MALTA: A WEEKEND IN RUINS

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We just got back from a 3-night family excursion to Malta, an ancient and itty-bitty Mediterranean island that everyone and their mom has conquered at some point in the last 5000+ years. Given its historical popularity — and its contemporary accessibility from Barcelona — we hopped aboard a 2-hour flight and excitedly took off for our weekend in ruins.

But just when I thought I was so punny... The joke that turned into a jinx:

We landed on Friday during a downpour. Fine. Nothing an afternoon of hotel pool + on-demand movies couldn't solve. It was, however, something that two solid days of hotel pool + on-demand movies couldn't fix; we braved the elements on Saturday and headed by bus to Valletta, the capital city.

Unfortunately, the stormy skies seemed to recollect a certain stormy disposition that a certain three-year-old girl would adopt on that certain day. Malta, as it happened, did not agree with Eliza. We bummed around for the day — ponchos and pouting toddler in tow — and sought occasional shelter in cozy restaurants and ice cream shops (read: bribery). It was nice ("nice" being the word you use when you have nothing better to say).

The weather was supposed to clear on Sunday, so we planned a hiking and exploration day with Aaron's parents, who are visiting Barcelona for the next few weeks and met us in Malta. But at 3:00AM on Saturday night, the weekend took an unexpected turn for the gross: Owen got a stomach bug. Five hours and fifty towels later, Owen's little GI tract had thoroughly marked its territory in all corners of our hotel room. It was...special.

For some equally special (or blindingly-obviously stupid) reason, we decided to venture out of the hotel around midday and explore the town of Mdina. Owen seemed better and we could all use some fresh air. We wandered around for an hour and then got in a taxi to return to the hotel, arrogantly considering our afternoon a moderate success. But midway through the 20 minute drive, Round 2 of Intestinal Warfare commenced. Right into my backpack. Oh, the endless joys of parenthood. After that, it was a long 24-hour countdown to our return flight's departure.

It may not have made the Top 5 cut, but Malta was everything you'd expect a weekend in ruins to be.