Better Off Going Home in a Kansas Tornado

Today my teammate and I were discussing our travels in Europe when she mentioned cab rides in Greece. This, of course, reminded me of my own travel stories - and one in particular.

My trip to Malta began on a bad note. When I say bad note, I mean it was as if the trip were heralded by a five-year-old on a trumpet with spit coming out of the horn. Blaaaaaattttt! It seems my aunt (in Idaho) had gotten a hold of my travel agent (in Denver) and offered what she thought was useful information. Air Malta in New York does not respond solely to faxes and emails about connecting flights; they want to be called. My agent responded that she had sent people to Malta before and not to worry. My aunt began the second sentence with, "Look b . . .," and it went downhill from there. I got some jolting phone calls from my aunt and agent. Turns out my aunt was right. Air Malta had not received and information about my connecting flight, but the situation was quickly fixed.

When in Malta, it is not recommended that you rent a car unless you are adequately insured. The island's roads are quite narrow from back in the time when they had donkeys and carts. Your car will need to be parked along the road where it is a target for oncoming traffic. Many is the vehicle that has had its mirrors smashed off by the city buses.

Speaking of buses, that is the most common form of transportation on the island. The routes are posted everywhere, and the times are accurate. The ride itself is another story. I was suspicious the moment I sat in my seat and the person following me entered the bus, genuflected, and made the sign of the cross. It seems a few more people entered the bus and did the same thing. It was while wondering if they knew something I didn't that I noticed the candles at the front of the bus. Their flames flickered beneath a picture of Madonna and Child (and I don't mean the singer and her adopted child from Malawi).

Whooooooshhh! The bus took off with a jolt. We were taken at high speeds on narrow roads through crowded towns. If you looked up ahead, you couldn't help notice a few things. One, the candles were bouncing merrily on the dash. Two, the bus driver was not looking at the road but smiling at a toddler as it sat on its mother's lap. The kid was laughing and making a lunge for the buttons next to the driver. Three, The Virgin Mary had a look of fear on her face, and tears were coming out of the corner of her eyes. If you looked out the back window, you saw the havoc that was left behind. Too bad about that guy's busted passenger mirror.

I suppose if you wanted to avoid wheeled transportation , you could go around the island by water. I had been on several types of boats on this trip when seeing the sights. One was a small fishing boat owned by a cousin. When I say small, I mean it was a rowboat with a motor. He insisted that holding a half dozen people was perfectly okay. Hmmmm. The second was a glass-bottom tour boat meant to hold about three dozen people. You could look through the glass and see the fish of the bay and the rock formations.

Turns out, you can also see Jesus. That's right. To commemorate the fact that Saint Paul brought Catholicism to the island, the people put a statue of Jesus in the bay where Paul's ship wrecked on the coast. Tourists can take pictures of the statue or buy postcards instead. I don't know if Jesus is crying. It's hard to tell in the water. I imagine he's thinking that it might have been better to put a lighthouse up instead. I could be wrong.

I also took a larger tour boat around the whole island. It's while you're about 2-3 miles from the coast that you realize this isn't America. There are no life vests, no fire extinguishers, and no such thing as law suits. There are, instead, several elderly passengers, a jovial "captain", and a picture of Madonna and child (still not the singer) complete with burning candles.

Leaving the island was eventful, too. The people who rented the apartment to us provided a truck to take us to the airport. The small vehicle held the driver, my aunt in the passenger seat, myself tangled up with the gear shift, and my uncle sitting on the luggage in the back. They left via British Airways, and I left via Air Malta/Continental. Flying into Gatwick, my pilot had to pull up because the fog was so thick he couldn't see the runway. And on my connecting flight to Dallas, a group of born-again Christians chose me as their next project and tried to convert me through sleep deprivation. Seriously. The person in the seat next to me sang Bible songs whenever I turned my head into the pillow to sleep.

Finally, after 26 hours my other connecting flight to Denver touched down. I hope no one got hurt in my rush to get home!