, as I dragged my heels and sniffed a little, little Xandru called out to me “Jennifer, where are you going? Are you leaving already??!” I had to laugh that this 3-year-old had out-partied me, but I suppose that is the Maltese in him.

6 hours later, an alarm clock rudely dragged me from the depths of glorious slumber, and I awoke with a smile and smudges of mascara still on my face. A perfect weekend was capped with breakfast on the massive stone balcony of the Phoenicia, overlooking beautiful gardens and beyond to the Grand Harbor. Tony whisked me away to the airport, and I departed Malta with fabulous memories, a handful of photos, and some stylish glass coasters that were gifts to each of the wedding guests. Back at home as I sip my tea and place it back down on my Maltese coaster, I recall with fondness this amazing weekend… one I will not soon forget.

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Some photos of the weekend:

Much of Malta is long, narrow, mysterious streets:

A view over the Grand Harbor:

In the Upper Barracca Gardens:

A traditional Maltese fishing boat in the yacht harbor:

Scenic..

Movie afficionadoes will appreciate some of the boats from Kevin Costner’s “Water World”:

A Maltese neighborhood decks itself out for its patron saint’s festa:

These are actually made of finely-painted wood!

Back to my digs:

And finally, the Big Event:

The newlyweds depart in a vintage Rolls Royce convertible:

The fabled reception locale:

I snuck a shot of Riccardo ..

The boys jam:

Sneaking a moment with the bride (us, clearly needing some powdering!)

And some quality time with Joseph up in the “lair”:

The next morning, back at the hotel, a scenic end to a perfect weekend:

Thank you Tony, for the fine driving!

This trip, a slight deviation from the above program, took place when we decided to buy “real”, fully-booked tickets (Soenke had gone on ‘standby’ strike) – this time, Hamburg to London via Lufthansa (so I could stop speaking German a lot earlier..), and Air New Zealand from London to LA. Mind you, these were cattle-class tickets, at about 3 times what we pay for business class standby tickets. I began seriously doubting the wisdom of our decision as we continued farther and farther back in the Air New Zealand plane … past the red-carpeted first class stairs… past luxurious business class with its champagne-sipping passengers… even past premium economy class with attractively upholstered seats and precious extra inches of legroom… all the way back to “really cheapo class”, which pretty much involved 20 rows of beach chairs, a vending machine, and a couple of porto-potties.

I had actually never sat this far back in a jumbo, and was somewhat interested in the peculiar configuration of toilets at the very aft of the airplane, which I proceeded to explore during the pre-flight preparations. My interest was, unfortunately, short-lived - interrupted by our new cabinmate: a seedy-looking criminal being extradited to the US - in handcuffs - firmly escorted to his seat a few rows behind us by two heavily-armed air marshals. All this may not have captured too much attention except for the fact that said man was frothing at the mouth and screaming what surely were foreign obscenities at the top of his lungs. As I blinked in disbelief (and wondered how expensive it would REALLY be to upgrade us into champagne-class…), Soenke calmly began inserting his earplugs and commented “oh, they do this all the time – they yell, hoping the captain will kick them off the plane. He’s harmless and he’ll settle down as soon as we take off.” And, God bless him, he was totally right. Within an hour after takeoff, seedy-criminal was sipping English breakfast tea with his pinky in the air, chatting pleasantly with the flight attendants.

Super-cheapo-criminal-class notwithstanding, the next 10 hours represented the most pleasurable and relaxing transatlantic flight our Sophie-inclusive family has ever had – with toddler watching her beloved Cars movie on not one, but TWO adjacent in-seat video screens for most of these 10 hours, and me watching just about every other in-seat movie in unprecedented, uninterrupted peace and quiet (and yes, I KNOW that a respectable lady should in NO case watch such a lowbrow movie as ‘Bachelor Party’… much less LAUGH and SNORT during said film… but… < < insert valid + believable excuse here.... >> )

Fast forward to 4am next morning – jet lag day #1, Soenke & Sophie happily ensconced on Lazy-boy with chips & guac in progress. I have trained them well.

As usual, our Cali visits consist of a blur of nephews, rowdy BBQs, and serious shopping expeditions, punctuated by fish taco outings and a heck of a lot of sunshine. However, this month brought an extra special twist to our usual March sunshine program: cousin Steve, with his totally cool convertible jeep, was road-tripping his way down the Pacific coast to hook up with the So Cal Crawfords. That up’d the ante, and therefore we (well, someone) organized ever more elaborate outings, including aquarium tours, bi-plane rides, and even a visit to the hallowed LEGOLAND.

As always, the photos tell the best story:

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Day #1 Jet Lag: early AM Guac party:

Legoland.. I can’t BELIEVE how expensive this place is, but the kids (ahem, and my sister-in-law..) went gaga for it:

Bro + #5 son Levi shake it up:

Nephews Drew & Chase hang with Aunt Sis (me):

My favorite spot, with Mom, under the portico with climbing, lavender-flowered vines:

Post Lego-land search for suitable grub…. through typically Californian beach town at sunset:

Ka-ching! We know the good stuff when we see it:

10,000 calories of pure Mexican pleasure:

How to top Legoland? Maybe with a visit to the Long Beach aquarium…

En route, Sophie channels her inner California girl:

Now these are some FISH:

Spooky… surreal:

Yeah, that’s my daughter petting a manta ray (clearly a violation of mommy-approved protocol):

But wait, do my eyes DECEIVE me? Or is that an Easter Island head I see?

Forget about the fish, this is Big News. The placard said it was gifted from the people of Rapa Nui (aka Easter Island) to the Long Beach aquarium. How do I sign up for that gifting program???????!!!

Took awhile for that thrill to sink in (ended up being an inspiration - surely a sign from God Himself - to go ahead & book my 2010 Easter Island trip! which I did…!)

The next day, we decide to do some aquarium comparison and head down to the San Pedro Aquarium (free). Clearly a bit more budget-strapped, but we had a blast. I don’t know who took all the good photos - it sure wasn’t me - we were with my entire family, including cousin Steve.

Sophie seemed to like these fish the best (go figure)..

The best aquarium experience EVER was a fascinating little outdoor seminar describing the rare nighttime grunion run, which occurs once a year on California beaches. We were totally excited to hatch our own grunions in this very jar! (ok, so we had to give them back afterwards…):

Later that evening, I got my first ride in Steve’s awesome JEEP! the ultimate antidote to any mid-life crisis (ahem, not that my cousin Steve is anywhere NEAR the age of mid-life crisis ) :

Next day, a special outing to Brackett Field, a small-plane airport and primo picnic area near my bro’s house. Big thrill, there was also an airplane show & biplane rides that day!

Nephew Channing is ready for action:

Off go Channing + cousin Steve (while my sis-in-law crosses herself and prays a lot..)

Steve has the appropriate post-flight pilot strut (although he didn’t fly, of course, he IS a honest-to-goodness pilot..)

AND NOW, SOENKE/SOPHIE/I HEAD OFF TO ARIZONA:

Sophie picked out our rental car:

First stop out of Phoenix, our favorite Starbucks at this exit (love that streetname!), with the tattooed/pierced barrister that always remembers us:

And then, our favorite, dangerous-critter-full rest stop:

Final destination, SEDONA. Can never get enough:

This year, Sophie takes an interest in some “hiking”:

Who knew anthills could be so fascinating (this is just one of dozens we closely examined together):

En route back to civilization, we are not ones to snub our noses at a good, old-fashioned Starbucks drive-through:

A final night in Phoenix before looping back through LA - en route to Hamburg - finds us in the newly-renovated, VERY funky Clarendon Hotel. We decided it was just a little too cool for us (although, the rooftop bar with flamenco dancing was a nice touch). Wish I had a photo of the pool & lobby to prove my point:

Back in Hamburg, here is a true photo of Extreme Jet Lag:

All that aside, we were simply delighted with the current state of affairs on Rarotanga, the main island of the group of inhabited and uninhabited islands comprising the Cooks. Spared from chain hotels and overdevelopment, it remains perhaps what Hawaii was about 50 years ago. One main road – without a single stoplight – rings the island, served by 1 bus running clockwise, and one running counterclockwise. Many folks – natives & tourists alike – eschew busses in favor of scooters. Chickens and their little chicken families run free, and operate as free alarm clocks for anyone needing to wake up early (ahem, and for the rest of us as well). Building codes do not permit construction above the height of the tallest palm tree on the island, and therefore nature appears to rule the place. Somehow, that just feels right. Sunday is church day, and the sounds of beautiful voices in the local Maori dialect can be heard from nearly any point on the island. Local cuisine ranges from delectable papaya to potato-like arrowroot, to freshly-caught mahi mahi, grouper, snapper, and more. The number one shopping item on the island is the legendary South Seas black pearl, grown and harvested in the smaller, neighboring Cook Islands. And the people? Truly the friendliest locals around. They take tourists in stride, give them restaurant tips, happily answer questions, and even invite them to church.

And the punch line is…..all of this perfection was ours for the low price of the New Zealand dollar… a considerably less-expensive experience than neighboring French Polynesia (Tahiti et al), where the euro rules.

Our adventure began with a night flight on Air New Zealand - LAX to Rarotonga - and ended 10 hours later with 3 very groggy but happy travelers (now sporting leis) enjoying a sunrise check-in at the casual but friendly Lagoon Lodges bungalows. Our little bungalow was conveniently positioned next to a giant trampoline, which would become Sophie’s numero-uno destination for the next 2 weeks. Other amenities included the gorgeous and generally-deserted snorkeling beach just across the road, a swimming pool, tropical breakfast served up each morning by Mama-pu, and daily afternoon happy hour offering the finest papaya smoothies we’ve ever had. Wrapped around all that was hotel manager Yogi’s unfailing friendliness, willingness to help, and cheery personality.

When faced with island mentality, the question of “what should we do today?” quickly devolved into “do we really have to do anything today?” This was a wonderful development. Swimming, driving, eating, and sightseeing just became something to do between naps. While lounging at happy hour with our many new friends (Cheryl & Oz – a NZ/American couple – being our favorites), we would swap notes on which seaside restaurant offered the best sunset, the best music, the tastiest fish. Then we’d all head out for the evening to test each other’s theories. And so each day went.

Eventually I had the idea to pop over to Aitutaki – Rarotonga’s little sister, and the jewel of the South Pacific – to check out the exquisite turquoise liquid beauty rumored to surround the island. A lot of $ and a 45-min flight later, we landed on a tiny airstrip on a certified slice of heaven. Aitutaki almost defies description, it’s so breathtaking. The island is home to what I believe is the world’s largest lagoon – pure turquoise waters, with a clear sandy bottom. Little “motu” (islands) covered in palm trees provide a spectacular backdrop. Our own hotel, the Aitutaki Lagoon Resort & Spa, provides a short boat ride across a small channel to its own private island, where our already-impressive arrival was enhanced by a conch-shell-blown welcome. Our bungalow was exquisite - all gorgeous wood and natural materials – and a quick stroll around the island revealed hammocks strung up between palm trees, many lounge chairs (all with a million-dollar view), snorkeling opportunities for as far as the eye could see, and gorgeous frangipani bushes with hair-adorning flowers available for the picking.

In the midst of all this intense beauty and relaxation, our concentration was broken – ever so briefly – by the arrival of a German family, complete with a toddler and baby-in-stroller. THAT is how good Aitutaki is… 2 sane adults would fly a total of 22 hours with small children, just to spend a week in paradise. (ok, so we did that too, but we also had the one-week family stopover and jet leg recovery period in California first…)

I do the Cooks a woeful injustice not to allot 10 pages of glorious refrain here on my blog, but I must simply hand over the reins to our photos. (Sadly, our camera broke the day before flying to Aitutaki, and our cheap, emergency underwater camera didn’t quite capture the magic…)

Bless you Cooks, and thank you for the priceless memories.

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Our first steps on Rarotonga just before dawn, looking back with fondness at our Air NZ flight:

At Lagoon Lodges, our modest but comfy & cozy bungalow:

Sophie’s favorite island activity:

I thought this was funny, since we say ” counter-clockwise” in American English, and I’d never heard ” anti-clockwise” :

Other Sophie-preferred island activities included watching the chickens:

My favorite photo from this trip:

A triumphant Soenke, after 1 1/2 hours of wrestling with this coconut:

And back to the trampoline:

I couldn’t believe this. Hamburg STILL found us, even on the other side of the planet…

This was fun - Cheryl & Hugh’s Reef Sub Tour… on top looks like a boat, downstairs windows like a sub. Great for viewing sea-life:

Soenke & Sophie didn’t miss a fish…

Including this sea turtle. We also saw a Moray Eel but I didn’t capture that on film.

A nice view of the island:

We’re having fun!

Sophie’s personal taxi service:

Now that’s a happy beach bunny…

This is a sacred site on the island, where they (among other nicer things) used to do sacrifices. Sophie HATED it there.

Banana, anyone?

More island beauty (this is a little ” motu” off the coast of the main island):

The beach at our hotel… we rarely had to share it with anyone!

This was our rental car. I loved that on the Cooks, the license plate had their everyday greeting - ” Kia Orana”… it means , I think, ” be well”, but also is used as ” hi!” .

Lots of pool loitering:

The ultimate South-Pacific-style view from our front porch:

Another gorgeous sunset on Rarotonga…

BUT WAIT, not done… off to Aitutaki for 2 days of more heaven than I ever thought I’d see on earth. Too bad that a little person broke our camera the DAY before we went there, and we were left with a cheap underwater camera to capture all this magic…

Our little plane whisked us off to….

THIS

And THIS

Quite a bit of THIS

Ahhhh, this..

And, God bless it……… THIS

Very happy me

Bye bye Aitutaki…

The first 20 minutes after we left the house, I felt a bit melancholy.. missing Sophie, feeling concerned she would miss us. By the 1 hour mark, I was totally over that (and so was Sophie, so I heard later).

The 24/7 mantle of motherhood had completely slipped away by the time I cozied down into my jump seat in the cockpit, installed my radio headphones, and adjusted the volume. Next stop, Duesseldorf. The captain, Herr Schreck, was a German of the happy-fun variety, and he regaled us with tales of his family’s R.V. trip through the Pacific Northwest, Vancouver Island, all the way up to the Yukon.

I have to admit, the flight to Duesseldorf - even from the excellent vantagepoint of a cockpit - is not very exciting once you pass the Elbe. It’s plain flat. Thankfully, we continued onward to Budapest over the Alps (not in the cockpit this time - we were deadheading), and that promised a fine view for the next morning when Soenke would be flying again.

Now, this was my first visit to Budapest. When I think of Hungary, I think “gulash, colorful embroidery, Soviet occupation”. (perhaps I should have thought ‘Roman baths’ too, but I wasn’t very informed prior to departure.) What I learned is that Budapest was originally 2 cities……. yes, Buda… and Pest. One on each side of the Danube River. It took a few hundred years for them to get around to building a bridge, so each side has developed its own unique personality. The city is particularly known, as my Dad informed me via SMS, for its thermal baths. Since we were not swimsuit-equipped, we had to skip these. Probably a good thing: another captain we met informed us that the public baths seemed to be full of European backpackers who hadn’t seen a shower in many weeks.

Thanks to Lufthansa, our digs were the 5-start Kempinski Hotel. Nice. Well located. We headed via metro for what we thought was the famous Castle Hill (without more than a metro map in hand - we were really unprepared) and ended up at a very nice castle, sort of on a hill, but not the famous castle. It was not a wasted venture - the castle and lake were reminiscent of a Disney fairytale, and we enjoyed our stroll and ice cream break to the fullest extent.

A taxi took us back to the other side of the river (the Buda side) via a beautiful tree-lined boulevard, and over the famous Chain bridge. The castle and Fisherman’s Bastion up the hill were both very scenic. Cobblestone streets, restored historic buildings, and spectacular views rounded out the experience. Possibly the high point was our supercheap, very tasty 44eur multi-course dinner at Apetito(complete with excellent Hungarian wine - who knew?!).

The next morning, we groaned at the 4:45am wakeup call. But, the sunrise-splashed flight over the Alps (past the Koenigsee and Chiemsee - which we just visited in my prior post!) was well worth it. At Munich, we parted ways - Soenke & the captain to fly a leg to Madrid, and I to continue on alone to Berlin, where I would have an unprecedented 6 HOURS FREE TIME. (I can hear all the mothers sighing, “wowwww…..”).

I had already mapped out my destination: the Dahlem Ethnological Museum, home of an excellent South Seas exhibit. Contained in their collection is one of the VERY few remaining Rongo Rongo talking sticks from Easter Island: these are wood pieces, carved in a fascinating fashion with tiny, detailed rows of the still-undeciphered, enigmatic Rongo Rongo script. Rongo rongo is the ancient language of Easter Island - depicted in written form as figures of birds, animals, plants, celestial objects, and assorted geometric forms. No one has really the slightest idea what it means (not for lack of trying to decipher it), and western civiliation so successfully annihilated the Easter Island natives between the 1700s & 1900s, that there was no one left to carry the secrets to the next generations. I have been salivating over the chance to view one of these pricless items, and here it was!

I arrived at the museum and found the doors locked. After a moment of extreme panic, I realized it was 10 minutes until opening time. An enthusiastic museum employee guided me directly to the South Seas exhibit - seemingly excited that someone other than a school group had a real interest. I was alone to revel in the South Seas for nearly an hour… I took my time… through the Carolines… past the Marquesas…a stroll through Tonga….until THERE IT WAS: Easter Island. Some tools, a feather headdress… and then… with the most horribly understated caption ever: “Wood With Writing” (!!!) … there was the elusive RONGO RONGO TALKING STICK. Sadly, most of the script had been worn off, but there was just enough to take in a few clear characters. I was overjoyed! And to round out the experience, my very own Easter Island head (just a small one - a household statue) - but nonetheless, I felt one step closer to the Ultimate Destination.

Eventually hunger took over, and I broke for coffee and cake and hopped a taxi to the crew hotel - the hip Schweizer Hof. Athletes were everywhere (looking very athletic) and I soon learned that the Track & Field World Championship Games were in Berlin that week. This does not excite me, but I did enjoy the presence of many Americans.

Soenke arrived in due course, and we treated ourselves to a quiet dinner at the excellent hotel restaurant. My compliments to the chef, who presented the finest rendition of a California Mexican-style salad that I’ve laid eyes or fork upon since arriving on this continent.

The next morning Soenke continued his tour while I took the fast train back to Hamburg. I had found a bargain in First Class (49eur!) and, accompanied by only about 4 other travelers, I enjoyed my comfortable seat, free newspaper, and delicious chocolates. Train travel really isn’t my thing, but I don’t mind it if free chocolate is involved.

Back home in Hamburg, Sophie greeted me with gales of laughter and excitement, which was the best return a mom could wish for! The weekend was a total success, and I’m pleased to report we’ll be doing it again (next time, Milan/Paris) later this month!

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Photos of the fun:

In Budapest, I thought it prudent to take a picture of the metro sign near our hotel, in case we got hopelessly lost…

We went to the “wrong” castle, but this one was beautiful too!

With a lot of VERY diverse architecture in the complex… multiple centuries of building here!

A taxi took us down the Pest main boulevard, across the river on the famous chain bridge, and up to the Buda castle (and I can’t believe I forgot to take a photo of that):

What a view! I’d fly all the way there again, just for this:

I think this is a saint - can’t remember which one - but he has the requisite halo:

Returning to our hotel across the chain bridge, I attempt some funky photography:

I found this amusing - at the Kempinski, they had a number of these around the public areas. I thought - wow, look at all these changing tables!

Now back to Germany…

And… drum roll……. the RONGO RONGO TALKING STICK (it’s the top one… use your imagination here… pretend to be excited!)

It was a little hard to photograph the script through the glass:

And my very own Easter Island statue:

And finally, yet a mere shadow of the esteemed Rongo Rongo stick, is my new purse from Duesseldorf airport that turns into a backpack!

Sophie settles in for an hour of opening & closing the tray table (note Oma in the background..)

Once happily installed in our rental car (with Oma & Opa tailing), we settle in for some serious weekend traffic… and entertaining ourself with the camera:

(yes, that’s a McDonald’s french fry… we were desperate and hungry…)

Traffic, traffic, and more traffic:

En route, some fabulous Bavarian scenery (yup, those are the Alps back there!):

We took the “Alpenstrasse” route..

We arrive at our apartment/hotel in the Bavarian town of Ruhpolding; really, ALL the windows have flowerboxes in Bavaria!:

We are welcomed at our vacation apartment with a refreshing “Radler”, a mix of Bavarian beer and Sprite:

Sophie chats with Opa from our balcony:

Later, dinner on the terrace at the hotel restaurant:

And a little video from our dinner (where I inexplicably lapse into German, as if I have scores of German blog readers.):

According to Hauke, every Bavarian town has a “town pole” that advertises its services/activities:

A closer look at Ruhpolding’s town pole:

On Saturday, we day-tripped it to the town Berchtesgaden, known as a favorite summer haunt of Hiter’s (I can see why!). There was a local festival in full swing when we arrived:

In full evidence were lederhosen, dirndls, and plenty of beer and pretzels:

And pretty Bavarian window decor:

A small video of the oompah band sounds:

Happy Oma & Soenke check out the scene:

In the plaza fronting the church, there was a very interesting series of paintings on the buildings, depicting the town’s sadness and suffering from losing their sons, who were pressed into service in both World Wars. There were also pictures (not shown here) showing the sons coming home dead.

World War I:

World War II:

But Sophie just enjoys the sun!

Later we head to the base of the Eagle’s Nest (we didn’t make it up to the top)…

Oma & Opa enjoy some Bavarian refreshments:

Soenke then has the Most Brilliant Idea of 2009: go to the Rodelbahn! (little go-carts, that go very fast down the mountains in luge-like tracks..):

Here goes Soenke:

Me too!

The #1 experience for me that weekend was being pulled back up the mountain on the go-cart ascension cable,
looking backwards over the spectacular Alps. This picture from the top just doesn’t do it justice!

After a fun-packed day, Soenke and Sophie unwind over an Elmo book:

After a wonderful weekend, things start to unravel a bit when we get to Munich airport and discover ALL flights
that day back to Hamburg are full, with 30 other standbys hanging around! Soenke eventually re-routes us all
back to Berlin… BERLIN!

Here we are in Berlin Sunday evening renting a big car and a car seat, for the 3+ hour drive back to Hamburg:

Sophie isn’t troubled by the detour…

Here’s our snazzy VW bus:

Nice sunset in Berlin:

Eventually, we found Hamburg…

The day after we arrived, we got a surprise call from my Santa Barbara cousin Heather (and husband Zach) who were en route from San Diego - only minutes from my folks’ house - and stopped in for a short visit! Somehow I missed getting a photo of that (chalk it up to major jet lag) but they were still looking like happy, glowing newlyweds.

We bunked with my folks, who pulled out all the stops in terms of great food and an unbelievable selection of toys for Sophie (no kidding, my mom kept nearly ALL of my toys from when I was a kid…).

We also teamed up with my bro and his family, and made a Big Week out of it: a visit to a local airport where a whole lot of NOISY helicopters took off and landed, much to my nephews’ glee… a day at the beach… a big party & BBQ for my brother’s birthday… and a cameo visit from my cousin Steve & his wife Kim, all the way from Seattle! We had to leave the evening after their arrival, but we got a good day of grilling and playing in nonetheless.

Lots of holes in my photo sequencing, but there were a lot of cameras clicking and hopefully someone will fill in the blanks!

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I captured a few typical moments of Sophie and my sojourns in various airports:

Visiting the “cows” at the Marche restaurant in Hamburg airport

Sophie took great interest in my strawberry-banana juice

In Munich, riding the “peoplemovers” between gates kept us busy for a good 30 minutes

Upon arrival at my folks’ house in So Cal, Sophie got straight to work with the model horses (which were mine as a kid):

She LOVED this:

And was soon joined by the rest of her cousins!

One day, we all went to a small local airport for a picnic, and were visited by a very brave rabbit:

My favorite day was a visit to Crystal Cove Beach (in Laguna Beach), complete with milkshakes from the Shake Shack!

Sophie’s cousins get busy burying their brother, Seth:

Sophie steps out in her cute new swimsuit from Grandma:

Sophie’s cousin Levi gets nice and sandy:

Gina soaks up some rays:

Soenke just wonders when it is milkshake time!

While Grandpa joins Sophie in the icy cold Pacific waters:

Back at my bro’s house, my cousin Steve shows Sophie how to do bubbles:

Sophie sporting her darling 4th of July dress! (thanks Sally!)

Wow, how’d a pic of me get in there? Those are far & few these days…

And finally, my bro chills on the porch:

But, there was a little surprise in there for the grown ups. After the 3pm kiddie party (coffee, champagne, and cakes), we fired up the BBQ at 6pm and pulled out all the stops! Soenke morphed into the Grillmaster, and out came the burgers and accoutrements. It was midnight before our final guests departed. DEFINITELY a successful evening!

Photos commemorate the earlier fun (I think I lost the camera in all the wrapping paper by about 5pm…):

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Sophie’s birthday dress… Mommy went to Kirstan’s favorite hand-smocked dress store in Paris
for this one! (And Sophie cared a LOT, I can tell you… she even ditched the cute sparkly gold
shoes I bought in favor of her rainboots!)

Honored guests Aunt Lena & Uncle Ole

Honored guests Sally & Amin

Honored guests Kara & Erika

Honored guests Lisa, Saskia, Milla & Christian

Honored guest Oma!

I tried my hand at a little flower arranging

Sophie’s 4th of July dress from Sally & Amin

The helium balloons were a big hit with the kids (who worked together to release about 30 of them into the sky…):

Sophie & Opa watch another one go…

The driveway was an unexpected popular gathering spot

And out came the bollerwagen!

Here is a rear view of the gorgeous sweater that Brigitte hand-crocheted for Sophie!:

And finally, in other news, our first roses in our garden! (at the moment, that’s the only thing in our garden…)

We stayed at the Iberostar Park (apartment hotel), down on the southeast side of the island in Jandia. Jandia is 100% tourist development. Our hotel had a spa, which was my only criteria other than a suite so that Sophie could sleep separately. I turned over a new leaf by going on a “Kur” (as the Germans call it… cure, in English) - I gave up all caffeine, sodas, coffee, meat/poultry, alcohol, and cut way back on sugar (the hotel food had many vegetarian options - and great Canary cuisine!! - mojo garlic sauces are my new fave). Soenke went on the steak-and-ice cream diet. He felt great, I came home with a cold.

Possibly my favorite time spent was at the casual beachside “cafe” (shack) with outdoor tables in the sand. Somehow it felt like home. We ate lemon sorbet and watched the waves with our toes wiggled into the sand… a little slice of heaven.

Here are photos of our weeklong getaway:

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It was REALLY windy there on many days, but that didn’t deter our little girl from dominating the playground:

Photos from our little road trip through the island…

Nice view, but most beaches were too rocky to swim:

I loved this! It was in the middle of one of the many, many roundabouts on the island:

We wondered too…

The only form of wildlife we saw:

Dry, dry dry…

A very charming little town we passed through:

Not exactly expecting to see a camel amble through town..

I always wonder what’s going on behind beautiful entrances like this:

Another ice cream break (seemed like Soenke organized those about 3x/day!)

Bye bye Pajara:

So many choices on our way back to the hotel…

(Thus concludes our little road trip).

Back at the ranch, Sophie enjoys the fantastic “Kinderdisco” every evening! (hard to get meaningful photos of that experience…)

And at the end of the kid’s program, out game this giant dog named “Smiley”, who was mobbed with relish by little ones:

At one of our meals, Sophie shows us her view from the high chair (yes, she somehow figured out how to take a photo):

Me!

Sophie learns how to bask like a pro:

Our trip to the local zoo called the Oasis (and that it was!) near the town of Costa Calma. It was fantastic, very tropical with lots of fountains and running water features, and our tickets were good the entire stay!

Sophie’s favorite exhibit - she even stood on one foot to show us how it works:

Our new friend:

Staying out of trouble at a Chinese restaurant up in Corralejo (north side of the island), where we discovered all the Brits were staying:

We discovered a beautiful, swimmable sandy beach up on the northeast of the island. The only weirdness was that all the women were topless - multi-generations of families with grandmas, no kidding, all topless, playing ball in the water with everyone. Too much for me! (ahem, sorry I was not willing to photograph that!)

Sophie kept her top on:

A little video excerpt from our island driveabout:

Sophie has a little too much fun behind the rental car:

A little flavor of the Kinderdisco (Sophie was still trying to figure it all out…):