“Now there are more overweight people in America than average-weight people. So overweight people are now average…which means, you have met your New Year’s resolution.”

As Americans waistlines expand, there are so many ripple effects. From healthcare to clothing, design considerations to travel safety, more personal bulk means changing laws, rules and preconceived notions. I have heard sad tales of folks unable to squeeze into rides at Amusement Parks, being banned from bungee jumping, even forced to purchase two plane tickets because of size. That doesn’t even take into account self limitations because of shame or inability to maneuver. But, what about weight limits for boats, buses and other vehicles? More and more, places and companies are upping the average weight limit per person.

In the mid-twentieth century, 160 pounds was allotted per person, taking into account the portly and stocky, and on the flip side, children and the svelte. Fast forward to 2012 and the average American weighs 185 pounds. This has huge repercussions for everything from city buses and ferries, to small private fishing boat operators. According to a story in the New York Times today, the fleet of Washington state ferries are reducing the number of passengers allowed on each boat. Private vessel operators are also looking at reduced revenue because of Coast Guard rules that are popping up around the country. Even the Circle Line in NYC has been affected, although they prefer smaller loads to offer more comfort and ease of movement.

Many newly-designed public space seats are “banquettes” without arm rests to accommodate the larger backsides. Certainly the tiny divets, for bottoms are being rethought on many mass transit upgrades. This is not isolated to the U.S., as countries around the globe struggle with fat stigma and the consequences of the global obesity epidemic.

No one is actually suggesting weighing passengers, but it’s certainly food for thought as we all take stock of what we ate over the holidays and consider our New Year’s resolutions to slim down.

We drove through Yosemite a few weekends ago. It was packed with summer travelers and waterfall gawkers. The major falls are glorious, and fuller than they have been in years. New, smaller falls have even appeared much to the delight of park goers.

As we drove through the park, out past Mono Lake, we were stunned by the high water levels and snowy peaks in early July. We laughed, thinking that we could even cross-country ski in some spots above 7000 feet.

Record snowfalls this winter and heavy unseasonable rain in summer have made conditions epic for nature lovers but also hazardous.

Yosemite is drawing crowds, and visitors to the park should exercise caution while viewing the many falls and swollen creeks and rivers. Since June, there have been at least two people confirmed dead and two missing and presumed dead. The park has banned water rafting on the Merced River until the flows subside to their normal levels.

My son and a group of friends made the trek to Wapama Falls, a wonderful hike which wraps around the Hetch Hetchy reservoir. The photos were astounding, but just days later a Doctor and a friend, both experienced backpackers, were swept away by the torrents when crossing a small footbridge.  Sobering for the folks who took my son, who in hindsight, were fearful of the awesome cascade.

As we made our way back to the Sierras, we stayed at a friend’s house near Kirkwood Ski Resort. I took a short walk, alone, down to the “creek,” heretofore a tiny trickle, where as toddlers, my kids frolicked. At nearly 8,000 feet in elevation, the mule ears were just sprouting and snow patches still remained in early July. I decided to cross the creek and make a circle. Quickly I aborted my attempt. This repeated several times as the current was just too treacherous. I realized I was on my own and if swept away, it would not be a good scene.  I finally found a reasonable crossing point, and with numb legs and feet, made my way to the other side. Not only is the water higher, but it felt colder.

A recent article by Jane Brody in the New York Times Science section offers simple, but useful tips for both beach and mountain water fun. So get out and enjoy the majesty, but respect the elements and have caution!

The mountain bike trails from the top of Sun Valley’s fabled Bald Mountain (9150 feet elevation) wind through meadows, switchback down sheer slopes, weave through pine forests, and really get the adrenaline flowing. We were cruising (or rather, braking) down eight-mile-long Warm Springs Trail because the friendly fellow who sold us tickets for the gondola to take us to the top sized us up and said, “Take Warm Springs Trail. You’ll see when you get up there that you have two choices, Cold Springs and Warm Springs. You folks want Warm Springs. It’ll be a lot better for you.” Then he grinned and said, as if questioning our resolve, “Cold Springs is not for the faint of heart.”

I would say that mountain biking on a ski mountain by definition is not for the faint of heart. Hence, the slow, careful progress of our party of five.

It’s not a stretch to say that one of us could easily have flown off the mountain over the three hours we made our way down. The widest part of the trail was about two feet, most of it was loose rock with the occasional boulder and gnarly tree root, and hairpin switchbacks took us down the steepest sections.

We were novices. At one point when one of us picked himself up from a minor crash and brushed off his skinned knees, a more experienced biker who stopped to help commented merrily, “If you aren’t bleeding it ain’t mountain biking!”

Even though we took our sweet time and stopped for lots of breaks to make sure we didn’t lose anyone, we saw few other bikers and felt we had the mountain to ourselves. And when we stopped we could appreciate the stupendous scenery over Idaho’s Sawtooth National Forest.

The wildflowers on the open slopes near the top dazzled us with their pinks and purples and yellows and blues, but as we descended and entered a forest burn zone we came upon a scene “straight out of the ‘Wizard of Oz,’” my friend Lee said: wild hollyhocks as far up and down the slope as we could see. In 40 years of mountain hiking (probably 200 years collectively), none of us had ever seen a wildflower show so spectacular.

When we reached the bottom, bruised, dusty, fingers locked in a claw grip and forearms aching from squeezing the handlebars, we all marveled that we had made it.

“Heck, I’d do it again,” George said. “But not tomorrow!”

The next stop was the Jacuzzi.

But everyone can use the occasional tip, and Cruise Critic has put together a report on the Eight Hidden Costs of Cruising and how to avoid them.

Encouraged by the travel lecturer on board, we got up at 5:50 a.m. to look at the skyline of Istanbul as the ship made her way up the Bosporus to the Golden Horn. It was hazy out, but strengthened by reasonably good coffee and pastry we stared over the railing until the sun came up and the buildings became more visible.

It became quite beautiful — although while dawn on the Bosporus sounded like it would be high on my romantic index, there is something about standing among some two or three hundred red-eyed tourists that doesn’t exactly create an intimate moment. I did see a few couples holding hands — and one couple where a young woman watched the scenery go by in her partner’s arms — so there were romantic possibilities for people who were able to shut out the rest of the world and only see each other.

After breakfast and a serious amount of additional coffee, I left the boat to meet Turkish friends of my friend Lana. Lana’s husband Lyn had met Selim and Nadire at a medical meeting (all three are doctors) and convinced them to write books on treatments for disabled children for a global charitable project. It is a special kind of person who will write a medical text without receiving money for it — and Selim and Nadire are certainly exceptional people. Selim - tall, thin and a bit bookish — and Nadire — small, fit and sexy with big and frequent smiles — looked younger than people who had three children over the age of sixteen. They were sailors and athletes as well as coauthors and parents and described themselves as centrist Moslems. They whisked me away to the Grand Bazaar.

I love the Grand Bazaar. I love the high vaulted ceilings and the branches off the main aisles that beckon with the promise of thousands of new booths. Everywhere you look there are colorful wares competing for your eyes and senses. I am happy just browsing and looking around.

But of course I did more than look around. I bought a small turquoise bracelet for my daughter, an old sword for my son (he collects them) and a jade bracelet and antique Persian book illustration for myself. I ogled carpets and dishes and scarves and silver — but managed to fend off the impulse to buy it all.

It’s an overwhelming place — and yet, not impersonal. I had a great conversation with the man who sold me the Persian illustration (he had amazing drawings and paintings in his pint-sized booth) and we ended up taking pictures together. I had to be dragged out of there.

I was anxious and pleased, however, to be invited to Selim’s ancestral home, a traditional wooden building in a changing neighborhood. There I met his brother and sister-in-law who offered me tea and a mini introduction to Sufi theology about sexuality. His brother, having been told I was a sex and relationship expert, explained to me that his Sufi religion had little-known teachings about sexuality and its deeper connection to spirituality and transformation. He invited me to return some day and meet some of the masters of the religion who could tell me more. He was gracious and I was rapt and intrigued.

After that we went to see the gorgeous mosaics at the Chora Museum. The former Byzantine church is as it should be, said Selim. Modest on the outside, artistic within. I took about fifty photos of the intricate religious mosaics, and then we left the divine to concentrate on feeding our mortal bodies.

Selim and Nadire went to the modern street they like best — Istiklal Caddesi — a cross between the broad shopping streets of Paris and the Ginza in Japan. We went to an excellent restaurant, Haji Abdullah, which was on a side street off Istiklal. It was composed of three large rooms decorated with Turkish art and big jars of stored fruits and vegetables.

The custom in Turkish restaurants is to go up to a counter filled with all the appetizers and some of the main dishes and pick out selections that look good to you. Salim, Nadire and I were famished by the time we looked over the choices and they ordered just about everything on the display counter. There were artichokes in olive oil, glorious string beans, mashed eggplant and lamb, stuffed grape leaves, lamb shank, grilled eggplant, chopped tomatoes, steamed fish and some sweet red goop with strawberries in it that looked and tasted like liquid Jello. Selim said that foreigners often found it too sweet and I was no exception. After this feast we went to Selim’s favorite chocolate shop where he bought a creation that resembled profiteroles smothered with chocolate sauce. It was not wonderful and Selim agreed that it was not its usual quality.

My hosts had a wedding to go to that night and invited me to relax at their place while they were gone and stay over night. But it was the last couple of nights of the trip and I thought I should rejoin my group.

They dropped me off at the ship and I rejoined Janet and her family. We had dinner and discussed the last and final day in Istanbul. Janet’s brother had hired a guide and tomorrow we would do all the usual tourist spots — the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, the Cistern. They had toured Topkapi museum while I was with Selim and Nadire and loved it (I had been there twice before and while I enjoyed seeing the Harem quarters and the baseball size emeralds and diamonds, I had no desire to go a third time). A couple of the group, against advice, had gone to the more modern Dolmabahce Palace and regretted it. The tour is boring, the rooms are garish and there really is absolutely no reason to see it.

So the next day we did the tourist sights and they are popular because they deserve to be. The Blue Mosque is huge with some beautiful tiled walls, but once I am in hoards of tourists I find it I hard to connect with a place. This was also true for Hagia Sophia — although Selim’ s brother had urged me to connect with the female spirit of the space. I tried — but the people distracted me. Hagia Sophia has a rich background, however, of being both church and mosque, and though now a museum there is a feeling in this place of the hundreds of years of religious history that have enlivened it’s interior.

The next stop, the Cistern was new for me. It was constructed long ago using scavenged Roman pillars to create a holding tank for city water. Dark and lit at the base of the pillars, it is a mixture of creepy and romantic — more the former than the latter — but definitely worth seeing.

So that was it. We had disembarked the ship that morning — really quite sad to say goodbye to the Azamara’s excellent staff and pampering. I thanked Philip Herbert, the hotel manager again for his kindness and for the wonderful room he had given us — and had several embraces with waiters and other people who had taken exceptionally good care of me.

We transferred for our last night to the Intercontinental Hotel, a chain frequented by Janet’s brother. It was big, glitzy (crystal struts for the winding stairway in the middle of the lobby that went from the first to the second floor) and our room was quite lovely with a nice view of the city and the hotel pool.

It was international style however, and except for European plugs for appliances we could have been anywhere. Some people love the predictability and elegance of such hotels and I like them in the United States. In Europe however, if I can, I prefer something more local. Still, it was a beautiful hotel and well run.

So, how do I rate the trip on the romantic meter? The Azamara was an excellent ship and an easy place to be lovers, tour the islands and watch the sunset. The food, service and spa services were first rate. Our room, the next upgrade from a balcony room, was terrific. It had a big enough balcony for a small table and chairs and a lounge chair. Some of the nicest moments on the trip were spent on that balcony, drinking good coffee and watching one island after another go by. The other balcony rooms were nicely appointed and came with a personal valet, but suffered from modest bathrooms and downright awkward and small showers.

My favorite romantic place on the trip was Santorini, hands down. The views from the town of Oai were breathtakingly beautiful. For monuments, Ephesus of course, but in particular, the relatively new reconstruction of elegant Roman homes. And finally, Istanbul. A city of life, diversity, political contradictions and endless shopping, restaurants, neighborhoods and monuments to explore. This was not my first trip to Istanbul, and it won’t be my last. Next time I want to see much more of Turkey, a land of beauty, art, and mysteries of history.

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Pepper Schwartz serves as the AARP love and relationship ambassador and is the chief relationships expert at Perfectmatch.com.

We didn’t stay long. With a quite lovely and articulate guide to help us understand Ephesus we drove for about a half an hour to join the hordes at the ruins. Note to self: remember last time you were here? It was unbearably hot. New note to self: it was unbearably hot this time too. Pick new season next time.

Well, you might reasonably ask, if it was so ridiculously hot, and you’ve been there twice, why would you go again? The answer, oddly enough, is that even though we are talking about a city created by the ancient Romans, the place keeps changing.

Last time I was here I marveled at the white marble entrance and Arcadian Way, the two story library façade, the toilets (built with running water underneath them), and what is thought to have been a bordello. This time there was an entirely new excavation to bowl me over.

It was the restoration in 2000 of the house of an important religious and political official and it was the most impressive ancient Roman living space I have seen - or perhaps the world has seen. A whole house of multiple rooms with their original mosaic floors is in the process of being totally rehabilitated. You walk on modern stairs above the rooms with canvas shading the whole project and the view is remarkable. The home has almost modern touches - an indoor kitchen and bathroom, pictures on the wall, granite finishes, well designed air flow. I would have loved to have been a house guest of this family’s.

By the time, however, we reached the justly famed amphitheater (built to seat about one fifth of the population, or in this case, 24,000 people) we had sweated a river and gotten to that hot and prickly stage where only food and air conditioning are interesting. We got both at an inexpensive and unpretentious (but delicious) local place and after about an hour we had cooled down enough to feel human again. Still, the majority of our party dumped the rest of the tour (mostly revered church sites) and headed back to the boat.

My friend Janet and I decided to follow our guide’s suggestion and go see a rug factory and workshop demonstration of silk and wool rug making. We knew these demonstrations are designed to turn us into clients but we didn’t mind. We both enjoyed the manager’s explanation of how silk is gathered from the silkworm and we liked watching young women’s deft fingers create silk or wool patterns. Did we look at rugs? Maybe 50. Did I buy one? No! (I bought two…)

After that there were hugs all around with our guide — and we returned to the boat barely able to consider dinner — but rallying for the usual feast, this time in Aquafina, the other upscale restaurant on the boat. It was an excellent finish to a memorable day — but I would have to say that I’d put this excursion more on a must do list for intellectual growth than relationship romance. It was so hot that people’s personalities started to fray and I could imagine a couple with conflicting agendas (”time to go” versus” “we have to see it all”) could get into some nasty exchanges.

Better idea: regular evening concerts and performances are held in the amphitheater and some of the great talents of the world have performed by torchlight there. Now that would be romantic.

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Pepper Schwartz serves as the AARP love and relationship ambassador and is the chief relationships expert at Perfectmatch.com.

The port is about a seven euro (or 16 lira) ride from the center of the city. The road into town goes by what looks like a lovely hotel with a smashing view (Diamond of Bodrum), good looking apartments and condos, and settles down into a bustling, clean commercial center that is a short walk from the historic castle in the harbor.

The shops on the way are pretty enticing. I saw some lovely bedspread-sized embroidered textiles from Uzbekistan and told myself to stop there after my visit to the castle and the underwater museum inside it. I had been warned that the underwater museum was not underwater, but apparently a lot of tourists don’t know that so several signs were posted to disabuse people of the idea that they were entering some sort of aquarium. But truly, even if you were disappointed to find everything high and dry, you would likely feel compensated by the quality of the artifacts that have been rescued from the sea and the very good explanations (in both English and Turkish) about the significance of the artifacts.

The castle itself was handsome with several levels of gardens and some awesome views. One caveat here: the path can be steep and uneven and if you are at all unsteady on your feet, it could be daunting. However, it’s worth seeing even if you have to take the incline at a slow pace and if you skip the dungeon — as I did — it is a very romantic excursion. Inside the castle, shaded gardens provided places to stop and rest. Outside, down at the port, a walk along the quay revealed the most amazing row of teak yachts I have ever seen. Called gulets, they were all polished and perfect — waiting for a lucky owner — or a charter to sail them into some of the luscious coves of the Turquoise Coast. (Seduced by the idea of swimming off a secluded beach, two of our party, Ed and PJ, went off to Camel beach, however, it turned out to be quite urban and not appropriate for snorkeling. Still, it was refreshing — the heat by this time was in the nineties.)

As for me, after exploring the castle and exhibits for a couple of hours, I went back to see the shop I had noticed earlier. Galeri Anatolia had beautiful oriental carpets and kilims — but I was still stuck on the embroidered textiles and ended up buying two.

After a very civilized bargaining session, the owner, Ercan Actkel, invited me to have tea with her — quite a common occurrence in carpet shops. She, however, was an uncommon person, a fascinating and independent lady who had many famous clients and extensive knowledge of the United States and the rest of the world. We knew people in common from Seattle (!) and she was so knowledgeable and personable that an hour spent chatting about her life, her business and her clients just whizzed by.

She had come to Bodrum in the 1970s (for love, of course) when the town was only about four thousand people, and made a great success out of her shop and real estate investing. She had (and has) an adventurous life — I will enjoy remembering her stories as much as looking at the beautiful things I bought from her.

That night was a night for romantics. We ate dinner at C Prime, one of the particularly good restaurants on the Azamara Quest and then went back to our room. The port was lit up, and Bodrum twinkled brightly not too far away from the boat. We opened up the doors to our balcony and let the sounds of the water and shore waft in. Every now and then a party boat full of dancing (and probably drunken) revelers would pass by and the music would stay in the air and then, as the boat veered away, grow quieter little by little until it disappeared entirely.

If my guy had been with me, I can imagine we would have held hands or cuddled and felt lucky to be together. My friend Janet and I enjoyed the moment — but it definitely held different romantic possibilities for couples. It made me think how different some trips are for couples versus singles. I think the Greek Islands and the Turkish coast are totally enjoyable for people who are not in a couple — but there are definitely moments when you could reasonably wish to be with someone you loved.

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Pepper Schwartz serves as the AARP love and relationship ambassador and is the chief relationships expert at Perfectmatch.com.

However, as the boat turns to dock in the harbor abutting the medieval part of the city Rhodes Town comes into view, and it satisfies. The medieval fortress walls are impressive and the castle behind it is visible from the water. It’s “younger” than the ruins we have been seeing—and vaults us into visions of knights rather than Greek Gods. It’s actually refreshing to see a whole new kind of city.

You disembark a very short walk from the entrances to the city within the walls and as usual, the streets are lined with shops leading to the biggest tourists sights: the halls and buildings of the Knights of St. John who lived here, on and off, for a couple of hundred years, starting early in the 14^th century. The architecture is military and stark, but because so many buildings are relatively intact, there is a nice overall effect. Many of the historic buildings are still inhabited, so its nice to be in an old city that still has some life in it! There are plenty of tourists in this city too, so it has an urban feel.

Our guide (speaking fluid English with an accent picked up in Manchester!) led us directly to the Hospital of the Knights which now houses the Archaeological Museum. The 15^th century building is the largest open to the public and its got a number of grand spaces. There are beautiful plazas and a quite romantic garden with ancient statuary in it. Most impressive to me were the Roman mosaic floors imported from Kos (another Greek island). They were in great shape—almost all were intact and had exquisite details.

What was disconcerting and disturbing were the changes done to the building during the Italian occupation under Mussolini. While some of the Italian work was an expensive renovation of the rooms, there was one plaque carved in stone which was a declaration from the dictator that included a new way of dating future history: after the emergence of Mussolini. Fortunately, he never got to revise the way we count years, but it was a chilling reminder of what kind of men the Allies fought in the Second World War.

The streets of Rhodes were pleasant to walk through with a number of churches and interesting ruins. There is also an old Jewish quarter—also sad to see since almost all of Rhodes’s Jews were deported and only 50 out of the 200 escaped being murdered by the Nazis. There is a restored Synagogue that was funded by survivors.

This town was not as carefree an experience as the previous islands-too much “modern” history had intervened. Some of our group cut off to go to one of Rhodes’s famed beaches, and some took the half an hour or so ride to Lindos, an ancient and supposedly charming city. I, however, cut back to the boat to get a massage.

I am sure the beach was worth it but the massage was so good that I know I made the right choice for myself. The masseuse kept asking until she got the pressure just right and there was a “tropical shower” afterwards that shot water at about six places on my body. Oh happy day. This would, of course, have been over the top romantic if it was coed…but sadly, no.

I dragged myself out of the shower (can you use up all the hot water in a ship?), got my act together to go to dinner, and went early to bed. There was entertainment on the ship but between the sun, absorbing the day’s history lesson, and the massage, it was all I could do just to sit up straight to eat.

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Pepper Schwartz serves as the AARP love and relationship ambassador and is the chief relationships expert at Perfectmatch.com.

Sometimes my memory exaggerates places — but in this case, not a bit. Santorini, seen by sea, is totally compelling. By day, it looks at first like snow is dusting the mountain — by night, it is a mass of twinkling lights, and you half expect everyone to break into dance and song a la Mama Mia.

There is not, however, dancing in the streets, but there are a few donkeys ambling down the cobblestones. Donkeys (or mules) are still one way you climb the steep hill from the water to Fira (the main town), and while this may be a bit too odiferous for some people in hot weather, I find it charming. Last time I was here I loved the trip up on the donkeys — this time I tried the chair lift which was efficient but not as memorable.

Santorini is certainly too commercial for some people’s taste, but not for mine. I love looking at the jewelry, art, clothes and other offerings. This is not always a romantic pastime — most men are not as enthusiastic about that much  capitalist grazing. But it’s fun if you don’t overdo it. My group thought the shops were of better quality than in Mykonos, and we left several shops with a lot less merchandise than they began the day with.

Walking around, however, was a bit taxing for some of our group. The cobblestones are attractive but if you are an unsteady walker you could take a tumble (I saw two people trip and fall). This is simply not a town for someone with a disability.

We had decided to go to Oia, a town on the north of the island, reputably high on the charm and romance index. Rejecting the idea of a 30-plus euro cab ride we went to the central bus station and caught bus number one. After a decidedly uncomfortable but cheap (1.40 euros) bus ride, we arrived in town and headed off to get some food and a good view of the caldera.

The town proved to be smaller than Fira but more elegant. The views were spectacular (and there is no hyperbole here).  Starving, we took a chance on a restaurant because it had a lovely walkway full of geraniums and because it seemed like it would face the caldera. We  succeeded beyond our wildest hopes — so let my dumb luck be your plan for when you come to Oia.

The restaurant is called Strogili — it is right off the main shopping street — and the food was absolutely delicious. The eggplant so mesmerized my friend’s husband that he took pictures of it, and wheedled the recipe out of the waiter. The grilled grouper was perfect. The view  was so awesome, so romantic that it would be on my list of places to propose. In fact, we were seated next to a group who had come there to be married, so I guess I’m not the first person to have this idea.

Santorini is very beachy. Perissa and Kamari have black sand beaches and people swore to us that the water was warmer there because the black sand absorbed more heat. I didn’t test that thesis — we ran out of time to try them and went back to the Asamara to shed our sweaty clothes and get cleaned up for the Greek feast and dancing.

It was a lavish affair — there were mountains of grilled lamb chops and an endless buffet; the whole boat was seated around the pool on three levels cheering on the dancers and in some cases, joining them. I was not drinking enough to get into a line of dancing strangers; my friends and I gravitated to the third floor where we played shuffleboard under the lights of Santorini, dancing intermittently when the classic rock and roll band came on. It was a swell end to a superb day.

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Pepper Schwartz serves as the AARP love and relationship ambassador and is the chief relationships expert at Perfectmatch.com.

I don’t know why I expected the ship’s doctor to be primarily a “say ah, and take an aspirin“ kind of person—but I did. I am happy to say, I was very wrong.  He gave me a thorough physical and did a  blood test which he analyzed while I was still in the office. I left loaded with effective medicines—and a new respect for the Azamara’s medical program.

Then I was off to Mykonos—an island I had not visited before. The small island has become popular for its beaches and its liberal attitudes. I was surprised, for example, when the first postcard place we went into after getting off the tender had erotic gay and heterosexual postcards. Shows you how out of touch I can be. Everyone else knew that Mykonos is gay and sex friendly, and we found adequate proof of that when we went on a bus ride, and then a boat ride to Paradise Beach and several beaches past that.

We went to Ileo, a beach two stops beyond because one woman said there was Techno music at Paradise and that the beaches beyond Super Paradise (also a beach!) were quiet. What was she smoking? The last beach drop off was a hub of activity—nude men embracing, heavy-set nudists congregating at waterside and topless women of all sizes strutting their stuff up and down the beach.

Fascinating as all this was, it was a little too hectic and fleshy to be romantic, and the cold water was an added romance quasher, at least for me. I think if we’d stayed at Paradise we would have done better even with the Techno music.

The town of Mykonos has all the requisite parts for romance. The doors and windows of the white houses are painted with primary bright colors and there is bougainvillea crawling over a lot of houses and restaurants. There are the winding streets, some of them so narrow that only an average size person can walk through them, and there are countless shops, heavily dominated by jewelry and clothes—some inexpensive (the islands produce some of the most whimsical and well priced jewelry of any place I’ve been), but also  some serious investment gems and 18 and 24 carat gold pieces. In fact, the harbor is dotted with outrageously big yachts and it’s not hard to imagine that the owners of these floating palaces need some seriously over-the-top trinkets to make a stop in a shop worth their while.

The sun beat down on us as we explored the town and I have to say I started to visit shops according to how much shade there was and whether they had air conditioning. We got lost a few times, but we were supposed to: the maze of streets was constructed to undermine pirate attempts by allowing locals to get the upper hand on attackers. These days the configuration just makes exploring more interesting.

If churches interest you—this is your city. There are more than 400 of them although some of them are about as big as your garage. The most impressive is the gorgeous and commonly photographed Byzantine Panagia Paraportiani. One of the chapels is open to visitors all day. There is also a good archaeological museum with a number of artifacts from Delos and Rhenia. In fact, you could do worse than take a boat ride to nearby Delos. The island is uninhabited and preserved as much as possible (over the centuries all the historic sites have been ravaged by vandals, conquerors, thieves, and amateur and professional archaeologists). Greeks in the 3rd century used it to celebrate it as the birthplace  of Apollo. It has some awesome ruins and a tour puts history into perspective: a good balance to the sybaritic mood of Mykonos.

We went back to the boat to eat dinner and then some of us went to the famed  “Little Venice” area to watch the sun set. It should have been superb—we were on the beach just below the Windmills, which the ship’s lecturer on the islands had assured us that we would all photograph (we did) and looking across the water to the setting sun. The problem: Little Venice smelled a lot like the real Venice. A mild, but anti-romantic stench rose up from the water’s edge—and I would advise that just in case this is a common occurrence, you sit back a few rows from the water. Or, just skip that area and look for nightlife in the center of town. Mykonos seems to be the party capital of the Cyclades, so  you won’t have trouble finding music, dancing or serious drinking.

The feel of Mykonos by day or night is young, carefree and sensual. There are elegant places to stay, and then rooms for rent that are, to say the least, modest. I gather that the famous windmills are now habitable and can be had for a small fortune. They might be worth it—the view from there is stunning.

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Pepper Schwartz serves as the AARP love and relationship ambassador and is the chief relationships expert at Perfectmatch.com.