Couldn’t quite decide which to
blog so never mind, it will have to be both.
Today was the day that my
housemate and I had picked to finally do something about our promise to
ourselves. Backing up: a couple of years
ago when I had been through 9 years of visiting my mother twice a year, then
having her in a private home for two and a half, then facing her death,
followed a month later by my younger sister’s cancer diagnosis; when my
housemate had also had many a crisis with her mom, finally losing her as well,
the thing that kept us both going was our promise to ourselves that “when this
is all over” we would go somewhere for a few days, not to travel, sight see or
do anything in particular, but simply to rest. It needed to be a place where we
wouldn’t experience jet lag, where it wouldn’t take us more than a half a day
to access, and – most importantly – somewhere that neither of us had ever been!
A tall order indeed and it took awhile before we chose the island of Malta.
Thereafter, whenever things were particularly grim, we would whisper or sign
off an e-mail with “Malta, Malta, Malta”. It became the mantra for “things will
improve”.
My sister passed away, my
housemate met a man, there were more of our own crises, but a lot of good times
as well: still Malta had never materialized and we were in danger of letting it
go the way of many a good promise, until
we set a date to do something about it – as well as an approximate time when we
would both be free.
Today we finally took the step and
entered my favorite travel agency: although none of the agents that I have used
before were there, the one who greeted us was ever so helpful. She also was very
good at determining the reason for our visit as well as “warning” us that the
end of February and the beginning of March were very windy months on the
island, that, although warmer than Switzerland at the same time, it was
definitely not going to be a beach holiday. We looked at each other and answered: "just been through several days of the Tramontane", "see the bise still blowing outside" - then in unison: "it doesn't matter". Whereupon she proceeded to line up
flights and a hotel – five star no less – at such reasonable prices that we
booked on the spot.
It is actually going to happen!
That was pleasant happening number
one.
Pleasant affair number two was
lunch. Now I love editing my housemates'
books and have just finished yet another (is it #8, 9 or 10?) and would do so
for absolutely nothing, but she insists that I get at least a good meal out of
the deal. She and her husband had discovered a lovely restaurant across the
border and my, oh my, what a find: from the “amuse bouche” (a starter meant to
introduce the meal – always at the whim of the chef – and just as often more
than excellent) to the first course where we both chose a crab millefeuille
(napoleon) to the main, in my case a “quasi” or boneless leg of lamb and in her
case a roasted duck, it was all perfect. Perfectly presented, perfectly spiced,
a feast not only for the eyes but the palate: when I can I edit another novel?
And – a very rare thing – in both
cases I forgot any of my cameras so there are only the mental pictures to
remember these two amazing events.
